The venue was alive with energy—voices echoing in wide halls, heels clicking over polished marble, and camera crews darting like shadows behind makeshift screens. This wasn't just another audition; it felt like a portal to a different kind of life. The air was heavy with perfume, ambition, and nerves.
Cullens Industries didn't do small. Every campaign they touched turned gold. And this one—an international launch for a revolutionary skincare product—was the kind of opportunity that could crown someone as the next global face in beauty and fashion.
And that someone might be me.
The interview was being led by none other than Rosalie Hale—an icon, a legend, and, more interestingly, the daughter-in-law of the elusive Cullen family. Rumors surrounded her like a fine mist: once a top-tier model, now married into power, respected yet feared. She was married to the adoptive eldest son of the Cullen dynasty—heir to the empire if all else failed. Whispers in the industry called him "the spare king," a shadow waiting for the throne should no other star rise bright enough.
I hadn't noticed her enter. I was too focused on my breathing exercises, script in hand, soft ambient melodies flowing into my earbuds. I had just memorized the tagline when Lilly's voice shattered the fragile bubble around me.
"Kiera... have you even read the script yet?" Her tone was both tired and stern.
I yanked out one earbud and turned toward her. "Yes, I've read it three times, actually. And I even practiced it twice in front of the mirror." I tried to flash a charming grin.
Lilly wasn't having it.
"You already disappointed me by showing up late. Don't ruin this audition too. You've wanted this since you were sixteen, Kiera. You've fought for it. Now's the time."
I softened, knowing she meant well. "You were the one who told me to model, remember? Said it'd be my launchpad into acting. Don't give me that disappointed look—you practically built this path for me."
She rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath before walking off, shaking her head with a smile she tried to hide.
I returned to my script. The commercial wasn't just about flawless skin—it was about transformation, about confidence rising from within. That's what the tagline said. That's what I had to embody.
"Glow beyond beauty—become unforgettable."
I closed my eyes, reciting the lines in my head, breathing in and out with focus. I was almost centered again—almost—when something lightly brushed against me. Barely noticeable. A flutter of fabric against my hair.
I didn't even turn around. Probably just someone passing by.
But then, suddenly, fingers wrapped around my arm. Not rough, but firm—like whoever it was wanted to make sure I was paying attention.
"Hello?" a sharp, irritated voice said. "I'm talking to you."
I blinked in confusion, startled out of my meditation haze, and turned toward the source.
A tall woman, early twenties maybe, dressed in an elegant black suit, was staring daggers at me. Her expression was pure irritation, as if I had just committed a grave social offense.
"Yes? How can I help you?" I asked calmly, blinking slowly. I truly had no idea what was happening.
"You bumped into Miss Hale," the woman said accusingly, tilting her head with exaggerated disbelief. "You should apologize."
Miss Hale?
I looked past her.
And there she was.
Rosalie Hale.
Even in a room filled with beauty, she stood apart. She wore black—silk, tailored to perfection. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight twist, and she held her sunglasses in one hand like a weapon, her other hand resting at her side with the poise of a queen.
She didn't speak at first. Just... looked at me.
There was something in her gaze—something I couldn't place. Not anger. Not quite amusement either. It was as if she was searching for something... measuring me in silence.
I straightened my posture, refusing to shrink under pressure. "Miss Hale," I said, calmly. "If I offended you, it wasn't intentional. But I don't recall bumping into you."
I crossed my arms, my voice steady. I wasn't being disrespectful—but I wasn't going to be intimidated either.
The assistant's face turned red, ready to say something more, but Rosalie raised one hand—a subtle gesture that silenced everything.
She took a step forward.
Then another.
She removed her sunglasses slowly, eyes sharp and glacier-clear. They locked onto mine with quiet calculation.
And then—she smiled.
It wasn't warm.
But it wasn't cold either.
It was... knowing.
"Don't mind her," she said. Her voice was smooth, but there was steel beneath it. "You can carry on."
She dipped her head in the smallest of nods, an apology wrapped in formality.
And then she turned and walked away without waiting for a response.
I stood frozen, heart racing—not from fear, but from something else. Something I didn't yet understand.
Lilly returned moments later, her eyebrows raised. "What just happened? You look like you saw a ghost."
"Not a ghost," I muttered, still watching Rosalie's retreating form. "More like... a test."
Because as she disappeared into a private room behind mirrored glass, I could feel it—like gravity had shifted.
Something about that moment wasn't random.
It was intentional.
And I had a sinking feeling the audition was going to be more than just a performance.
It was going to be the first move in a game I didn't know I'd been entered into.