"Come on, Emilia — you go greet Mr. Huang now," Emmeline ordered, tugging at the sleeve.
"I will," Emilia said, but she didn't move yet.
"Now," Emmeline snapped. "You smile. You nod. You don't get dragged into gossip."
Gracelyn hovered with a clutch of champagne flutes. "You look like a movie star," she said. "You actually look like a movie star."
"Thanks," Emilia muttered. She smoothed the dress she had borrowed last minute and let her jaw unclench.
Isabel Mendes stepped through the doorway like she owned the room. "So dramatic," Isabel said, slow smile fixed. "Is this the 'overnight sensation' I keep hearing about?"
Emmeline stepped forward. "Back off."
"Oh, please." Isabel leaned on the vanity and tapped her nails. "Don't pretend it wasn't favors. People like me wait our turn. People like you skip the line."
"Favors?" Emilia's voice sharpened. "You mean being good at my job? Or being chosen by a director who actually sees something instead of auditioning for other people's leftovers?"
Isabel laughed. "Cute. Director's had a history. Everyone whispers. You get parts because someone—"
Emilia cut in, quiet and precise. "People do a lot for men like that, don't they? Smiles, late-night calls, private dinners. Some people call it networking. Some people call it a price."
Isabel's smile stalled. The dressing room went still enough to hear a makeup brush drop.
"Come on, Em," Gracelyn said, voice small. "Don't—"
Emmeline moved to put a
