INT. CINEMA. LOBBY. LATE EVENING.
Coming to his senses after Alyona's brazen, dominating kiss, Gleb threw at the journalists, "Pardon the performance." Snatching Alyona's hand, he tugged her away, into the darkness backstage. From afar, Liza watched them, holding her breath, clutching her rolled-up script.
"My chance..." she whispered, and without a second thought, she rushed after them.
Moving too quickly, Liza crashed into Anatoly Petrovich, the director of a successful film company and a friend of Gleb's, who was just leaving the ladies' room. A wise, sensible man, he sought out advantage in every situation and loved to feel needed and knowledgeable. When the collision happened and Liza's script slipped from her hands, thudding onto the floor, he immediately began to lecture the young woman.
"If I were you, young lady, I wouldn't pick that up right away. Especially if it's a script," he said importantly.
Liza, flustered and scared, asked, "Why?"
Anatoly Petrovich, although a business owner, remained a superstitious man in many ways.
"It's bad luck if a script falls. Want to ward off misfortune? Sit on it before you pick it up. It's a tested, old filmmaking method," he looked closely at Liza. "You're a journalist, I see? Or a screenwriter after all? In our industry, you know, everything hinges on information and the right rituals."
Then, nodding to his waiting wife, he majestically departed.
Liza didn't hesitate for a second. She plumped down onto the stack of paper, feeling incredibly silly. At that moment, Maxim noticed her strange actions. Concluding that the girl had fallen, he hurried to help:
"Are you all right? Allow me to help you!"
Liza instantly jumped up, grabbed the script, and began to dust it off as if it were a magical tablet. Her actions caused confusion for Maxim, who didn't understand why she had been sitting on the script.
"Thank you! Everything's fine, I... I'm in a hurry!" Liza blurted out, and without looking back, she raced off toward where Gleb had vanished.
INT. CINEMA. BACKSTAGE. LATE EVENING.
Gleb dragged Alyona into a dark corner and roughly pinned her against the cold wall. Rage was boiling inside him.
"What the hell was that? Why did you stage it?"
Alyona maintained perfect composure, but a challenge burned in her eyes. She moved closer, closing the distance that had opened after his tug.
"I did what you will have to do sooner or later, Gleb. You know perfectly well: our union is inevitable. It will merge our fathers' businesses, solidifying our market position."
"Business!" Gleb slammed his hand against the wall next to her head. "You only care about business, not the person you're going to live with! I won't allow you or my father to use me as a pawn to achieve your goals!"
Alyona did not back down. Instead, she touched his chest, tracing her fingers over his perfectly tailored jacket, and her gaze slid over his lips.
"That's not true," Alyona said softly, seductively. "I'm using these circumstances to be with you and become your wife. I want you, Gleb."
Their bodies were too close. Gleb caught the familiar, sharp scent of her expensive perfume, and for a fraction of a second—just one damned fraction of a second—a purely masculine, animalistic arousal pierced him. He immediately crushed it with fury. Contempt and the lingering memory of once loving her warred in his chest. How? How could such an empty, calculating person have appealed to him? He felt nothing for her now but cold disgust. He pushed off the wall, breaking their contact.
"You once thought otherwise," Gleb sneered sarcastically, stepping back. "You said we weren't a match and preferred my older brother. Remember? Back then, with our fathers' approval, you decided to link your fate with him, not me."
"I was wrong back then, Gleb," Alyona approached him again, closing the distance. "And no matter how much you resist now, I am certain—you are my destiny."
Gleb flew into a rage, backing away completely, as if from a venomous snake.
"You! You decide what my fate is? I won't let anyone decide my fate for me! Especially not you!"
Enraged, he abruptly shoved her away and left.
INT. CINEMA. BACKSTAGE.
Flying around the corner, Gleb accidentally collided with Liza. The impact was strong; Liza shrieked, her script nearly falling from her hands again. Seeing Liza's journalist badge, Gleb didn't even slow down. He merely flicked a glance at her, full of contempt and indifference, and snapped:
"Out of the way."
