Off Script

Rae walked away from the wardrobe trailer with her jaw tight and her thoughts louder than ever. The dress fitting was done, the stylists had picked her look, and Vivienne had given her that look—part warning, part threat—before shoving her out into the sun-drenched chaos of the lot.

She hated how she looked great. Hated how everything was lining up, and yet she felt completely off.

Her phone buzzed again. Another notification from the PR group chat.

VIVIENNE:

"Photos at the cast mixer tonight. You and Xander: friendly but subtle. We're not selling a romance yet—just chemistry."

CHEMISTRY.

Like she was a science experiment.

Rae silenced the phone and shoved it into her bag.

---

The mixer was worse than she expected. Bright lights. Glittering drinks. Smiling people who smiled too hard.

"Rae! Darling!"

Vivienne, of course. Lips painted red like a warning sign.

"You look radiant," she said, adjusting Rae's necklace without asking. "Stay near Xander tonight. There's a reporter from Teen Tempo—I need a few candid moments."

"I don't even know if he likes me," Rae muttered.

Vivienne smiled like a shark. "He doesn't need to. They just need to think he might."

And just like that, Rae was pushed forward.

---

Xander stood by the drinks table, dressed like he'd just walked off a vintage runway but hadn't tried at all. White T-shirt. Loosely rolled sleeves. His hair slightly messy in a way that was somehow intentional.

He caught her eye.

"Hey, Rae."

Cool. Easy. Like she hadn't almost tripped over her own feet walking toward him.

"Hey," she said. "You surviving the circus?"

"Barely. But the drinks have umbrellas in them, so I guess that's something."

She smiled despite herself. He offered her one. They clinked glasses in some half-hearted toast. Somewhere nearby, a camera clicked.

---

They were pulled into interviews before Rae could really breathe. Quick questions, canned answers.

Interviewer #1: "So, how's working with Xander Hale?"

Rae: "Surprisingly fun. He's not as scary as he looks."

Xander: "She's lying. I'm terrifying."

They laughed. The interviewer swooned.

Interviewer #2: "What's your favorite thing about Rae?"

Xander looked at her—looked—and then said, "She's smart. Keeps everyone on their toes."

Just that. No wink. No smirk. Just matter-of-fact.

And that was what messed her up the most.

Because he said it like he meant it. Like he noticed her in ways no one else did.

But then he'd turn away, sip his drink, laugh with someone else. Cool. Detached. Unbothered.

And Rae? She was spiraling.

---

People kept approaching her, asking for pictures, feedback, quotes. PR team. Stylists. The showrunner. Someone even handed her a new script revision during the party. It didn't stop.

One fan came up crying. Another asked for a video message. Someone else leaned in way too close, talking about her "girl next door" vibe and how marketable it was.

She started to feel like an item. A product. A talking head with pretty lighting.

By the time the music was louder and the night was deeper, Rae had barely eaten and her cheeks hurt from fake smiling. She stepped outside to catch a breath.

Cool air. Quiet.

She didn't even realize how tight her chest had gotten until it started to ease.

---

She leaned against the railing behind the building, head tilted back toward the stars.

"Hey," came a familiar voice.

Rae turned to see Lena, her best friend since forever, walking over with two mini cupcakes and a can of soda.

"I stole these from the dessert table before the influencers descended," Lena said, offering one.

Rae took it with a tired laugh. "You're a lifesaver."

They sat on a low stone ledge, shoulders touching.

After a moment, Lena nudged her. "You okay?"

"No," Rae said quietly.

Lena didn't press. She just waited, calm and warm like always.

"I feel like everyone wants something from me," Rae said eventually. "Vivienne, the PR team, the show... even the fans. It's all curated. And Xander—he's so cool it makes my brain hurt. Like he cares, but he won't say anything. And I'm out here doubting myself because someone won't blink twice at me."

Lena raised an eyebrow. "First of all, ouch. Second of all, screw that. You're Rae freaking Solara. You don't need anyone to validate you—especially not some smoldering TV star with mysterious eyes and emotionally unavailable energy."

Rae huffed a laugh. "You make it sound ridiculous."

"It is ridiculous," Lena said. "You're amazing. And if anyone can't see that without a PR script, that's their loss. But you? You don't have to be everyone's version of 'perfect.' You just have to be yours."

Rae blinked back the sudden sting in her eyes.

"I mean it," Lena added gently. "You're allowed to take up space, Rae. Not as a character. As you."

Rae leaned her head on Lena's shoulder, grateful beyond words.

They sat like that for a long while, quiet in the noise of everything.

And for the first time all day, Rae felt seen—not as a rising star, not as someone in a manufactured moment—but as herself.

And maybe… that was enough to start with.