The next week moved in two directions at once. Up and against her.

Her music life started to open like a door she did not know she was allowed to touch. Her modeling life started to close like a hand around her throat. She felt both every day. She felt both in her body.

On Monday morning the agency sent out a schedule for her. Mandatory fittings. Hair test. Runway rehearsal. Client dinner. The message ended with Be prepared to present calm supportive attitude. You will not bring up outside activities. Outside activities meant singing. Outside activities meant her life.

She stared at that line too long.

When she arrived for rehearsal, the energy in the room had shifted. People looked at her and whispered. She felt the way eyes landed on her. Not with normal curiosity. With calculation. Like they were doing silent math. Can we still use her. Will she leave. Is she worth time.

One stylist walked by and said So you think you are famous now. The tone was light, but the edge under it was not light.

Lila gave a half smile. I think I am still working like everyone else.

The stylist smirked. For now.

The floor manager clapped for attention. Alright ladies. Eyes up. We have a client team in the balcony. You are to deliver a quiet tight runway mood. Detached energy. Expensive energy. Do not get cute. Do not flirt with the cameras. You are not the story. The clothes are the story.

Lila felt that line hit her the same way it always hit her You are not the story. She kept her face blank because she knew they watched faces. But her chest felt hot.

When it was her turn to walk, she moved down the line with the perfect cold grace they trained into her. She did not trip. She did not sway. She did not smile. She was exactly what they wanted her to be. Almost.

At the end of the runway, she paused for the hold pose, chin tilted, eyes distant. She did the move just like they taught her. But something tiny slipped through. Not in her body. In her eyes. She let a flicker of self stay there. Not sadness. Not anger. Just self.

It lasted less than a second. Most people would not even see it.

But the director did.

After rehearsal, he pulled her aside. His jaw was tight. You are pushing. Stop pushing.

I am doing the walk you asked for she said.

He shook his head. No. You are doing the walk and adding a layer we did not ask you to add. You are giving emotion. We do not want emotion. We want product. You make people look at you instead of the line. That is not the job.

So what is my job Lila asked, voice steady. To stand here and shut up and look pretty

His eyes narrowed. Your job is to be part of something bigger than you. Your job is to not think you are more important than the brand.

That word hit hard. Important.

She held his stare. Understood.

He watched her face like he was trying to read it. Then he leaned in a little. I am going to say this once. There are a lot of girls who want your spot. Do not get confused. You are replaceable here.

Something in her went still. She felt the insult land. She watched it sit. She let it pass through.

Because for the first time since she signed with them she felt a strange new thought rise in her Like smoke then flame

Replaceable here does not mean replaceable everywhere

That idea felt dangerous And good

When she got home that night she lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling in the dark Her body hurt Her feet ached from heels Her throat ached from staying quiet Her head buzzed with everything she wanted to say and did not say

She reached for her phone and hit play on the demo Miles sent her Her own voice filled her headphones Warm Rough Real Not polished Not cold Not owned

Listening to herself calmed her heartbeat She closed her eyes and let the sound wash through her like light through water

She pictured people hearing this one day Strangers who did not know her face Strangers who did not care about thigh gap or jawline Strangers who only cared about what they felt when they heard her sing She pictured a stage that was lit warm instead of white She pictured a crowd that clapped like they meant it She pictured being allowed to speak between songs without asking for permission

She wanted that more than she had ever wanted a magazine cover

Her phone buzzed with a new text while the demo still played It was from an unknown number Hey This is Eli I work audio on the show Miles passed me your file I cleaned it a little Can I send you a version

She sat up fast Who is Eli

He answered before she could even ask I am the guy in the beanie from Hall B I was running levels during auditions Not a judge I am just tech I promise I am chill

She smiled A little laugh pushed out of her chest Tech guy texting like Please do not be scared I am not a creep

She wrote back Sure send it

He sent a link A few seconds later her screen showed a new version of Glass Skin Same song Same take But cleaner The background hum was gone Her voice sat forward Stronger Closer Intimate

She felt it hit her body like a physical thing

She typed This sounds like a real song

Eli sent back It IS a real song

Then another message You are through to round two right Right

Yes she wrote

Good he replied Because you are going to need to be ready for cameras Round two is taped for cut reels If you move forward from there it stops being small You need to breathe through that or it will eat you

Her fingers paused over the screen Cameras

She had been filmed before of course She knew how to hold her chin how to direct body lines so her angles were safe But this felt different Modeling cameras wanted silence and surface Music cameras wanted soul on demand She was not sure which felt scarier

She wrote back What should I expect

He replied with a long message Round two is not live TV but they still shoot you in a small stage set like a fake showcase There will be three judges again maybe four this time One of them will try to shake you on purpose Talk over you Interrupt you Act like you do not belong It is part of the test Whoever falls apart early is not built for tour schedules or press runs So they poke you and watch if you break

Her stomach tightened

He sent another line right after Do not let them write your story for you

She read that twice That was almost the same warning Miles gave you make your own story or someone else will sell one about you and charge you for it

She typed Thank you

Do not thank me yet Eli wrote You have to get past them first

She smiled down at her screen in the dark He sounded blunt but not cruel There was something steady in the way he wrote Like he did not want anything from her except for her not to get crushed

She put the phone down and lay back again Her heart was still fast but in a focused way now She whispered to herself They are going to try to make me small

Then she whispered louder I am not small

She said it again I am not small

The next day she met Sophie for cheap breakfast at a corner diner Eggs toast burnt coffee loud waitresses Country music from a speaker in the ceiling The kind of place where nobody cared if you were famous or a mess The kind of place where makeup and lighting did not matter

Sophie leaned across the booth and said Tell me everything about the audition room again Tell me how they looked at you Tell me how you stood Tell me what you wore Tell me what they said When I tell this story later I want to get it right

Lila laughed You are insane

Sophie smirked I am building the early chapter of your documentary Relax

Lila rolled her eyes and stole one of Sophies fries She told her about the judges The room The way the silence felt before the yes She told her about Eli The tech guy She left out the part about the agency saying You are replaceable She did not feel like giving that moment more space than it already took inside her body

After breakfast they walked a few blocks in warm sun The sidewalk cracked in places People moved around them in that fast Los Angeles way that somehow still feels lazy Palm trees leaned over the street like tall quiet witnesses Cars hummed by Music drifted out of open windows

Sophie bumped her shoulder You know they are going to get madder right

Lila nodded Yeah

You scared

Yeah Lila said Then she smiled Little bit But I am more done than scared

Sophie looked at her That is new

Yeah Lila said That is new

That night Lila stood in front of her bathroom mirror and washed off a full face of runway makeup She watched all the layers go down the drain Highlighter Concealer Contour Lip color All of it She looked up at herself with a bare face and tired eyes and messy hair

She whispered to her reflection They said I am not the story But I am the story

She said it again slower I am the story

For the first time she liked how that sounded coming out of her mouth She liked that it felt like truth and not fantasy She liked that no one else was in the room to tell her to sit down and be quiet She liked that her voice filled the space all on its own

And for a few long quiet minutes in that small bathroom under cheap yellow light Lila Hart let herself believe that the world was already starting to hear her