The lights dimmed, and the last echoes of applause faded as Celeste Noir stood center stage, sweat clinging to her skin like a second layer. The crowd had been polite—enthusiastic even—but not electric. Not the eruption she craved.

Her manager, Tanya, clapped her on the back as they made their way backstage. "Good show," Tanya said, a little too cheerfully. "Next city, we'll pack a bigger crowd."

Bigger crowd. Bigger venues. Bigger deals. It was always tomorrow, never today. Celeste bit back a sigh and offered a tight smile. "Yeah, next time."

She sank into the threadbare couch of her dressing room, peeling off her sequined bodysuit. Her reflection in the vanity mirror stared back at her, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She was close. Just one viral moment, one breakout performance away from the stardom she'd been chasing since she was sixteen. And yet, she could feel it—the invisible ceiling keeping her just shy of the A-list.

A knock at the door jolted her. Tanya wouldn't knock, and the rest of her team had already left for the night.

"Come in," Celeste called, tugging a robe around her shoulders.

The door opened, revealing a man dressed in a crisp, tailored suit. His face was handsome in a forgettable way, like he'd been assembled from a template designed to not draw too much attention. But it was his eyes—deep, dark, and unreadable—that held her gaze.

"Miss Noir," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "A stunning performance."

She frowned. "Thanks… And you are?"

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "An admirer of talent. And an emissary of opportunity."

Celeste's defenses went up immediately. "I'm not interested in whatever you're selling."

The man chuckled, low and knowing. "I think you'll want to hear me out. Fame is a tricky thing, isn't it? So many people want it, but only a select few truly understand what it takes. You've worked hard, and you've come far. But you've hit a wall, haven't you?"

She froze. His words cut too close to the truth. "Who are you?"

He pulled a sleek, black envelope from his jacket and placed it on the vanity. "Someone who can help. But only if you're ready to take the next step."

The envelope glimmered under the harsh bulbs of the vanity lights. Celeste's name was written in looping, silver script across the front.

"What's this?" she asked, not reaching for it.

"An invitation," he said. "To a private gathering. One that could change your life, your career, forever. But only if you're willing to let go of what you think you know about success."

Her heart raced, curiosity warring with caution. "And if I say no?"

He smiled faintly. "Then nothing changes. You'll keep climbing, slowly, maybe even make it eventually. But not like this."

The air between them felt charged, heavy with unspoken implications. Celeste reached for the envelope, her fingers brushing against the cool paper.

"I'll think about it," she said.

"Do more than think," he replied, turning to leave. "The address is inside. Tomorrow night. Midnight."

As the door clicked shut, Celeste stared at the envelope in her hands. The room seemed quieter now, the distant hum of the arena fading into an eerie stillness.

She opened it.

Inside was a single card embossed with the words:

The Circle Awaits.

And beneath it, the promise that would haunt her dreams that night:

Everything you desire is within reach.