Chapter 33: Short road to fear
The next day passed just as quickly, filled with the kind of frustrating annoyance that gnawed at Isadora’s patience, though she did her best to hide it behind a bright, unfaltering smile. Every time her instructor threw a scathing remark like
"Is your face made out of wood?"
’Think of the money. Think of the fame,’ she kept chanting inwardly, holding the thought like a shield against the urge to snap back. This was her shot — the one thing she couldn’t afford to ruin with pride or nerves. Whatever fate had dropped into her lap, she wasn’t about to throw it away.
By the time the day was over, she went to bed exhausted yet oddly satisfied. When morning came, she woke up feeling lighter — almost excited. Hopeful, even. Something about the air that morning made her believe that whatever chaos or storms she faced, she would find a way through them.
A grand smile tugged at her lips as she sat across from Dante at breakfast. She ate quietly, her movements composed, though she couldn’t quite suppress the demure little grin that kept surfacing every now and then. Every time she caught him glancing her way, she pretended not to notice — then let a quick, almost teasing smile slip out anyway.
"You’re in a good mood?" he asked finally, phrasing it more like a question than a statement as he pushed his plate away and stood up.
Isadora bobbed her head up and down cheerfully as she continued eating. "It’s a good day, isn’t it?" she replied, deliberately echoing his tone, feeling smug at how neatly she turned the question back on him.
’You’re not the only one who can act mysterious,’ she thought triumphantly, returning to her food — only to pause when she heard slow, deliberate footsteps approaching instead of fading away.
Her brows knit together. That wasn’t right.
Turning slightly, she froze when she saw Dante had closed the space between them — one arm resting casually against the table, the other braced on the back of her chair. He leaned down, his shadow falling over her, his voice low enough that she could feel the vibration of it against her ear.
"Well..." his breath brushed her skin, "...I hope you’ll still feel this way by the time I come back."
For a second, she forgot how to breathe. His tone carried something unreadable — expectation mixed with that sly, knowing smile curving his lips. The intensity of his gaze pinned her in place, wiping out every clever comeback she might’ve had.
Then, as if nothing had happened, he straightened his suit jacket and walked away, his cologne lingering like an afterthought. Only when the dining room doors shut behind him did Isadora let out the breath she’d been holding.
’He’s not flirting with you,’ she reminded herself quickly, ’He’s not flirting with you!’
Still, the heat rising in her cheeks made that hard to believe. She pressed her lips together and forced herself to focus on her food, though the rest of her appetite had already vanished.
She was barely halfway through when Guila, the mansion’s caretaker, entered the dining room — accompanied by someone whose voice made her shoulders stiffen instantly.
Señor Feliz.
Her acting instructor. Or, as she sometimes thought of him, her tormentor.
"Let’s go," he said flatly, his tone clipped and commanding. "It’s better to be early than late."
He stood by the door like a general waiting for a soldier to fall in line. Normally, she might’ve argued just to get a rise out of him, but today she didn’t. She had promised to pick up Elisa on the way — which meant they’d be right on time anyway, not early.
"Okay. Let’s go," she replied, standing up and smoothing the short blue gown she wore.
Before she could step past, Guila stopped her long enough to hand her a small notebook. "Your notes," she said.
Isadora accepted it with a grateful nod, flipping it open for a quick look — her handwriting filled nearly every page, marked with underlines and messy arrows, reminders for how to react, when to pause, where to breathe.
Soon enough, she and Señor Feliz were in the car, heading out of the estate. He sat beside her, rigid and silent, his posture perfect as always.
They made a short stop to pick up Elisa, whose family estate wasn’t far. Elisa was already waiting by the gate, practically bouncing on her heels with excitement. She rushed into the car, eyes sparkling, chattering from the moment the door shut.
"I can’t believe I get to come with you! Do you think they’ll let me meet the actors? Maybe even see the director? Oh, what if they’re filming one of those romantic scenes—"
"Elisa," Isadora interrupted lightly, "please don’t jinx it. I already feel like my stomach’s about to fall out."
