"What did you just do?" Alyssa's hand yanked my arm with enough force to bruise. "You can't drag me away," I said. My voice was flat. Lights from phones pounded against the trailer wall like a drum. "Get out of the hallway," a harried assistant snapped through the curtain. "Paparazzi—" "Move!" Alyssa shoved me behind the makeup counter. Her nails dug into my wrist. "Do you have any idea what you just did, Keira?" Lucia was collapsed on the vanity chair, one hand pressed to her cheek. Her eyes were red and panicked. "Keira, please—" "Please what? Stop pretending?" I hadn't meant to slap her. My hand had moved on autopilot because in the scene she had just said something that cut deeper than any script. People screamed. Flashbulbs detonated. "Keira!" Alyssa's tone went sharp enough to clean a room. "What is wrong with you? Do you want a career-ender on live footage?" "She lied about the wardrobe call," I said. My jaw felt numb. "She told me to change in front of the crew." "You don't hit co-stars, you don't create viral scandals, and you certainly don't assault the studio golden girl!" Alyssa hissed. "Security, now!" A man in a Summit polo materialized at the doorway, frowning and checking his phone. The live feed had already started trending. I could hear the muffled hashtag numbers rolling in outside the trailer. Lucia pushed herself up. Her voice trembled but she held