My Ex-Boyfriend is my New Step-Brother

Audition

The leather seat of the SUV felt like a block of ice against my legs. Outside, the palm trees of Los Angeles blurred into a hazy green smear against the tinted glass, but my eyes were fixed on the highlighted lines of the script in my lap.

The Gilded Cage. The title was starting to feel less like a dramatic choice and more like a premonition. I tried to focus on the dialogue, but my mind kept spiraling back to the school hallway—to the way Roman had just adjusted his bag and walked away while Sienna tore into me. The immediate, heart-stopping terror of the stalker and the car chase from yesterday had settled into a dull, heavy ache in my chest, but the cold reality of the Reed mansion was louder. I was being watched by cameras at home, guarded by men in suits at school, and now I had to go be "perfect" for a room full of strangers.

"We’re ten minutes out, Ms. Wood," Harris said, his voice as flat as the asphalt.

"I know," I muttered, flipping a page. "I can see the GPS from the back seat, Harris."

"Mr. Reed wants you to focus on the third page," Harris added, completely ignoring my tone. "He mentioned the vulnerability in that scene is exactly what the producers are looking for in an 'Angel.'"

I dropped the script into my lap and stared at the back of his head. "Wait. How does Marcus know what’s on the third page? This is a closed casting call. The script hasn't even been released to the public yet."

"Mr. Reed is a very thorough man, Ms. Wood," Harris replied smoothly, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror for a split second. "He likes to stay informed about the projects his family is involved in."

"I’m not his 'project,'" I snapped, my blood starting to boil. "I’ve had this career since I was fifteen, long before he ever met my mother. I got this audition because my agent worked for it, not because Marcus Reed read a PDF."

"Of course," Harris said, though his voice didn't change a single note. "In this car, however, we follow his schedule. We’ll be arriving at the North Gate to avoid any onlookers."

I turned back to the window, my chest tightening. I tried to think about the lines, but I couldn't shake the feeling that my life was being rewritten behind my back. By the time we pulled up to the studio, Chloe was already on the sidewalk, pacing like a caged cat with her phone pressed to her ear. The second the car stopped, she was at the door, pulling it open before Harris could even get out.

"Out. Now," she hissed.

I stepped onto the hot asphalt, and she grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the heavy soundproof doors of the soundstage.

"You look like you haven't slept in a week," she said, her eyes scanning my face. "What happened? Did you have another nightmare? Or was it Roman?"

"It’s the house, Chloe. It’s everything. Why is Harris talking to me like Marcus is my manager? He knew what was in the script."

"Well, 'everything' has to wait. We are walking into a room with the director, and he is on a hair-trigger today. If you mess this up, we're both back to doing local commercials. Do you understand?"

"I understand. I’ve done this a hundred times, Chloe. I don’t need a pep talk."

"You do today," she whispered, leaning in as we reached the inner doors. "Because today, you aren't just Scarlett Wood. You're the girl who just moved into the Reed mansion. Every eye in that room is going to be looking for a reason to say you only got the part because of your new step-father's bank account."

"My name is still Wood," I hissed back.

"Just... be the Angel. Be perfect."

We pushed through into the studio. The heat of the L.A. sun was replaced by the stale, air-conditioned chill and the smell of dust and high-voltage electronics. Lights hung from the rafters like giant, glowing eyes. In the center, the director sat behind a bank of monitors, his face hidden in the shadows.

"You're late," he said, his voice a gravelly rumble.

"We had a minor security delay," Chloe said, her voice turning into a sugary, professional trill. "But Scarlett is here, and she’s off-book. Ready whenever you are."

The director finally looked up. He didn't look impressed. "She looks small. The 'Angel' needs to command the screen, Wood. Not look like she's hiding."

"I'm not hiding," I said, stepping onto the tape mark. The lights hit me instantly, blindingly bright, erasing the rest of the room. I couldn't see Chloe; I could only see the dark, glassy lens of the camera.

"Alright," the director barked. "Scene twelve. The confrontation. You’ve just realized the man you love is the one who’s been keeping you in this room. You’re scared, but you’re starting to get angry. You’re starting to realize he’s not your savior—he’s your warden. Action!"

I took a breath. For a heartbeat, I wasn't Scarlett Wood. I wasn't the girl being stalked or the girl Roman Reed ignored in the hallway. I leaned into the feeling of being trapped—the same feeling I’d had in the kitchen last night with that red light blinking at me.

"Open the door," I whispered. My voice cracked perfectly.

"More volume!" the director shouted. "He can't hear you through the wood!"

"Open the door!" I yelled, slamming my hand against the prop door so hard it rattled. "You said I was safe here! You said no one could get to me! But you’re the one who won't let me out!"

"Why do you want to leave?" an assistant read the male lines from the darkness.

I stopped. I looked at the camera, but I wasn't seeing a lens. I was seeing the camera on the kitchen ceiling. I was seeing Sienna’s smirk. I was seeing the back of Roman’s head as he walked away from me.

"Because I can't breathe!" I screamed. The sound echoed in the rafters. "I can't move without someone watching! I can't think without someone telling me what’s 'best' for me! You aren't protecting me... you're burying me!"

I fell back against the door, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I was crying now, real tears that felt hot and thick on my face. It wasn't the script anymore. It was the last forty-eight hours of my life pouring out.

The silence that followed was heavy. I stayed on the floor, my head between my knees, trying to pull myself back together. I’d let the real Scarlett out, and she was a mess.

"Cut," the director said quietly.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand and stood up, looking at the floor. I waited for the rejection, for him to tell me I was too dramatic or just not right.

He walked out from behind the monitors, rubbing his chin. "That wasn't the 'Angel' I saw in your headshots."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I got... caught up."

"Don't be sorry," he said, looking at Chloe, then back at me. "The 'Angel' usually just cries and waits to be rescued. But you... you look like you’re ready to burn the house down to get out. I like that. It’s human."

Chloe stepped forward, her face glowing. "So...?"

"She’s got the part," he said. "But I want that edge, Scarlett. Don't let the Reed money kill the fire I just saw. We start shooting in two weeks. Don't get into any more trouble before then."

Chloe hugged me so hard I thought my ribs would snap. "You did it! You actually did it!"

I smiled, but it felt like a mask. I walked toward the exit, my legs feeling like lead. As I pushed through the doors, I saw Harris standing by the SUV. He was already on his phone.

"She got the role, sir," he said into the receiver. "Yes. She’s coming out now. I’ll have her back at the mansion in forty minutes."

He hung up and looked at me. He didn't congratulate me. He just opened the car door.

"Mr. Reed will be pleased," Harris said.

"I didn't do it for him," I said, climbing into the back seat.

As we pulled away from the studio, I looked at the script again. I’d won the part, but as I watched the gates of the studio close behind us, I knew I was just moving from one cage to another. I had my career, but Marcus had the keys. And I still didn't know which one was going to break first.