Luna had always been a bit different.
Ever since a strange accident during a school trip where she hit her head hard on a rock, she'd started having these odd experiences.
At first, it was just fleeting whispers in her mind, but as time passed, she realized she could hear people's thoughts.
It was a confusing and overwhelming ability, but she'd learned to use it to her advantage in the cut-throat world of acting.
The unknown number belonged to Peterson's casting assistant.
A curt, almost robotic voice informed Luna that she'd landed an audition for Whispers of the Past, the period drama everyone was buzzing about.
Victory tasted sweet, tinged with the metallic tang of Brenda's fear.
As she heard Brenda's worried thoughts about her position in the industry, the taste of that fear seemed to linger on her tongue.
The following day, however, a different flavor filled Luna's mouth – the bitter, acrid taste of betrayal.
A video link, supposedly showcasing her audition, showed a disastrous performance.
The video was a blur of hazy colors, and the sounds were all wrong, like a bad dream.
The Luna in the video stumbled over lines; her expressions were wooden and forced.
This isn't me, she thought, a cold dread settling in her stomach like a block of ice.
This isn't what I did.
Her mind raced, sifting through the events of the audition.
She remembered the intensity, the connection she felt with the character.
She knew she had nailed it.
Then, a name surfaced: Vivian.
The established actress, Brenda's bestie, had given Luna the stink eye all afternoon.
Something felt off.
It was time to tap into her… advantage.
Luna dialed her agent, a perpetually stressed woman named Sarah, whose internal monologue usually revolved around overdue bills and the caffeine content of her latest latte.
Today, however, a new anxiety buzzed beneath the surface.
It centered on Vivian's manager, Brian – known for his ruthlessness and ability to make inconvenient truths… disappear.
"Vivian insisted," Luna heard Brian practically hiss in Sarah's mind, "that newbie had to be destroyed."
Bingo.
Luna started to notice some minor details that made her suspect foul play.
She remembered seeing a strange figure lurking around the audition area, and now she realized it might have been someone working for Vivian or Brian.
Luna slammed her laptop shut, the image of the fake audition burning in her memory.
It was time for a little… improvisation.
Fate, it seemed, had a flair for the dramatic.
Who should Luna bump into at her favorite coffee shop but Peterson himself, brooding over a lukewarm espresso?
The espresso in his cup was a dark, murky color, and the steam rising from it made a soft hissing sound.
She almost laughed.
Almost.
Instead, she focused, tuning into the director's thoughts.
Beneath the surface of his frustration, a more profound need resonated: "I need someone who can cry. Real tears. Raw emotion. Where is she?"
Showtime.
Luna approached him with a carefully crafted expression of hesitant admiration.
"Sir?" she began, her voice trembling slightly.
"I… I was just wondering… about the role of Eliza in Whispers."
Peterson looked up, startled.
He recognized her – the girl with the… interesting audition tape.
Before he could dismiss her, Luna continued, her voice cracking.
"I know my audition… wasn't good. I was so nervous. But Eliza… she's so… broken. And I… I understand that."
Tears welled in Luna's eyes, genuine tears born from the memory of her struggles, amplified by the echoes of Peterson's desire for authenticity.
She could feel the warm, salty tears trickling down her cheek like a gentle stream.
"Please, sir. Just… one more chance."
Peterson stared, mesmerized.
The contrast between the wooden performance in the video and the raw emotion pouring out of this young woman was staggering.
"Interesting," he muttered, a spark of intrigue igniting his eyes.
"Very interesting. Tell you what, kid. Come to the studio tomorrow. We're doing final callbacks with… Vivian."
After this encounter, Peterson couldn't stop thinking about Luna.
He decided to do a quick test.
He asked Luna to improvise a short scene in the coffee shop, testing her ability to understand the character and bring it to life.
Surprised but ready, Luna did a fantastic job, further impressing Peterson.
A smirk tugged at Luna's lips.
Game on.
Luna, in the evening after this meeting, was restless.
She couldn't sleep, constantly going over her plan in her head.
She tossed and turned in her bed, the sheets crinkling beneath her.
The moonlight streamed through the window, casting an eerie glow on the room.
The studio the next day was a hive of nervous energy.
The air was thick with the smell of anxiety, and the sounds of hushed conversations filled the space.
Luna, however, felt a strange sense of calm.
She knew Vivian's playbook.
She'd spent the evening immersed in Vivian's interviews and performances, absorbing her mannerisms, vocal inflections, and signature dramatic flair.
She'd peered into the woman's soul and found a fragile ego propped up by layers of manufactured confidence.
Jealousy, insecurity, and a desperate need for validation were Vivian's weapons, and Luna intended to turn them against her.
When it was Vivian's turn, she delivered a performance that was… extra.
Every gesture is exaggerated, every line dripping with melodrama.
The air crackled with the intensity of her manufactured emotions.
And Luna, watching from the sidelines, smiled.
Luna's turn.
She began softly, mirroring Vivian's initial approach, a subtle imitation that flattered the actress's vanity.
As the scene progressed, however, Luna subtly injected her interpretation, a raw vulnerability that contrasted sharply with Vivian's over-the-top performance.
Then, she delivered the coup de grâce.
In a pivotal moment of the scene, Luna echoed one of Vivian's most iconic lines, delivered with an almost identical inflection.
It was a calculated risk, a deliberate poke at Vivian's ego.
