Two weeks later,
The mall smelled like polished floors and freshly brewed coffee, a warm hum of chatter blending with soft pop music. I wandered between racks, fingers grazing fabrics that would soon be mine. My wardrobe had been sparse since I moved to Velinor; saving every coin meant I hadn't replaced anything in months. Now, finally, I could.
Aida nudged me. "Venny, you're staring like you've never seen clothes before. Pick something, girl. We don't have all day."
I laughed. "I know, I just… I like seeing how they move, how they feel. Clothes have energy, too, you know? They carry presence."
She rolled her eyes. "Only you would think a pair of jeans can teach confidence."
I smirked. "It's not the jeans. It's me. But yes, these jeans—these jeans could help."
We paused at the center of the mall, and I looked up. Massive billboards lit the atrium. My stomach hitched. Andre and Rita Wills. Their faces smiled down at us, effortless and flawless. Andre's posture, that subtle tilt of his chin, the way his hands rested casually in his pockets—it wasn't the celebrity I noticed. It was the certainty, the self-assurance that made a room belong to someone.
Aida squealed. "Oh my god, Venny! Look at them! Chemistry for days!"
I shook my head, trying to push down the flutter in my chest. "I'm not impressed by celebrity relationships. Look at the way people flip overnight—one moment they hate him for a stage mishap, next they're swooning."
"People really have no mind of their own," I muttered, almost to myself.
Aida laughed. "You've got a point. But you're staring like you just saw a sign from the universe."
"Maybe I did," I said, brushing past the racks. "Maybe I just like seeing confidence in its raw form. Not someone performing it for likes or clicks."
By the time we returned to Eida's apartment, the day had slipped into evening. I unpacked my new clothes, feeling strangely accomplished. Small victories, I reminded myself. Every inch of fabric felt like an investment in the version of me I was building.
Then my phone buzzed. A message from the casting director at the workshop. My thumb hovered over the screen, heart racing.
Hi Venny, it was a pleasure seeing you at the workshop. You have a unique energy and charisma we're looking for. We'd love for you to audition for the prequel of Paper Heat. Can you make it tomorrow?
I blinked. Paper Heat. Not just any show. The show.
A worldwide successful series of a girl who accidentally entered a contract marriage with her lover's twin brother.
My chest tightened with disbelief, excitement, and a flicker of fear.
"Are you reading that aloud?" Aida asked, peering over my shoulder.
"Not aloud," I muttered, fingers shaking slightly. "Just… digesting."
Fear swirled as I set the phone down, my fingers trembling. My thoughts tumbled over each other.
Are you crazy? These other actors—they've trained since they were kids. They have agents. They know the industry. You've barely even stepped onto a set.
And yet, beneath it all, a stubbornness I'd cultivated over years of leaving home, working odd jobs, and clawing my way into Velinor, flickered to life. This was the next step. No hesitation.
The next morning, Eida fussed with my hair while I sipped my coffee.
"You're pale," she said, frowning. "Nervous?"
"I'm not nervous," I lied. "Excited."
She smirked. "Sure, sure. Just don't faint when you see a camera… or Andre."
Andre. Even now, he lingered in my thoughts. Like the presence I feel when I am in the room alone with my anxiety.
At the audition site, the tension was tangible, mixed with coffee, polished floors, and the faint hum of camera equipment. Students shuffled scripts and whispered lines, some calm, some trembling. Everyone looked one step ahead, but none of that mattered.
The casting director called my name.
"Venny Hearts?"
I stepped into the room, lights brushing my face, script trembling in my hands. And there he was. Andre. Not posing, not performing—just confident. Solid. A quiet gravity that drew the eye without effort.
I forced myself to look at the script, memorize rhythm and emotion, and speak honestly. Not perfectly or flawlessly, just the truth.
When I finished, the casting director's eyes widened. "Exactly the energy we were looking for."
And then: a curveball.
"We're holding callbacks this afternoon. Andre is part of the fancast for the male lead. If you're willing, we'd like you to stay."
My chest tightened. Andre. Male lead.
Stakes suddenly became a tangible, living thing in the room.
I nodded, already committed before I realized it. "Yes. I'll stay."
As I sat down, script in hand, I reminded myself: this wasn't about him. It was about me. Every step here, every audition, every small choice, had led to this moment. And whatever happened next, I was ready to face it.