As we waited with bated breath, Anissa's gaze drifted toward me, her eyes brimming with a profound sadness. The weight of her unspoken question hung in the air like a challenge.
"Why are you here, Dahlia?" she asked, her voice barely audible over the hum of anticipation.
I opened my mouth to explain, to justify my presence, but before words could escape, a commotion erupted outside. The once-sterile hallway transformed into a hub of frenzied excitement.
Actresses pressed against the window, their faces aglow with curiosity. Gasps and whispers rippled through the crowd as they beheld the arrival of Clyde Grey and his entourage.
Laughter boomed. Backslaps resonated. The air vibrated with Clyde's commanding presence.
"Who's that?" someone whispered.
"Clyde Grey," another replied, awe dripping from her voice.
The room buzzed. Eyes locked onto Clyde's chiseled features, drinking in his rugged charm.
And then, the connection clicked. Clyde's friend, a bespectacled man with a warm smile, shook hands with the judges.
"Ah, perfect timing," Mrs. Jenkins exclaimed. "Our director, Mr. Harrison, has arrived."
The room's energy shifted. Focus drifted from the audition to Clyde Grey.
Anissa's gaze lingered on me, hurt and disappointment etched on her face.
"Why, Dahlia?" she mouthed, her voice lost amidst the chaos.
I shrugged, helpless against the tide of events.
Clyde's eyes swept the room, locking onto mine for a fleeting instant. A spark of recognition flashed. Then, he turned to Mr. Harrison, his expression transforming into one of effortless charm.
One of the actresses, a petite blonde with a pixie cut, suddenly gasped, her bright blue eyes wide with realization.
"Oh my god, isn't he married?" she asked, her voice trembling with excitement.
Her gaze locked onto me, and her face lit up with misplaced assumption.
"You must be his wife!" she exclaimed, her words dripping with envy.
Mortification washed over me like a tidal wave.
My cheeks flushed.
My heart sank.
But before I could correct her, another actress intervened.
"Actually, I think his wife is Anissa," she said, nodding toward Anissa with a knowing glance.
The room fell silent.
All eyes turned to Anissa, then to me, and back again.
My face burned with embarrassment.
Anissa's expression remained poised.
But I sensed her unease.
Clyde's presence had shifted the dynamic.
Favoritism hung in the air.
The audition's integrity seemed compromised.
Whispers began to circulate.
"Of course, the spot's going to Anissa," one actress whispered.
"Who needs talent when you have connections?" another snickered.
"I heard Clyde Grey pulls strings for his wife," a third actress chimed in.
The whispers grew louder.
Speculation spread like wildfire.
Anissa's advantage was clear.
Resentment simmered.
Some actresses shot Anissa envious glances.
Others whispered condolences.
As if talent didn't matter.
As if Anissa's success was predetermined.
Mr. Harrison cleared his throat.
"Ladies, let's focus on the task at hand," he reminded.
But the damage was done.
Tension lingered.
Tension between Anissa and me.
Tension among the actresses.
Clyde's presence had disrupted the audition.
And changed everything.
Then, the interviewers turned to Clyde, their expressions inquisitive, seeking insight into the dynamics of his marriage.
"Mr. Grey, do you think your wife, Anissa, should be given the role?" one of them asked, their tone neutral.
Clyde's response was immediate, his expression unyielding.
"I don't care about anything that has to do with her," he said, his voice dripping with disdain, his words cutting deep.
The room fell silent, as if Clyde's blunt response had sucked the air out.
The other actresses snickered, their faces alight with amusement.
Laughed.
Made fun of Anissa.
Their whispers spread like wildfire, fueled by curiosity and gossip.
"Poor Anissa."
"Guess her marriage isn't as perfect as we thought."
"Wow, Clyde's totally done with her."
Anissa's face turned beet red, her eyes welled up with tears.
I felt a pang of sympathy, my heart going out to her.
But before I could react, the interviewers conferred, their voices hushed, their expressions serious.
Finally, Mrs. Jenkins spoke up.
"Dahlia, we've decided to offer you the role."
"It fits you perfectly."
"Your vulnerability and strength shine through."
The room erupted.
Congratulations poured in.
I beamed.
Elated.
Anissa's eyes met mine.
A mix of shock.
Disappointment.
Resignation.
Clyde's words still lingered.
Their marriage seemed troubled.
But I had my own triumph to celebrate.
As I accepted the role.
Clyde turned to leave.
Without a glance at Anissa.