“You don't get to tell me what I deserve."
Emma's voice rang through the rehearsal room. Tape marked her place on the floor; the camera's red light glowed. Behind it, producers and writers sat in a row. At the end of the table, Charles watched with his arms folded, expression unreadable.
Opposite her, the stand‑in actor flinched on cue. In the scene he was the man who had betrayed the heroine. Today, Emma didn't have to reach far to find the hurt.
“You had your chance to choose me," she said, as the script demanded. “You turned away. That's on you, not me."
She let the silence stretch a breath longer than written, then lifted her chin. The heroine stopped pleading and stood on her own. Even from the mark she felt the room tighten.
“Cut," the casting director murmured. “Go straight to