And it worked.
Vivian, watching from the sidelines, bristled.
Her face tightened, her eyes narrowed.
She couldn't believe this newcomer, this nobody, dared to mimic her, to steal her thunder.
Her carefully constructed composure began to crumble.
On stage, Luna continued, her performance gaining intensity as Vivian's frustration grew.
She could feel the heat of Vivian's anger in the air, like a wave of fire.
She fed off Vivian's negativity, turning it into fuel for her performance.
By the time the scene reached its climax, Vivian was a barely contained volcano of rage and humiliation.
She stormed onto the stage, interrupting Luna mid-sentence and shouting about unprofessionalism and disrespect.
It was a spectacular meltdown.
Peterson watched the whole thing unfold, a slow smile spreading.
He'd gotten what he wanted – raw, unfiltered emotion.
But not from the actress he expected.
He turned to Luna, his eyes gleaming.
"You've got the part, kid."
Backstage, the adrenaline slowly ebbed away, leaving Luna feeling strangely hollow.
She gathered her things, preparing to leave the chaotic world of the studio behind, when a tall, imposing figure stepped out of the shadows, blocking her path.
"Excuse me," a deep voice rumbled…
The buzzing in Luna's pocket was like a hummingbird trapped against her thigh.
She ignored it, her focus razor-sharp on the chaos unfolding before her.
Ambulance lights pulsed red and blue, casting an eerie glow on the faces of the murmuring crew.
Vivian, draped in a blanket and sporting a very unconvincing whimper, was the star of this impromptu drama.
Brian, Vivian's agent, a weasel of a man in a designer suit, fussed around her, spitting venom at a bewildered Brenda.
Luna watched, a slow, almost predatory smile curving her lips.
She could hear their thoughts, a messy symphony of panic, blame, and simmering resentment.
Brian's internal monologue was particularly entertaining: Damn that clumsy idiot!
This was supposed to be Luna's downfall, not Vivian's sprained ankle.
How am I going to explain this to Mr.Blackwood?
Now, that was a thought that piqued Luna's interest.
He was Leo Blackwood, the notoriously reclusive entertainment mogul and Vivian's… benefactor.
Luna's smile widened.
This little accident was about to get a whole lot more interesting.
The phone buzzed again, more insistent this time.
It was the casting director for Peterson's new film, City of Whispers, the one everyone in town was dying to be a part of.
Speak of the devil… Luna finally answered.
"Luna?" The voice on the other end was crisp and professional, starkly contrasting with the surrounding pandemonium.
"Director Peterson requests your presence for a last-minute audition. Can you be at Stellar Studios in thirty minutes?"
Thirty minutes?
Luna glanced at the ambulance pulling away, Vivian's face a mask of contrived pain.
"Make it twenty."
Stellar Studios hummed with an energy that bordered on frantic.
The sounds of people rushing around, papers shuffling, and phones ringing filled the air.
Luna, dressed in jeans and a simple white tee, felt a surge of adrenaline, a thrill she hadn't experienced since… well since she'd discovered this uncanny ability to hear people's thoughts.
She navigated the labyrinthine corridors, tuning into the anxieties and aspirations swirling around her.
A young actress clutching a dog-eared script, her mind racing with lines and self-doubt.
A harried assistant juggling coffee and schedules, silently cursing the unreasonable demands of his boss.
Luna absorbed it all, a voyeur in a world of unspoken desires.
Peterson, a legend known for his volatile temper and exacting standards, sat behind a large oak desk, his face etched with a perpetual frown.
The oak desk had a smooth, polished surface that reflected the light.
He barely glanced at Luna as she entered, focusing on the script in his hands.
"You're late," he grumbled, not looking up.
"Twenty minutes, like I promised," Luna retorted, her voice calm and steady.
She could practically taste his surprise.
He expected her to apologize, to cower.
She wasn't about to give him the satisfaction.
He finally looked up, his frown deepening.
"You're Luna… right? The one who… well, never mind." He waved a dismissive hand.
"Vivian recommended you."
Luna's mind raced.
Recommended?
Hardly.
She could hear Vivian's venomous thoughts across town: That little nobody!
I'll make sure she never works in this town again.
Its sheer audacity almost made Luna laugh.
"Vivian's very… thoughtful," Luna replied, a tone of irony lacing her.
She met Peterson's gaze, unflinching.
"She's always looking out for… competition."
Peterson's eyebrows shot up, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
He was starting to get it.
He could sense the undercurrent, the unspoken challenge.
This one's different, he thought, intrigued.
The audition was a blur.
Luna channeled Vivian's malice, her desperation, the raw ambition that pulsed beneath her carefully constructed facade.
She became the character, a woman scorned, a force to be reckoned with.
When it was over, the silence in the room was deafening.
The air seemed to stand still; the only sound was the clock ticking on the wall.
Peterson stared at her, his expression unreadable.
Finally, he leaned back in his chair, a slow smile spreading.
"You're in," he said, his voice raspy with something akin to awe.
"You're exactly what I've been looking for."
As Luna left the studio, buzzing with elation, she felt a prickling sensation on her neck, the distinct feeling of being watched.
She turned, scanning the crowd, but saw nothing unusual.
Yet, the feeling persisted in a subtle but undeniable presence.
Somewhere, hidden in the shadows, Leo Blackwood was watching her.
And he was very, very interested.