Chapter 9

• By the time I arrived, I was drenched in sweat and barely holding myself together.
• Traffic had been hell an endless crawl of blaring horns and unforgiving red lights. The clock on my phone had been a constant reminder, each minute ticking louder in my head than the one before. And now… I was late.
• Too late.
• As I rushed toward the audition building, heart hammering against my ribs, I saw them.
• Candice and her.
• Vanessa stood beneath the gold-stamped arch of the casting studio, her smile bright and flawless as always. Her manager hovered by her side, while a small crowd of staff and suck-ups surrounded her, lavishing praise like bees to nectar.
• She was radiant. Untouchable. Exactly how she wanted the world to see her.
• And then her eyes met mine.
• That same look she gave me five years ago right before she stole everything from me. Pity, disdain… superiority. She looked at me as if I was still that lost, broken girl with dirt under her nails and no voice left to scream.
• As if I was nothing.
• And just like that, she turned and vanished behind the tinted windows of her sleek black van, the sound of laughter trailing behind her.
• But I didn’t stop.
• I pushed forward, weaving through the crowd, boots slapping hard against the marble as I rushed into the building. Please don’t let it be too late.
• I nearly crashed into a group of men and women heading for the exit voices low, laughter easy. Something about their air, their sharp eyes and tailored clothes, told me exactly who they were.
• The judges.
• Shit.
• I halted in front of them, my chest heaving as I bent slightly at the waist. “I’m so sorry,” I said quickly. “I’m late. I know. But please just give me a moment.”
• There was a pause. A few exchanged glances. The assistant director didn’t bother to hide the irritation on his face.
• “The audition’s over,” he said coldly. “You should’ve been here on time. Showing up late and begging for favors young people today really think the world revolves around them.”
• His words stung more than I cared to admit.
• But I didn’t back down.
• “I’m not here for the lead role,” I said, lifting my chin. “I’m here to audition for Daya Will.”
• That got their attention.
• The screenwriter raised a brow. “You’re not trying for the female lead?”
• “No.” I looked each of them in the eye. “I heard the casting for Daya Will is still open. No one’s been confirmed yet.”
• Before anyone could respond, I stepped forward slightly and squared my shoulders. Be seen, not forgotten.
• And when I lifted my head fully, the silence hit like a wave.
• Their conversation halted.
• Even the assistant director, who had been seconds away from dismissing me again, just stood there staring.
• I didn’t need a mirror to know what they saw.
• My long black hair clung to my shoulders, still damp from the heat. The crimson dress I wore clashed sharply with the white lights of the hallway, but instead of overwhelming me, it made me bolder. Alive.
• I didn’t move. Didn’t smile. I just let them look.
• Something shifted in the air.
• A faint current of tension. As if I had crossed a boundary without even touching it.
• The screenwriter’s gaze lingered longer than the others’. His eyes sharpened, thoughtful. “You’re very bold,” he murmured.
• I shrugged, the edge of a smirk tugging at my lips. “It’s a bold character.”
• He studied me for another long second. Then he said, almost absently, “What’s your name?”
• “Ava.”
• His eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re her sister, aren’t you?”
• The word sister coiled like smoke in my chest. I swallowed it down.
• “Half-sister,” I said. My voice was calm. “But very different blood.”
• A slow smile touched the corner of his mouth. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Ava.”
• And just like that, the world tilted slightly in my favor.
• “What’s your name?”
• The director’s voice pulled the others out of their trance. Like they’d all just woken from the same dream and couldn’t quite believe it had been real.
• I held his gaze, my voice steady despite the adrenaline still pounding in my ears. “Ava.”
• Director Qasa nodded slowly, exchanging quiet glances with the assistant director, the screenwriter, and the producer. Their decision was written in the silence before it was even spoken.
• “I remember you now,” he said, a small smile forming. “You’re signed with Starlight Entertainment, right?”
• I gave a quick nod.
• “You can go home and start preparing,” he said. “The role of Daya Will is yours.”
• For a heartbeat, the words didn’t land. Then they sank into me like sunlight through winter skin.
• It was mine.
• I bowed deeply, the weight of three months of obsession, sacrifice, and silence pressing against my chest. “Thank you, Director. I won’t let you down.”
• I didn’t say much more. I didn’t need to.
• My target had never been the lead. Not this time.
• Daya Will had always been my aim her story, her pain, her impossible dignity. I had spent months becoming her in my own quiet world, letting her heartbreak become mine, her scars merge with mine.
• And I knew. In the way that only someone who’d bled for a role could know I had given them what no one else could.
• I left without another word, the doors closing softly behind me.
• Later, I found out what they said after I walked out.
• Director Qasa chuckled, shaking his head. “We looked everywhere. And just when we stopped trying, she shows up.”
• “She’s too underrated,” the producer murmured. “Starlight has no clue what they’re sitting on. I didn’t even shortlist her because of her background.”
• Qasa exhaled deeply. “But in person... she’s luminous. No photo does her justice.”
• The screenwriter, Neul, was practically glowing. “It wasn’t just her face. That gaze that presence. It was Daya Will before she fell. Righteous, devastatingly beautiful, and still untouched by vulgarity. Every other girl walked in and played a whore. I wanted to flip the damn table.”
• Qasa laughed. “Well, now you can relax. We’ve found her.”
• ..
• Meanwhile, across the city, in the private wing of the hospital
• Chaos had cracked the calm.
• Little Treasure was curled on the windowsill like a wounded animal, his tiny bare feet pressed to the cold glass, his voice ragged and loud with frustration. No amount of coaxing from the nurses worked. He didn’t want water. He didn’t want sweets.
• He wanted her.
• “Sweetheart, come down, okay?” Logan tried to reason with him gently, his arms open like he was taming a wild cub. “She’ll come back, I promise. Just breathe. Let’s get off the ledge first yeah?”
• But the little one didn’t even look at him.
• He just shook his head, lips pressed in a firm line, tears threatening but never falling. Silent, stubborn. Like his father.
• Logan sighed, already pulling out his phone. “I have no idea how to deal with this…”
• He dialed, pressing the phone to his ear. The line rang once before a voice answered low, calm, and deadly precise.
• “Damien,” Logan said, glancing helplessly at the child, “you need to come back. Now.”