Set

Heather sat quietly in her chair, her script balanced on her lap. Another day on the set. She'd already rehearsed her scene, one that was done hours ago, and yet the director insisted she stay to "watch and wait." For what? She didn't know.

Her frustration was so obvious it shown on her face as she flipped aimlessly through her pages, her finger traced the lines she'd already memorized. It didn't make sense to her, being here, but she wasn't in the mood to debate it.

The door creaked open, and Caius walked in. Lauren was behind him. It seemed like she saw her, because she started being unnecessarily loud. She wrapped her arms around Caius's, but it seemed he removed it. His expression was neutral.

Lauren looked up at him and immediately turned to one of the crew by the side, handing her, her bag as if she was trying to cover up the embarrassment.

Heather didn't bother looking up. She didn't need to. She kept her gaze firmly on her script, her fingers tightening slightly against the pages. She wasn't going to acknowledge them or give them attention they weren't worth.

"Miss Remington," he said cheerfully, turning toward her. "That's Mr. Thorne, our biggest sponsor. Shall I introduce you?" But the director seemed oblivious...or maybe he was just cruel.

Heather's fingers curled tighter against the edges of the script.

"Not interested," she said without looking up.

"Alright," he said casually. He seemed to take it in stride, though.

"Lauren got the role of your sister,"

"Yeah, she's my stepsister." She hated calling that witch her sister, but she needed to pretend like everything was alright, to the director.

"So you know.*

"That she's my stepsister, yes."

"No. She's your sister in the movie."

Heather's head snapped up. Her eyes narrowing. "Sister?"

She grabbed the script from the director's hands, her eyes scanned the pages quickly. And then she saw it..."The sister". The sister is going to push her from the cliff, leaving her to die in the midst of the earthquake. The sister full of jealousy.

Miss H is producing this movie. She wrote the script and she doesn't remember adding a sister in the movie. This wasn't the original movie script. "The sister who pushed her from a cliff". It was all too familiar. Someone added this, clearly trying to poke at a very specific wound.

Heather's lips pressed into a thin line as she handed the script back. This was all Lauren, trying to remind her of what she "lost". Heather hadn't gotten over that day. Everytime she walked down the stairs she looks back, she watched her steps, she was still reminded of it. The trauma, the pain. It all felt fresh whenever she saw stairs

"Genius, right?" The director said smiling like he'd just delivered a gift.

Lauren and Caius approached the director. Heather was seated besides him. She still refused to meet their eyes. Her gaze forward, demeanor icy.

"Miss Heather," he said brightly, "this is Caius Thorne." Despite their agreement, he introduced anyway.

Heather turned her head reluctantly. Caius extended his hand. Heather's glare could have melted steel. He withdrew it.

Good.

"Heather," Lauren said in that sickeningly sweet tone she always used. "I'm playing your sister in the movie. Can you believe that?"

Heather stared at her for a long moment. She let the silence stretch just enough to be uncomfortable.

"There's not much difference between your character and you," her lips curled into a fake smile.

Lauren's sugary mask cracked. "It's called acting."

"Is that what you call it?" Heather tilted her head, "You've had plenty of years to practice being… conniving."

Lauren bit her lower lips.

Heather knew she was getting under her skin.

"Miss Lauren," the director cut in, "let me show you to your trailer." He took her away so quickly, like he sensed the tension.

Miss? Heather's brow arched. Not Mrs. Thorne? She brushed the thought off. While she enjoyed that, she was left with Caius. He shifted closer. And she shifted oppositely. But he barely noticed, since his eyes were faced ahead.

"You've changed."

Heather stared at him with a darkening frown. She wasn't sure if his words were meant to disarm her, but they had no effect. Her response was sitting on the tip of her tongue, sharp and cutting, ready to release...

An arm rested on her shoulder.