"Miss Hale, are you really going to let that girl speak to you like that?" her PA whispered sharply, trailing just behind her like a nervous shadow. "We must do something. If we let it go, people will start thinking you've gone soft. That girl needs to be taught a lesson."
Rosalie didn't answer at first.
She paused by the mirrored corridor, her reflection multiplying around her like shards of glass. The corners of her lips curled ever so slightly—not into a smile, but into something far more dangerous.
"Leave her," she said quietly, voice low and velvet-smooth. "Time will tell."
For the briefest moment, her eyes flashed. Not metaphorically. Literally. A flicker of shadow, like some ancient storm passed behind her irises—gone in a blink, as if it had never been.
The PA felt it. The air around her suddenly chilled.
Rosalie slipped on her sunglasses once more with practiced elegance. "Let's go."
They moved together, like moonlight and shadow, entering the audition studio as if they owned the floor beneath them—and in many ways, they did.
As Rosalie entered, the studio itself seemed to still. The conversations dimmed, movements slowed, and even breaths were held. She didn't need to announce herself—her presence did that for her.
Her beauty was legendary, yes, but in person, it was disarming. Ethereal. She moved like something sculpted, with skin that glowed like porcelain bathed in moonlight. Her pale blond hair was perfectly curled and draped over one shoulder. Her eyes—some said blue, others swore violet—were so clear they seemed to see straight through people. No flaws. No emotion. Just beauty that hurt to look at.
Some whispered she was too perfect to be real.
She was called many things: Ice Queen. Angel in Flesh. The Untouchable. But here, in this studio, her title was simpler.
Judge.
She took one of the seats on the judging panel, her assistant placing the documents and folders in front of her. A moment passed as she slid the chair backward and lowered herself into it.
The sound of her chair scraping the floor was enough to snap everyone out of their trance.
Whispers rippled like a wave.
"Is that… is that Rosalie Hale?"
"Yeah. Oh my god. She's even more stunning in real life."
"She's married to the Cullen heir, right? The eldest."
"No wonder she got the endorsement deal with their luxury line last year. She's untouchable."
"Wait… then why is she judging this? Isn't she already the face of their brands?"
That question hung in the air.
And it had an answer—but only a few knew the truth.
The campaign wasn't hers.
Not this time.
The new brand, Life, was a different vision. A bold leap by the Cullen family to enter the inclusive beauty market. It needed a fresh face. One untouched by scandal or privilege. Someone whose beauty came with story, depth, edge.
Rosalie wasn't chosen.
She had volunteered to judge.
And that fact alone had rattled the boardroom.
Now, she sat with her perfect posture and gloved fingers curled around a fountain pen, eyes cold and unreadable behind her shades. But anyone watching closely would see: she wasn't just judging talent.
She was watching something—or someone.
To her right sat Jasper Hale—the renowned director behind the most visually stunning commercial campaigns of the past decade. He was effortlessly elegant, with windswept honey-blond hair and a jawline that could cut glass. Younger than most expected, but undeniably brilliant.
And—perhaps more shockingly—Rosalie's twin.
The resemblance was subtle but undeniable. Same icy glamour. Same poise. Same legacy.
Jasper, though, had chosen to walk a different path. Adopted as well by the Cullen family, he had traded modeling lights for the director's chair. Though he owed much of his rise to Cullen patronage, he had earned his place with visionary work.
It was Jasper's idea to find someone new. Someone unexpected.
And so, he watched the room with a quiet intensity—an artist seeking a spark.
The final seat was occupied by Esme Cullen, matriarch of the Cullen family, wife of Carlisle, and the creative mind behind Life. As founder and chief designer of the brand, she radiated an aura that fused warmth with command. Clad in a sleek, ash-gray ensemble with subtle embroidery, she exuded elegance with power.
Esme smiled politely as she reviewed the audition list, but her eyes carried the weight of someone who had built an empire with delicate hands and ruthless precision.
Life was her dream. She wanted a face for every shade of skin. A campaign that would resonate with all women, not just the elite few. Which is why, for the first time in years, they weren't using Rosalie.
Rosalie, of course, had accepted it with grace.
But Esme knew her too well.
Grace wasn't the same as surrender.
And though the rules were clear—that the new face would be chosen by merit—Rosalie had never lost anything without a plan to gain something else.
Now, as the auditions prepared to begin, all eyes turned toward the judges.
Kiera Hart, standing in the lineup backstage, felt a strange tension in her spine—as if something unseen had shifted in her direction.
She looked up and caught a glimpse through the curtain.
Rosalie Hale, perfectly still.
Gazing directly at her.
Expressionless.
Unblinking.
A cold shiver traced Kiera's spine, but she didn't look away.
Because whatever game had begun—
She was already part of it.