Chapter 3: Audition Wars and Doppelgängers

I almost couldn’t help but hug him. My arms twitched, wanting to close the distance.

But I couldn’t.

I promised Mrs. Whitmore I wouldn’t chase after him again.

I held back, just rested my head on his shoulder and whispered, "Let me rest for a bit." My voice was barely audible.

Mason’s body gradually stiffened, but he didn’t push me away. I felt his breath catch, but he let me stay.

I closed my eyes, sinking into the familiar scent—spicy, woody, and warm.

I recognized it—the cologne Mason was wearing was the one I gave him. A little detail, but it made my heart ache.

A Valentine’s Day gift.

When I got out, Mason’s shirt was wrinkled from being used as a pillow. He smoothed it out, looking sheepish.

He stood there, watching me turn and go upstairs. I felt his gaze linger on my back.

Only when I flicked on the lights at home did I hear the engine downstairs finally start up.

Carter’s message was still sitting quietly on my phone. I stared at the screen for a long moment.

He said, "Quinn, the character Lily Sloane in 'The Underdog’s Revenge' is just made for you.

Do you remember back at the foster home, when you fought so fiercely to get my stolen comic book back that even the director couldn’t stop you? You were like a tiny hurricane."

You have Lily’s tenacity and refusal to give up. No one fits her better than you. I could almost hear Carter’s laugh in my head.

I started typing, then just sent one word.

"Okay."

Carter’s instincts were always sharp. Never missed a beat.

The audition went very smoothly—even the assistant director and screenwriter who’d doubted me nodded in satisfaction. I tried not to grin.

The screenwriter was a lively young woman, her eyes shining as she grabbed my hand. She beamed, bouncing on her toes. "I didn’t expect Ms. Foster to bring Lily to life so well! I was prejudiced before, I hope you don’t mind."

I knew what they were worried about. The air in the room felt lighter now.

After all, as an actress, I hadn’t filmed in three years. That’s a lifetime in this business.

I patted her head and smiled. "Thanks for believing in me. I’m excited to work together."

Lily Sloane was the last confirmed role. The next day, we started shooting the promo photos. I barely slept the night before.

This was my first time meeting Emily Lane.

She was indeed beautiful, her eyes especially similar to mine—almost unsettling. But she was much more outgoing, flitting around the crew like a sparrow, sweetly calling everyone ‘big bro’ and ‘big sis.’

After washing my hands, I saw her smug face in the mirror. She was already posing, chin up.

Emily twirled the Tiffany bracelet on her wrist, showing off. "Ms. Foster, Mason bought this for me." Her tone dripped with pride.

I glanced at it and kept drying my hands, unfazed. Not giving her the reaction she wanted.

She got anxious instead, bumping into me, clearly trying to provoke me.

"They say white moonlight and red lipstick." She paused, watching my face. (Quick aside: In her world, white moonlight is the unattainable first love, red lipstick the passionate, unforgettable one. It’s a whole thing.) "Ms. Foster, why don’t you guess—in the end, will you be the plain old comfort food or the unforgettable spicy dish?"

I politely distanced myself from her. "Ms. Lane, I don’t think I’m obligated to answer your tired little quiz."

Emily angrily kicked the trash can and stepped forward to block my way. The sound echoed in the tiled room.

"Then please, Ms. Foster, keep your distance and stop sniffing around Mason."

He drove you home last night, right? He’s nice to everyone, so don’t get any ideas and ruin someone else’s relationship!"

Mason is nice to everyone? Yeah, right.

I still remember the first time he took me to a gala, when a senator’s son cornered me on the balcony while Mason was away, saying crude things.

That was the first time Mason lost his temper in public.

He beat that guy up, threatening him through a bloodied mouth: "Touch her again, and I’ll ruin you."

Facing Emily’s glare, I smiled. Couldn’t help it.

"Don’t worry. I can handle myself."

Before leaving, I casually pointed out, "Your bracelet’s base color is off—it’s probably a fake."

Mr. Whitmore really is something. Wants to impress a girl but can’t even spring for the real thing."

Even through the door, I could hear Emily’s angry breathing and the sound of things being slammed. Drama, as always.

The last step was the interview.

As soon as I saw the host, I had a bad feeling. My stomach twisted.

She’s known in the industry as a troublemaker, always asking outrageous questions for attention. The kind of host who lives for viral clips.

And she’s Emily’s best friend. Of course.

Sure enough, by the third question, she bared her fangs.