Silence filled the vast hall, broken only by the frantic pounding of Anna’s heart inside her chest.
She would be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous—hell, she was terrified. But between walking out without ever being given a chance and walking out after at least trying, she knew which one she could live with. If no one liked her performance, so be it. But being dismissed without a voice? That, she couldn’t bear.
Drawing a shaky breath, Anna closed her eyes for a mont. She let the tension bleed out, forcing herself to steady. When she finally opened them, her gaze lifted and t the n watching her—Wilsmith’s sharp, assessing eyes and Ethan’s quiet, encouraging ones.
Anna had practiced her lines countless tis, enough to know them by heart. But she also knew this wasn’t just about reciting dialogue. Acting wasn’t about the words—it was about the weight of the emotions beneath them. The story was about a woman trapped in unrequited love, bound to a man who never truly saw her.
And as Anna stood there, it hit her just how much the role mirrored her own life. Despite being married through nothing more than a deal, she had fallen—deeply, foolishly. Her love had gone unnoticed, unappreciated, just as the woman she was about to portray.
Her silence grew heavy, pulling the n’s attention tighter around her, until finally, Anna began to speak.
Her voice was soft at first, threaded with emotion, and her eyes glistened under the lights. Each word trembled with raw truth, as though she wasn’t playing a role at all—she was living it. Her posture shifted, her expressions deepened, and with every line she delivered, Anna disappeared. In her place stood a woman aching for love that would never be returned.
Ethan sat frozen, caught off guard. He had never imagined Anna possessed such a gift—the ability to breathe life into words, to make them bleed with sincerity. It wasn’t polished technique. It wasn’t theatrics. It was sothing rarer. Real.
Even Wilsmith, stone-faced as ever, leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening.
Anna wasn’t flawless—far from it. But the imperfections only made her shine brighter. Every tremor in her voice, every tear trembling at the corner of her lashes, every falter in her breath carried a weight that constricted the air around them. The emotions she poured out were unfiltered, cutting straight into the heart.
Finally, her voice cracked, rich with sorrow.
"Only if you knew my heart... would you be able to love ?"
Her eyes brimd as the final word slipped from her lips, and a lone tear escaped, trailing down her cheek.
The hall went still.
And with that single mont, Anna’s scene ca to an end.
Anna took a mont to steady herself, drawing in a shaky breath as she tried to calm the storm of emotions inside her. She forced her hands to still, her body to quiet, though her heart continued to pound like a drum in the suffocating silence that followed.
The n ahead said nothing.
Their silence was deafening, piercing her chest sharper than any words of rejection could. She couldn’t read their expressions, couldn’t tell if her performance had moved them or fallen flat. All she knew was the hollow ache in her chest, and the fragile hope whispering that maybe—just maybe—she had been heard.
Then, a voice broke the stillness.
"...Amazing."
The word hit her like a shockwave. Anna blinked, stunned, certain she must have imagined it. But no—it ca from Wilsmith himself. His stoic expression had faltered, the faintest curve tugging at the corner of his lips.
Her breath caught.
Before she could gather herself, Wilsmith’s low chuckle filled the hall, growing until he stood, clapping his hands together. The sound echoed against the walls, commanding the room.
"Miss Anna," he declared, his eyes fixed on her with newfound respect, "you have indeed proved wrong."
The words crashed into her chest, unraveling the knot of tension inside her. Her hand flew to her cheek only then realizing her tears were real—not staged, not feigned. She had been so imrsed in the role that she hadn’t noticed when her heart bled into the performance.
For a mont, Anna didn’t know how to respond. Shock, relief, pride—all tangled together, swelling in her chest until it nearly overwheld her. Seeing Wilsmith, the man who had dismissed her so coldly, now applauding from a distance... it was more than she dared dream.
Her gaze drifted, as if pulled, to Ethan.
Sothing about him felt different—strangely quiet. He hadn’t reacted like the others, no applause, no outward show. But Anna knew, deep down, that if not for him, she wouldn’t even be standing here.
Her eyes lingered on him, silently asking the question she couldn’t voice: ’Did you like it, Ethan? Did I make you believe?’
He gave no answer, no change in expression, leaving her to wrestle with the silence.
But it didn’t matter.
Because one truth had already been announced, clear and undeniable—she had earned the role she once doubted she even deserved.
***
Anna stepped out of the rehearsal room, her body heavy with exhaustion. The performance had drained her completely, but beneath the fatigue was a quiet glow of relief. The chaos outside had been handled—thanks entirely to Ethan. With a single step forward and the ease of a practiced celebrity, he had turned every eye away from her and onto himself, dissolving the crowd’s hostility like smoke in the wind.
She couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the thought. So that’s what it ans to be famous... with a single gesture, you can bend the crowd’s attention.
Dragging her feet, Anna found a chair nearby and dropped into it, leaning back against the wall. Her chest rose and fell as her thoughts circled back to the mont in the restroom.
Who locked in there?
The question pressed against her mind, relentless. The hallway had been empty when she’d gone in—no witnesses, no reason to suspect anyone. And yet, she couldn’t shake the doubt. Soone had tried to stop her and the thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
"Ahem."
The sudden sound jolted her from her spiraling thoughts. Her eyes snapped open to find Ethan standing in front of her, a bottle of water extended casually in his hand.
"Here," he said, his voice calm but steady, carrying an undertone that stirred sothing in her chest. "Drink."
Anna blinked, her gaze darting between the bottle and the man offering it. For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, her pulse quickened.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, she reached out and took it. The cool plastic pressed against her palm, and just as she raised it to her lips, Ethan spoke again—his words so casual, so effortless, yet sharp enough to choke the breath in her throat.
"Congratulations, Miss Anna... for signing up for the role of my wife."
The bottle froze midway to her lips. Her eyes widened, locking onto his.
Her heart gave a hard, unsteady thud, but that smirk from Ethan almost left her choked.
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