Despite his rude behavior, Liza, catching up to Gleb, tried to introduce herself on the move.
"Excuse me! Gleb! My name is Liza! I came here for you! I wrote a script specifically for your persona, please, I beg you, read it!"
"Other people handle script evaluation," Gleb cut her off coldly. "Contact the production companies, not me."
Seeing that she was losing him, Liza blocked his path, quickly stepping right in front of him and spreading her arms wide, like a human boom gate. She literally forced him to stop.
Gleb, taken aback by such audacity, slammed to a stop. He stared at her, his fury momentarily replaced by bewilderment.
"What are you..."
"Read it!" Liza almost demanded, breathing heavily. "It won't hurt you, and a girl from the provinces might get a chance to fulfill her dream!"
Those last words sent Gleb into a frenzy. The bewilderment instantly reverted to his former anger.
"By what right did you decide for me that I should fulfill your dreams? I'm not going to waste my time executing someone else's plans at my expense!" Gleb winced. "All women are the same."
He sharply walked around her, almost brushing her shoulder.
"Don't stalk me. Otherwise, I'll be forced to call security."
Shoving Liza aside, Gleb departed, leaving her alone. Liza stood, unable to move. The words "call security" felt like a slap in the face. This man, whom she idolized, whose roles were full of nobility and passion, had just threatened her like an annoying beggar. The shock was overwhelming. On screen, he was her dream, but in life—a crude, arrogant tyrant. This was not Gleb, but his cruel shadow. She lowered her head, clutching the ruined script, feeling reality shatter her ideals.
INT. CINEMA. BAR NEAR BACKSTAGE.
An angry Gleb approached the bar.
"Something strong."
The bartender, seeing his state, remarked, "Bad day, sir?" and set about making a complex, intricate drink. Before Gleb could take a sip, Vadim approached him.
"The same for me," Vadim tossed to the bartender. Receiving his glass, he raised it. "A toast! May Gleb have the strength to continue making my life eventful! It is you, brother, who keeps me from relaxing, forcing me to stay sharp and constantly on guard."
Gleb squinted: "On guard for what?"
"On guard for not missing the moment when you finally tumble from your pedestal."
"You should channel your animosity into work, Vadim, instead of wasting energy on empty words," Gleb replied.
At that moment, his mobile phone rang.
"Yes, Mom."
THE CALL FROM THE MANSION.
(INT. GLEB'S PARENTS' MANSION. HALL.)
The mansion's hall more resembled a palace than a house. A winding marble staircase rose in the center, its railings inlaid with gold. The entire interior screamed of fabulous wealth: intricate stucco adorned the ceilings, original paintings by old masters hung on the walls, and the light, soft and warm, emanated from crystal chandeliers, each costing as much as a small car. In the middle of all this splendor stood Valentina Mikhailovna—Gleb's mother, dressed in a dark blue evening gown that highlighted her quite good figure.
"(On the phone) Gleb, when will you be here? You were supposed to be here two hours ago! All the most important guests have already gathered! Father is very angry, Gleb. VERY. The only son still hasn't arrived for his birthday!"
INT. CINEMA. LOBBY NEAR BAR.
Listening to his mother, Gleb clenched the phone.
"I'm leaving, Mom. I'm on my way."
Without saying goodbye to Vadim, he headed toward the exit. But hardly had he taken a step to leave the bar area than Liza, like a ghost, blocked his path again. Her eyes burned with a stubborn, persistent fire. She wasn't giving up, despite her pride having been trampled.
"Gleb!" Her voice was quieter, but no less demanding. "Please, I beg you! Just glance at my script! I wrote it specifically for you!"
Gleb was irritated by the pushy journalist.
"I already told you: I am not interested in your script, nor in you. And anyway, if your work is so unique, it's strange that you're unknown. I will not waste my time executing someone else's plans at my expense. Get out of the way."
Gleb took a step toward the exit. Liza remained standing, burning with resentment. Vadim walked over to his colleagues. Taking advantage of the fact that no one was near the bar counter, Liza turned to the bartender.
"Is that Gleb's drink?"
