James Whitmore's pov
The moment I hear the clank of heels, a deep frown of disapproval grips my face.
Seriously? That much heel for an audition? She mustn't be serious. I'll just give her the chance to act her rubbish before discarding her.
The contestant enters the room with the kind of confidence that demands attention. Her walk is smooth, her every step is calculated.
Unlike the others, she does not fidget, not even a single sign of hesitation stuantered along with her on her way here. It was as if she had rehearsed the moment, and not just the script, but the very ir she carried with her.
I let my gaze rake down her body and a mix of feelings ransacked my brain..
While she gave off the feeling of being a promising actress, her clothes however, are a different matter. For one, who wear ls this kind of dress for this purpose?
A tight, skimpy red blouse clings to her, more suited for a nightclub than audition. And her white skirt was even as short as her blouse.
Heavy make-up masks her face, every contour and highlighted placed with precise intent, but it does little to impress me.
It reeks of effort, of someone who is too aware of their own image, trying too hard to dazzle rather than simply exist in the role.
She doesn't waste time with greetings. Without a word, she begins. Her voice is steady, and every line delivered with clarity.
Emotions is woven into each word, carefully placed, but measured. The are no misteps, not breaks in her rhythm. On the surface, it's overall quality is flawless.
From the corner of my eyes, I see the other judges lean forward. The weariness that plunged them moments ago begins to lift bits by bits.
Mr William did so too, and which piqued my curiosity.
But not to me though. I do not move. As a seasoned professional, I've seen this far too many times before.
Performances honed to perfection, polished to gleam under scrutiny, yet missing something vital.
This contestant executes every moment with precision, but then, how can precision turn into truth? She is performing, but she's not living it.
The audience don't need to watch, they need to feel the depth of the emotion which this contestant unfortunately lacked.
Finally, she finishes and I suddenly felt the need to check her name.
Clarissa Monroe…
I frown, the name striking a chord. I glance at Mr William, but he was pressing away at his phone, nonchalance dripping from his demeanor.
Now, what was happening? Didn't he just call me to make sure she won? He had even invested heftily into the production of the movie, just so this… Clarissa could win.
But then, what did I expect? It was only by a miracle that he was able to leave his multi-billion empire just to witness an audition.
I drag my eyes away from Mr William, and settling it on the judges who now whispered amongst themselves.
They had noticed it too, but since there was no better auditionee, they begrudgingly nods in approval then turns to face me.
The room becomes silent for a heart pounding minutes as they waits for my response. I hold it for a beat, letting the weight of expectation settle.
"You did well…" I started, but there was a hint of laid-back in it.
"Thank you, director—" Clarissa bows again, but I don't let her finish.
"But, it was just that—well-rehearsed and predictable. You never lost yourself in the role. You were performing, not becoming," I say, opening the registry to find out she was the last of the contestants.
Just because I hadn't seen a better candidate or because she has a backing didn't mean I wouldn't address her inadequacies.
I let out a tired breath, running frustrated hands through my hair. The exact thing I am looking for, the exact Yun Na I'm looking for in the script, I am yet to find her.
Well, I did see, but she's no actress, just the wife of a mobile I can't afford to offend. She had the petite look of Yun Na in my mind, her refund ways of speaking and acting.
When I saw her trapped between the wall and Mr William, I knew, in that moment that I don't stand the chance.
Me William isn't just a man—hes a force. The name alone carries weight, commanding respect and fear in equal measure.
He owns more than just businesses; he owns power itself. From the glittering lights of high end clubs to the towering skyscrapers that define LA's skyline, his influence runs deeper than anyone dares to admit.
He controls the chains of luxury, entertainment, and high society, dictating trends with a mere word, turning nobodies into legends and legends into nothing with a mere snap of his fingers.
The wealth in his accounts is immeasurable, but it's the power in his hands that truly sets him apart.
When he speaks, people listen, and when he moves, industries shift.
In a city built on ambition, Mr William stands at the very top, and everyone else is just playing in his world.
He is a man who's presence alone is enough to make even the boldest hesitate. He's untouchable and ruthless when necessary, which scares the shit of me.
Being in his bad book is like pronouncing suffering upon oneself, so I'll just make do with the one at hand.
"So…, director Whitmore, does it mean I landed the role?" Clarissa asks, her eyes glimmering with pride.
She has a backing and even though she didn't, she knows she's the last of the contestants to audition. She knows that she left an impact, and my hands are tied, and that fact irks me to no end.
My lips part in an attempt to say something, but for the first time since Moon takes her seat beside William, I hear her say…
"That's forced…"
She says and my head swiftly snaps towards her direction.