Chapter Four — The Call That Changes Everything
(Sienna's pov)
The thing about fame is it never really leaves. It just hides in your voicemail until you're foolish enough to pick up.
Three days after the audition, my life is back to its usual rhythm — or whatever "usual" means for someone who juggles microphones and camera lenses for a living.
Morning starts in my apartment studio — one room filled with tangled headphone cords, sticky notes, and the faint scent of vanilla candles I keep burning to pretend I'm calm.
Music is my peace. My rebellion. My soft place to fall when the acting world feels too sharp.
I'm halfway through recording a verse for a new song — a quiet, aching one about not recognizing yourself anymore — when my phone lights up with an incoming call.
Lila — Agent Extraordinaire.
I pause, wipe my palms on my sweatpants, and hit accept. "Hey, Lila. I'm kind of in the middle of—"
"Sienna. You got it."
The world tilts for a second. "Got what?"
"The Last Page. You're Nora Quinn."
I freeze. My heartbeat becomes a drumline in my ears. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious. They loved your read. The director said your delivery made the room go quiet. Oh, and—"
Her voice drops, careful, too casual.
"Axel Reeve's confirmed for Calen Rivers. You'll start table readings next week."
There it is. The twist in the fairytale.
My stomach tightens, half thrill, half dread. "Of course he did," I mutter. "The universe just loves irony."
"There's also a press interview tomorrow afternoon. The network wants to announce the cast together. Think matching smiles, polite answers, no public grudges, okay?"
"Copy that," I say dryly.
"And Sienna?"
"Yeah?"
"Congratulations. You're back."
When the call ends, I just sit there — in my pajamas, surrounded by empty coffee cups and half-written lyrics — realizing how unreal it all feels.
I'd spent months saying I didn't want this life anymore. Now it's knocking on my door like an old friend I never quite stopped missing.
The rest of the day is chaos in cinematic form.
Emails, outfit fittings, interview prep. Ember calls at least five times — screaming, crying, laughing. She got the part of Maya Finch, Nora's best friend.
"Can you believe it?" she says between squeals. "We're going to be on the same set, Sien! You and me — again!"
"I know," I laugh, leaning against the wall, dizzy with disbelief. "It's insane."
Then she hesitates. "And… Axel."
I groan. "Don't say his name like that."
"Like what?"
"Like he's an earthquake I have to brace for."
"Maybe you do," she teases. "You two have… history."
"History implies learning from it," I say. "We just had a very memorable argument."
That night, I lie awake scrolling through social media.
The news is out already — trending headlines, photos, fan edits.
#TheLastPageSeries
#SiennaEverglowIsNoraQuinn
#AxelReeveAndSiennaTogether?!
I close the app before I can fall into the comment spiral. Fame always sounds loud, even in silence.
My phone buzzes again — a text from an unknown number.
Unknown: Heard we're coworkers now. Try not to throw anything at me this time ;)
— A.R.
I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. Then, against my better judgment, I type back:
Me: I'll try. No promises.
He replies a minute later.
A.R.: Glad to know some things never change. See you at the workshop, Everglow.
The nickname again. I should be annoyed — and I am — but also… something inside me hums.
Trouble. Electricity. The start of something that feels too alive.
Next Morning.
I wake up early, makeup-free, wrapped in a robe, humming through a vocal warm-up as the sunlight floods my living room.
My schedule's packed: radio interview at eleven, studio check-in, a quick photoshoot for the official cast announcement.
It's surreal — the chaos, the cameras, the makeup brushes, the smiles I have to rehearse again.
Everywhere I turn, people are congratulating me. "Welcome back." "Missed seeing you on screen." "You're glowing again."
I smile, but part of me wonders if they can see the fear behind it. The tiny voice that whispers, What if I can't do this again?
By evening, I'm exhausted — but in that good, dizzy way that feels like stepping back into something familiar.
As I fall onto the couch, Ember texts a selfie from her own fitting room, grinning with a half-eaten donut in her hand.
Ember: First workshop starts Monday! You ready, superstar?
I stare at the message for a long second before replying:
Sienna: Not sure if I'm ready. But I think I'm wanting to be.
And that's something I haven't felt in a long time.
Outside, Lumera's skyline glimmers like a stage — lights flickering, waiting for the cue to rise again.
Maybe this is what it means to begin again. To face the past, the spotlight, and the person you swore you'd never work with.
Maybe this is where the real performance starts.