The bartender nodded. Liza, looking around, quickly took a box of sweetener from her pocket and added about ten tablets to Gleb's drink. Then she liberally splashed in a few more drops of spicy Tabasco from the bar, which was there for cocktails. She meticulously stirred it all with the handle of a spoon. The bartender stared at her, dumbfounded.
"What are you doing?"
Liza simply placed the glass down silently, now filled with a sickly-sweet, murky concoction. And then, something unexpected happens: Gleb returns. He had already walked toward the exit, but the sudden surge of adrenaline must have made him want to drink the cocktail he had left behind, to drown out his anger. Suspecting nothing, he grabbed the glass and chugged his drink, instantly wincing and coughing from the sickly-spicy taste.
"What a mess," he rasped, blotting his lips with a napkin and looking displeasedly at the bartender.
As he left, he threw an annoyed glance at Liza, and Liza smiled maliciously in return. After Gleb left, the bartender asked:
"How did you know he'd come back?"
Liza replied: "I didn't know. Just intuition."
"You are an interesting girl. Usually, women try to slip Gleb an aphrodisiac."
"What, is he incapable of satisfying them without an aphrodisiac?"
The bartender laughed loudly.
"You also have a sense of humor. There must be a special connection between you and Gleb. There were so many sparks in his gaze when he looked at you."
"Such a weak spark that ignition didn't happen."
EXT. CINEMA. CENTRAL ENTRANCE.
Gleb stepped out and headed toward his limousine. At that moment, Alyona, who was looking for Gleb, saw him leaving and rushed after him.
"I'll go with you!"
Gleb turned, his gaze icy.
"Girls are particularly active and persistent today. Call yourself a taxi. You are definitely not riding with me. And anyway, Alyona," his voice hardened. "Leave me in the past. Just as I left my love for you in the past." He got into the limousine and drove away, leaving her alone on the wet asphalt.
Liza, who had also come out, watched the departing car. She stopped, looking at Alyona with surprise and bitter sympathy. Alyona stood, unable to move, in her incredibly expensive dress, left alone with her broken hopes. Liza felt a deep, genuine pity for her.
"She, like me, is here for him. And he tossed her out just as coldly as me," flashed through Liza's mind.
She looked at the black limousine, carrying away her idol and her dream. His rage, his contempt, his coldness—this was not the Gleb she knew from films. She felt the strongest disappointment.
INT. CINEMA. BAR NEAR BACKSTAGE.
Liza returned to the bar counter and ordered a cold beer. Alyona, having also returned, approached the bar. She was furious.
"The most expensive cocktail."
Liza was sitting at the counter, sipping her beer. Recognizing Alyona as "Gleb's girl," she moved closer to her, her eyes lighting up with hope.
"Excuse me! You... you're close to Gleb, right? Help me, woman to woman. I'm a journalist, I came from the provinces. I wrote a script specifically for him. He refused to read it. Please, persuade him to at least look at it!"
Liza, without waiting for an answer, took her script, which was still slightly crumpled after the fall, and placed it on the bar counter in front of Alyona. The bartender served Alyona her cocktail—tall, with a bright cherry. Alyona slowly, with queenly indifference, took Liza's script in her hands. Hope flickered in Liza's eyes. Would she agree?
Alyona brought the script closer to her face, as if about to read the title. Then, looking directly into Liza's eyes, she set the script down on the counter and, with a deliberate, careless movement, knocked her glass over onto it. The cold, crimson cocktail liquid instantly soaked the paper, spreading across the pages. Liza cried out and grabbed the wet script, trying to wipe it. Alyona walked away without looking back.
"What a pity," Alyona threw over her shoulder. "Such a good and expensive cocktail, ruined."
The bartender handed Liza a napkin.
"Here, wipe it off. With that lady, you definitely had ignition."
"It often happens like this in life," Liza thought, finishing her beer. "We make plans, we try, we prepare for one thing, but fate hands us something completely different. Ultimately, fate strikes the strong and the weak equally. The only difference is that a blade of grass falls quietly, and an oak—with a bang and a crash."