The noise hadn’t gone anywhere, it just changed shape. Now it echoed in the rustle of fabric, the murmur of press lines, the rhythmic snapping of camera shutters. It shimmered off the polished marble entrance of the Avalon Theater, rolled down the velvet carpet in bright waves, and coiled around every corner of the night like smoke.
Celeste stepped out of the black car, her heels sinking briefly into the plush scarlet. The crowd’s low hum swelled. For a second, she paused, letting it all come into focus, the lights, the voices, the gold-lettered banners announcing The International Artists Guild Awards.
She’d been here before, but never like this. This time, she wasn’t nominated for the hottest breakout, or the most bankable star. She wasn’t here to sell a brand, a studio, or a version o
