CHAPTER THREE
1593 Words
The next morning, she checked out of the hotel, determined to leave everything behind. Her bags were packed, her plans were set, and all that was left was to walk away.
Yet as she stood at the reception desk, waiting for the final process, something tugged at her—a quiet, persistent feeling she couldn’t ignore. She shifted slightly, tightening her grip on her bag before loosening it again, silently telling herself to just leave.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she turned back.
“Excuse me,” she said, her voice careful, almost hesitant. “I know this sounds strange, but… there’s this man—”
She described him briefly, choosing her words with more care than she expected.
The receptionist frowned slightly. “Ma’am… that description fits a lot of our guests.”
The response made her shoulders drop, a quiet disappointment settling in her chest. Of course it did. What had she been expecting?
“Right… of course,” she said, forcing a small nod.
“If you have his room number, I can help—”
“No, it’s fine,” Erica replied quickly, cutting in before the woman could finish. “Thank you.”
She turned away and walked toward the exit, each step steady but heavier than it should have been. She told herself it didn’t matter—that he was just a stranger, just a moment, just something she needed to forget.
And yet, as she stepped outside, she couldn’t shake the strange feeling lingering in her chest.
Why did it feel like she was leaving something behind?
Outside, she placed her luggage into the trunk of the cab, watching as the driver adjusted it before shutting it firmly. She dusted her hands lightly against her dress, a small, unnecessary gesture that gave her something to do—anything to delay the moment.
Then she paused.
Something tugged at her again.
She turned back toward the hotel, her gaze lifting almost instinctively, scanning the building as though she expected to see something—someone.
Nothing.
She lingered for a second longer than she should have, her eyes moving once… then again, as if the outcome might change if she just looked carefully enough.
It didn’t.
The entrance remained the same.
Still. Indifferent.
Empty.
A quiet sigh slipped past her lips, softer than the disappointment settling in her chest. She shook her head slightly, almost at herself, before pulling the car door open and sliding inside.
“Let’s go,” she said, her voice calm despite the faint heaviness she couldn’t quite explain.
The driver nodded, and moments later, the cab pulled away from the curb.
She didn’t look back again.
But the feeling lingered.
Upstairs, behind the privacy of drawn curtains, Martins stood in silence.
Unmoving.
Watching.
His gaze remained fixed on the car as it pulled out of the hotel premises, his expression unreadable as he tracked its movement with quiet precision. He didn’t shift, didn’t speak—just stood there, hands resting loosely at his sides, as though the world outside that window had narrowed down to a single point.
Her.
Even as the car moved farther away, growing smaller with each passing second, his eyes didn’t leave it. Not until it disappeared completely from view.
Only then did he exhale, slow and measured, as if releasing something he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“There’s something about her…” he murmured under his breath, the words low and thoughtful, almost reluctant.
For a brief moment, something flickered across his face—something softer, less guarded.
But it didn’t last.
His expression hardened almost immediately, his jaw tightening as though he had caught himself slipping into something he didn’t allow.
“Focus,” he muttered, more firmly this time.
He turned away from the window and walked back to his laptop, the faint glow of the screen reflecting against his features as he resumed his seat.
Whatever had just crossed his mind—
He pushed it aside.
Or at least, he tried to.
Erica woke to the sharp buzz of her phone, her hand reaching for it instinctively as she blinked away sleep. An audition message. She almost ignored it—until she read the details.
This wasn’t just another audition.
It was a competition. A major one. The kind that could change everything. A chance to be featured in a blockbuster film—the kind of opportunity actors spent years chasing without ever getting close to.
Her heart skipped, then began to race.
In an instant, she was out of bed.
Everything moved quickly after that—her shower, getting dressed, grabbing her essentials—her mind already at the venue before her body caught up.
When she arrived, her instincts proved right.
Even though she was early, the place was already crowded. People filled the waiting area—some pacing, some rehearsing quietly under their breath, others putting on a show of confidence that didn’t quite hide the nerves underneath.
Erica took it all in, her gaze sweeping across the room as she settled in.
This was big.
She could feel it.
Hours later, the competition began.
One by one, names were called, performances delivered, tension rising with each passing moment.
And then—
“Erica Jones.”
Her name.
She stood, steadying herself before walking toward the stage. But the moment she stepped into the light, something shifted.
She felt it before she saw it.
Then her eyes lifted—
And there he was.
Seated among the judges.
Martins.
A wave of unease washed over her instantly, tightening her chest.
What the hell is he doing here?
The question echoed loudly in her mind, throwing her off balance in a way she hadn’t expected. For a moment, she just stood there, her thoughts tangling, her focus slipping.
The silence stretched.
One of the judges leaned forward slightly, clearly unimpressed.
“Miss…” he began, pausing as his eyes searched for her tag. “Yes—Erica. Did you come here to stare at us, or are you going to give us your best shot?”
The remark snapped her back to reality.
She cleared her throat quickly, straightening. “Sorry.”
Then she began.
And everything else disappeared.
She slipped into the character as if it had been waiting for her all along, her voice steady, her emotions raw and controlled at the same time. Every line carried weight, every expression deliberate. It wasn’t just acting—it was immersion.
By the time she finished, the room had gone quiet.
The judges exchanged glances.
They had seen something.
Something rare.
When it was time for scoring, one of the judges leaned forward with a faint smile. “I really like her,” he said, lifting his placard. “Fifty.”
The highest score.
One by one, the others followed, their scores climbing steadily.
Then it was Martins’ turn.
The room stilled slightly, the other judges glancing at him with curiosity. He didn’t move immediately. Instead, he just looked at her—calm, unreadable, his gaze steady in a way that made her chest tighten.
Erica’s fingers curled slightly at her sides.
What if he scores me low?
The thought crept in, followed by a hundred others just like it. What if this was personal? What if—
Her breath caught as he finally lifted his placard.
Fifty.
She hadn’t even realized her eyes had closed until the applause broke out around her. Startled, she looked up—and there it was.
A perfect score.
Relief and excitement rushed through her all at once, a small, disbelieving smile breaking through.
Hours later, it was time to announce the winner.
The room filled again, anticipation thick in the air as contestants stood side by side, waiting.
“And the winner is…”
A pause.
“Erica Jones.”
For a second, she didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Then it hit her.
She had won.
A wide smile broke across her face as the reality sank in, her chest swelling with a joy so overwhelming it almost brought tears to her eyes. Years of effort, of rejection, of pushing forward when nothing seemed to work—finally, it had led somewhere.
She had done it.
Finally.
By the time everything wrapped up, her head was still spinning. She had been briefed, congratulated, and officially placed under management. A personal assistant, a lawyer, a full team—everything she had once imagined now unfolding in real time.
It felt unreal.
Like a dream she hadn’t woken up from yet.
As she made her way out, her eyes searched the area unconsciously.
For him.
Just to say thank you.
Just to… see him again.
But he wasn’t there.
She lingered for a moment, then exhaled softly and left.
Back home, the excitement hadn’t faded. If anything, it settled deeper, filling every corner of her chest. She moved around her space with a lightness she hadn’t felt in a long time, her mind replaying everything that had happened.
Occasionally, it drifted back to him.
To the way he had looked at her.
But she pushed the thought aside.
Tonight wasn’t about him.
It was about her.
Her win.
Her moment.
Her future.
Her phone buzzed again, pulling her back. A message from management—she would be picked up from her apartment the next day and should be ready.
A fresh wave of excitement rushed through her.
She smiled to herself, shaking her head slightly.
“Well… I better start packing.”
This time, her voice carried something new.
Hope.
- Writer
