I Wrote His Oscars, Then Sold My Name Elsewhere

The harsh ringing of my phone cut through the heavy silence of the audition room.

I stared at the bright screen. The caller ID flashed Greg Thorne's name again. Julian's agent never called me unless Julian was throwing a tantrum that required my immediate cleanup.

I pressed the side button, silencing the call, and shoved the device into my pocket.

"To answer your question," I said, looking back up at Theo. "The character is based on a ghost."

Theo didn't blink. "Ghosts don't usually leave bite marks."

"This one did." I tapped my pen against the folding table. "Do you have representation, Theo?"

"No."

"You do now," Margot interrupted. She pulled a blank contract from her leather binder and slapped it onto the table. "We are offering you the lead."

Theo shifted his weight, his dark eyes darting between Margot and me. "Just like that? You don't want me to read the second scene?"

"I saw what I needed to see," I said. "You start Monday. Don't cut your hair."

"Wait," Theo said, crossing his arms over his faded denim jacket. "I don't even know what this project is. The sides had a fake title."

"It is an independent feature," Margot told him, tapping her crimson nails against the contract. "Fully funded. The director is Marcus Vance."

I shot Margot a sharp look. She used my legal surname for the director's alias to keep the paper trail clean.

"Marcus Vance," Theo repeated. "Never heard of him."

"You will," I said, standing up from my chair. "Read the contract. Sign it by tonight. If you want a career that outlasts your youth, you will be at the warehouse set at six in the morning."

Two weeks later, the damp concrete of the warehouse set smelled of stale rain and electrical tape.

Crew members shouted instructions over the hum of massive lighting rigs. I stood behind the director's monitors, gripping a lukewarm cup of black coffee.

My phone vibrated in my coat pocket.

I pulled it out. A new audio message from Julian sat in my inbox. I tapped the play icon, bringing the speaker to my ear.

"Addie," Julian's voice purred through the tiny speaker, rich and thickly coated in fake warmth. "Greg said you ignored his calls. Caleb tells me you are locked in the study drafting the new thriller. Just wanted to say... thank you. No one gets me like you do."

He paused, letting out a practiced sigh. "I can't wait to see what you have built for me."

I lowered the phone. My thumb hovered over the screen. I swiped left and hit delete. The file vanished into the trash bin.

"Was that the husband?" Margot asked, stepping up beside me with a clipboard in her hand.

"Just a wrong number," I replied.

"Marcus," I called out, stepping away from the monitors.

The director lowered his script and turned around. "Yeah, Adeline? What is the issue?"

"The blocking is wrong," I said, walking straight onto the taped marks on the floor.

Theo stood by a rusted metal barrel, wearing a dark leather jacket we sourced from a vintage shop. He watched me approach, his jaw tight.

"What do you want me to do?" Theo asked.

"Turn your shoulders away from the camera," I instructed. "Keep your back to the lens until the very last second of the line."

Marcus walked up behind me, shaking his head. "Adeline, if he turns away, we lose his expression during the buildup. It breaks the standard rule of framing."

"I do not care about standard rules," I said, keeping my focus on Theo. "I want the audience to feel the exact moment his restraint snaps. It needs to be sudden."

I stepped closer to Theo and grabbed his shoulders, physically positioning him. "Look down at the barrel. When you say the word 'never,' you snap your head over your right shoulder. Just the right side. Keep your chin tucked."

Theo pushed back slightly against my grip. "Why are you making me pose like a puppet?"

"Because the puppet master knows where the strings look best," I replied, my voice dropping.

"I am an actor, not a mannequin."

"Then act like you understand visual storytelling," I fired back. "Drop your right shoulder. Put more tension in your neck. You are holding back a scream, not a yawn."

Theo glared at me, his dark eyes flashing with genuine irritation.

"Perfect," I said. "Hold that anger. Now look over your shoulder."

Theo followed the physical cue. He turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto mine.

The angle was identical. It was the exact final frame of Midnight Run. The shot that put Julian Castell on the map and won him his first major nomination.

"Hold that," I told Theo.

Marcus retreated to the monitors. "Let's see how it looks on screen."

A tense beat passed in the quiet warehouse.

"Damn," Marcus muttered over the headset. "That is striking. It feels incredibly familiar, but I cannot place it."

"It works," I said simply. "Roll the camera."

I stepped off the main set, moving toward the shadows near the craft services table to grab a bottle of water. The crew called for quiet, and the scene began.

A flash of movement outside caught my eye.

Beyond the chain-link fence bordering the warehouse lot, a woman hovered near a parked silver sedan. She wore an oversized trench coat, her face half-hidden behind large sunglasses.

She held a digital camera with a long telephoto lens, resting the heavy barrel against the metal fence.

I stopped walking.

The lens pointed directly at the brightly lit warehouse floor. Directly at Theo, who was still holding the specific, iconic pose I just gave him.

I knew that trench coat. I knew the aggressive blonde bob poking out from under the collar. It was Bree, Nina Reyes's personal assistant.

Julian must have sent Nina's camp to sniff around, trying to figure out what rival production was filming downtown. They were looking for the competition, completely unaware they were looking at my revenge.

The camera shutter clicked rapidly, the sound carrying faintly over the noise of the crew.

Bree lowered the camera, checked the glowing digital screen, and quickly scrambled into the driver's seat of the sedan. The engine roared to life, and the car sped away down the alley.

I stayed in the shadows, my hand resting on the icy plastic of a water bottle.

I watched the silver sedan disappear around the concrete corner and allowed a slow smile to stretch across my face.