Elisa laughed and continued anyway. "Relax! Señor Feliz is with you! Half the people in the industry wish they had him."
That earned a brief grunt from the instructor, which only made Elisa grin harder.
’Her sister was so lucky!’ She thought, ’what about her?’
The car ride took around twenty minutes, but it felt both long and short — time blurring between Isadora’s nervous rehearsing and Elisa’s constant stream of chatter. Isadora kept her eyes on her notebook the entire way, quietly mouthing her lines until she could recite every one by heart.
When the car finally stopped, she was too lost in her notes to notice — until the door opened and a burst of city noise hit her.
They’d arrived.
Stepping out, she was greeted by the sight of the production compound — a sprawling complex surrounded by tall white walls and security guards at the gates. Vans with equipment were parked everywhere. Crew members rushed past, arms full of cables and props.
Her heart started to hammer.
Elisa grabbed her arm, eyes wide. "Oh my god... we’re actually here!"
The air was alive with activity — She could see actors in costume chatting near a catering tent,
Inside, it was even more overwhelming. The lighting rigs hung high overhead like giant metal spiders, flooding the soundstage in bright white light.
Thick cables ran along the floor. Huge cameras were mounted on tracks, while boom mics hovered just out of frame. The faint smell of paint and hot equipment filled the air.
"I can’t believe I’m on a movie set!" Elisa gasped, turning in circles as they walked.
Isadora forced a smile, trying to keep her breathing even. Her palms were slick with sweat. The deeper they went, the louder her heartbeat became, until it drowned out the noise around her.
’I can’t believe I’m going to be acting in one,’ Isadora though the realization hitting her full force. The cameras — those monstrous black machines — were what she would have to stand in front of, perform for, while dozens of people watched.
’Shit,’ she swore under her breath. Her confidence began to crumble, replaced by the familiar squeeze of panic in her chest.
They were led through a narrow hall filled with wardrobe racks and costume designers rushing by with pins in their mouths. Isadora barely avoided bumping into a man carrying a tray of coffee cups. Her stomach churned.
When they finally reached the main soundstage, Señor Feliz stopped, scanning the room. A woman in her late twenties with sleek dark hair and a crisp white blouse approached, walking with the effortless confidence of someone used to commanding attention.
"Señor Feliz," she greeted warmly, a smile lighting up her face. "I didn’t expect to see you here. Theater’s losing its best man to the screens now?"
He gave a thin smile, clearly unamused. "Temporary arrangement. Don’t get used to it."
Isadora blinked, realizing this had to be her — the film’s female lead. She was stunning, poised in a way that made everyone around her seem smaller. A small team followed close behind her — makeup artists, an assistant carrying her script binder, someone holding her coffee.
"Oh," the woman turned her gaze toward Isadora then, eyes bright with curiosity. "You must be the newcomer he’s been working with. I’ve heard about you."
Isadora opened her mouth to speak but froze, every word dying before it could form.
"She’s got potential," Señor Feliz said abruptly, saving her from answering. "If she doesn’t faint first."
Elisa snorted behind her, earning a warning glare from Isadora.
The lead actress laughed lightly. "Don’t mind him. He treats all his students like recruits in a war camp."
"That’s because acting is war," he replied dryly.
Isadora wanted to disappear, but instead she nodded stiffly, managing a nervous smile. The woman gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder before walking off, leaving behind a faint trace of expensive perfume.
The moment she was gone, Isadora let out a slow, shaky exhale. Around her, the noise of the set returned to full volume — stagehands shouting directions, cameras being repositioned, scripts being flipped open.
Elisa leaned close, whispering excitedly, "She’s even prettier in person! And did you see the cameras? And—oh god, there’s the director!"
But Isadora wasn’t listening anymore. Her eyes were fixed on the massive lights hanging above, the marks taped to the floor, the camera lens now being adjusted by a cinematographer.
Her pulse raced.
This was it — no more practice, no more imagination. The real thing.
