Chapter Two — The Role I Swore I'd Never Play Again
By the time the brunch plates are empty, Ember's already talking faster than my brain can process caffeine.
"Listen," she says, stabbing her fork into her avocado toast for emphasis. "You're auditioning. I'm not taking no for an answer. And before you even try—yes, I read the email while you were in the bathroom."
"Ember!"
"What? I was curious." She shrugs, unapologetic. "The Last Page, Sien. That's the kind of series that wins awards. Everyone in the industry's losing their minds over the casting list. You can't hide forever."
I sip my coffee slowly, pretending I'm immune to her enthusiasm.
The truth? I remember the book vividly. Nora Quinn, the main character — a writer who stopped believing in love until she met someone who reminded her what stories were for.
A soft, complicated role. The kind of part that cuts too close to real feelings.
Nora's words had stuck with me when I first read it, back when I was seventeen and starry-eyed:
"It's easy to fall in love with a character. Harder to admit when you've become one."
Back then, I thought I understood it.
Now I really do.
The rest of the afternoon is a blur of camera calls, noise, and half-familiar faces. Fame isn't all red carpets and flashbulbs — sometimes it's just being recognized at the grocery store while buying cereal and trying to look like you didn't cry to your own playlist the night before.
Everywhere I go, someone's watching. That's the curse of being Sienna Everglow — a name that sounds more like a brand than a person.
Midnight-blue hair, they call it. Like the sky before dawn. It used to be a statement. Now it's just armor.
My reflection in the shop window looks flawless from far away — sharp cheekbones, smoky eyes, glossed lips. But up close, I can see the exhaustion between the mascara strokes. The kind of tired that no spa day fixes.
I used to love the camera. Now it feels like it's always asking for something I don't have left to give.
Later that evening, Ember shows up at my apartment again, balancing iced coffee and a stack of script pages.
"Guess who else is rumored to be on the shortlist for The Last Page?" she asks.
"Let me guess. Some new pretty boy from a Netflix original?"
She smirks. "Axel Reeve."
I almost choke on my drink.
"What?"
"Yeah. Golden boy of the industry. The Reeve family's miracle child. Mr. Perfect Jawline himself." Ember grins, clearly enjoying this. "He's auditioning for the male lead. Calen Rivers."
Of course he is.
Calen — Nora's love interest. The one who makes her believe again. The one who sees right through her walls.
And Axel Reeve? The one person who once saw through mine — just long enough to ruin my night.
It was three years ago, at the Silverlight Charity Gala. We were both younger, shinier versions of ourselves. I'd made some comment about how he only got his big break because of his father's name. He'd replied that I only got mine because people liked looking at me under good lighting.
I'd walked away. He'd smiled like he'd won.
The tabloids called it a tense exchange between rising stars.
I called it a reminder that some people could make my blood boil in one sentence.
"Relax," Ember says, raising her hands. "You might not even end up reading together."
"Good," I mutter. "Because if I have to look him in the eye again, I might throw something."
She laughs, tossing me the script. "Then make sure it's in character, Nora Quinn."
I turn the cover page over.
The Last Page — Pilot Script.
Character: Nora Quinn (Lead).
Audition date: Friday, 11:00 a.m.
For a moment, I just stare at the black text. My chest feels tight — part fear, part adrenaline, part something else I don't want to name.
Maybe Ember's right. Maybe this isn't about fame or a comeback.
Maybe it's about finding a story that feels real again.
I glance at the window. Outside, Lumera's skyline glows — gold, blue, restless.
Somewhere in that same city, Axel Reeve is probably running lines, smiling for a camera, pretending he's untouchable.
I shake my head and whisper to myself,
"Let's see who's acting now."