Dinner was held in a private courtyard lit with strings of golden fairy lights, woven between tree branches like constellations brought to earth. The table, set for six, was draped in linen and dotted with crystal glasses and delicate silverware. It was the kind of setup Harper had only seen in lifestyle magazines—never in person.
She sat near the middle, directly across from Eli. Which didn't help.
Conversation started light. The blonde finalist—Vanessa—talked about her modeling gigs, flashing her perfect teeth with every exaggerated laugh. Her voice had a dramatic lilt, like every sentence was a punchline waiting for applause. A guy named Darius, wearing a burgundy blazer and oozing charisma, smirked at everything she said but made sure to top it with a better story. "I was this close to booking a lead in a Netflix pilot," he said, snapping his fingers. "They said I had too much presence. Can you believe that?"
Harper felt a knot in her stomach. Darius's charisma was impossible to ignore, and it was clear that he considered himself the alpha of the group. The way he tossed his head back when he laughed, the way his eyes darted to the others as though expecting them to be impressed—it was all very... calculated.
Harper could tell Darius was a friend of Eli's—he had a relaxed, almost protective vibe whenever he looked Eli's way, as if he knew him longer than the others. It made her feel like an outsider, especially sitting across from Eli, whose gaze occasionally lingered on her but never stayed for too long.
Vanessa seemed to adore the attention. "You know, Darius, you should definitely have your own reality show. People would eat it up."
He leaned back in his chair, all confidence. "Maybe I should, but only if the cameras can keep up with my pace."Yumi, the soft-spoken songwriter from Portland, who was the third finalist offered quiet observations that went ignored by Vanessa and Darius. Harper noticed that Yumi seemed to retreat into herself more often, her eyes searching the table, as if wondering where she fit in this strange, loud world. Despite her shyness, Yumi's presence had a warmth, an unspoken depth. Harper wondered how someone so quiet could hold so much within.Harper mostly listened, nodding and sipping water, afraid her voice would crack if she tried to sound normal.
"Harper," Eli said mid-meal, "what's the weirdest thing you've ever written?"
She blinked. "Uh. Probably a love letter from a vampire who couldn't spell."
Eli grinned. "Please tell me you still have it."
"Nope. My laptop died and took all my embarrassing masterpieces with it."
He laughed, and the sound was too real, too nice. Vanessa rolled her eyes. "Wow, thrilling content. How edgy."
Harper raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Darius reached for the wine again. "What's next? Zombie haikus?"
As dessert arrived—some kind of citrus tart with lavender whipped cream—the conversation shifted toward the industry. Eli got quieter, like he was only half-listening. He leaned back, fork dangling from his fingers, watching Harper with an unreadable expression.
"You write like someone who's lived more than they're letting on," he said softly.
Harper shifted. "That's what fiction is, isn't it? Borrowed pain."
A pause. The table fell quieter.
He nodded once. "Yeah. It is."
Vanessa snorted. "God, are we in a poetry slam now?"
Eli ignored her.
After dinner, the group scattered. Some wandered toward the garden. Vanessa clung to Darius's arm like they'd known each other forever. Harper lingered near the hedged exit, unsure what to do.
Eli found her again.
"You're good at disappearing," he said, hands in his jacket pockets.
She shrugged. "Practice."
They stood there, the air scented with lemon blossoms and distant music. She thought maybe he'd say something about the elevator again. Instead, he just looked at her.
"You're not like the others. That's not a bad thing."
Harper didn't trust herself to answer.
"Orientation's tomorrow," he added, stepping back. "Be ready for anything."
The Night Before Orientation
Back in her room, Harper lay on the bed, the weight of the day settling in. She should be excited, but all she could feel was a mix of nerves and disbelief. This was real. She had to pretend it wasn't, but deep down, it was all sinking in—this was her chance, and she didn't want to screw it up.
She glanced at the schedule on her bedside table, the words "Orientation" and "Interviews" standing out in bold. Tomorrow, she would have to face the cameras, the questions, and—most terrifying of all—Eli, who seemed impossibly out of her league. She still couldn't shake the feeling that she was playing a part, like she didn't belong in this world of glamor and fake smiles.
Yumi's soft presence had been a comfort at dinner, though. She hadn't said much, but the way she observed everything, the way her smile was never forced—it made Harper feel like maybe she wasn't the only one who wasn't entirely at home here. There was something real about Yumi, even in this world of polished facades.
Harper sighed and closed her eyes, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses still ringing in her ears. She wanted to disappear again, like she always did in moments like this. But she couldn't. Tomorrow, she would have to stand in front of a camera, and that was the last thing she wanted.
The Competition Begins
Orientation was held in the glass sunroom with breakfast laid out on a long table—pastries, fruit, coffee. Staff members handed out name tags and folders.
Inside the folders: a schedule, rules, and a list of residency expectations.
Participate in all sessions.
Be honest.
Be bold.
That last one was underlined twice.
Before any interviews, the finalists were assigned dressing areas and stylists for prep. Harper's stylist was named Janette, a kind woman with a nose ring and a sharp eye for color. Harper's natural curls were fluffed and framed, her makeup made to look effortless but camera-ready. The dress she was given was a soft green wrap that brought out her eyes and made her feel, for the first time, like maybe she belonged in the pictures.
She turned in front of the mirror, half-expecting someone to laugh and call it a prank. Instead, Janette smiled. "You clean up beautifully."
Vanessa strutted out of her prep room in a skin-tight white jumpsuit and declared, "The cameras are lucky to have me."
Darius winked at her. "They'll need extra film."
Yumi quietly tugged at the sleeves of her pastel sweater.
Interviews & Photo Sessions
The first activity was a round of interviews—one-on-one sit-downs with the creative directors. Cameras rolled. Questions were deep.
"What does success mean to you?"
"What are you afraid they'll find out?"
Harper stumbled through hers, unsure if her answers made sense. Janette squeezed her hand afterward.
Then came the photo sessions. Not just headshots—action shots. Walking through the woods. Pretending to laugh. Candid smiles that were anything but.
Vanessa demanded her own wind machine. "If I'm going to be captured, I'm going to be glorious."
Harper hated the fake laughter part. The photographer kept saying, "Loosen up, think of something fun!"
She finally just looked past the camera, imagining Eli falling off a golf cart. That helped.
Chemistry Tests
Then came the chemistry tests. Pairing the finalists with Eli for a series of acting exercises. Rehearsed improv. Story prompts. Emotion drills.
"Act like you've been in love with him forever," the director called out.
Harper's pulse skyrocketed. Eli watched her, arms crossed.
When it was her turn, she stepped forward. He stepped toward her.
Their eyes locked.
"Go," the director said.
Harper didn't speak. She just looked at him.
Something flickered in his expression—surprise, maybe. Recognition.
She whispered, "Don't leave."
He flinched. Just a little. Then smiled.
"Wasn't planning to."
The room went still. Someone cleared their throat.
"Cut," the director said, sounding a little breathless.
Harper walked back to her chair on shaking legs.
This wasn't fake. Not entirely.
And that scared her more than anything else.