Chapter 3

The hallway outside the audition room was dimmer, quieter, but no less suffocating. My heels clicked against the tile in sharp, steady beats, the sound ricocheting off the walls like a metronome for the chaos inside my chest. I needed air. I needed space. I needed to believe I hadn’t just let a stranger tear through the seams I’d spent years stitching shut.

But my manager was already waiting.

“Celeste.” Marla’s voice carried that clipped, efficient edge that only ever preceded a warning. She pushed off the wall, her phone in one hand, a thick folder tucked under her arm. Her suit jacket was perfectly pressed, her bun unyielding — the portrait of control, standing there to remind me of mine. Her expression was tight, but her eyes betrayed it: concern, sharper than irritation.

I tried to stride past her, but she fell into step beside me, matching my pace.

“That was…” She searched for the word, her mouth tightening before settling on, “intense.”

“It was the script,” I said flatly, professional. I kept my chin high. “We followed it.”

“Don’t.” Her tone snapped like a whip. “Don’t give me soundbites. I know the difference. I saw it in your face.”

We reached the stairwell door, the cool metal bar beneath my palm grounding me. I turned to her slowly, jaw clenched, mask still half in place. “And what exactly did you see, Marla?”

Her gaze narrowed, but her voice softened a fraction. “I saw Celeste Raines — the woman who built her career on restraint — lose it for thirty seconds. And if I could see it, so could everyone else in that room.”

The words landed heavy. They should’ve bounced off, but instead they sank. Because she was right.

My throat worked, the admission pulling itself free before I could stop it. “…I know.”

Marla’s eyes flicked over me, searching, like she was weighing how much truth that single phrase carried.

Before she could press further, a voice drifted down the hallway.

“Leaving so soon?”

I stiffened, turning. Rowan strolled toward us, script tucked carelessly under her arm, her walk unhurried, her face lit with the ease of someone who had just arrived rather than auditioned. She looked untouched, unsinged, as if she hadn’t just set fire to everything inside me.

She stopped in front of me, her gaze locking on mine, and the air shifted again, humming like a wire pulled too tight. Then she smiled — not the subtle, secret smile she’d given me in the room, but a broad, easy grin that read as harmless. For Marla’s benefit.

“Thanks for reading with me,” she said lightly. “It made all the difference.”

Marla bristled beside me, her presence hardening into a shield, but Rowan didn’t flinch. Her gaze flicked down, just once, to the collar of my blouse — still slightly skewed from her touch earlier — before sliding back up to meet my eyes. It was so fast anyone else would’ve missed it. But I didn’t.

My breath caught.

I nodded once, small and measured, a professional gesture — but one that carried the quiet weight of you’re welcome.

Rowan’s lips quirked, almost imperceptibly, before she turned smoothly toward the director, her face breaking into an easy, professional smile. Like nothing had just passed between us.

Then she was gone, walking past us with that same calm, deliberate stride, disappearing around the corner like she hadn’t just whispered something wordless between us in front of everyone.

I stood frozen, pulse roaring in my ears.

“Celeste.” Marla’s voice cut back in, low and firm. “Whatever that was, you need to get a handle on it. Because if you don’t, it will get a handle on you.”

I pressed the stairwell door open, the cool rush of air greeting me like relief. “I know,” I murmured again, though this time it was only to myself.

Her words followed me down the steps. But louder still was Rowan’s whisper, echoing inside me with dangerous certainty.

I felt it too.