INT. DACHA (SUMMER HOUSE). KITCHEN/CORRIDOR/BEDROOM - DAY

Tension filled the kitchen. Volodya sat with a cold mug pressed to his broken nose. Liza, her face a battleground of guilt and anger, glared at Gleb.

— What the hell were you doing in my car?! — Liza’s tone was sharp.

Volodya sucked air in through gritted teeth. — I wanted to play a prank... I just wanted to play a prank. I didn't think it would turn out like this.

Gleb, leaning casually against the doorframe, crossed his arms over his chest. His gaze was simultaneously mocking and contemptuous. — Is this how you entertain yourselves here in the provinces? — He raised an eyebrow superciliously. — Or is it that you, Liza, just can't forgive me for not reading your worthless script?

Liza sprang up, her eyes flashing. — You... So you recognized me and didn't say a word?!

— I'm an actor; I have an excellent memory. But taking revenge with mice and water—that’s childish, Liza. Kindergarten-level.

— And killing animals is savage! — she retorted, shooting him an angry, scorching look.

Gleb smiled condescendingly, his lips curving into a cold sneer. — Are you talking about the cat? It was just a toy I found in the cellar of this dacha. And the blood—just ketchup.

— You really are a pervert, just like the papers wrote about you! You’re worthless.

— If I’m worthless, — Gleb took a step toward her, narrowing his eyes to slits, — why did you latch onto me again?

— I need your exclusive interview and a public apology for what you did!

Gleb threw his head back and laughed loudly, a rough, grating sound. — I have nothing to apologize for.

— But why not! — Liza pleaded, her tone turning imploring. — You wouldn't take the script, so maybe give me an interview? The last time you rejected me, misfortune happened! And my intuition tells me: if you aren't cooperative again, trouble will find you once more!

Gleb snorted sharply. — Female intuition is just ordinary paranoia.

At that moment, his mobile phone rang—a sharp, businesslike trill. Gleb immediately answered, his face becoming impassive, and he stepped into the corridor without a word to Liza.

— I'm calling to inform you: they are terminating your contract, — a man’s voice on the phone sounded like a verdict.

Gleb clenched his jaw. — I’ll be there soon.

He ended the call. Liza, following him like a shadow, saw his shoulders tense up like steel rods. He went up to the bedroom to pack his things. Liza walked in without knocking.

— Don’t leave, — her voice trembled. — Yes, I spoke too hastily, but that’s no reason... I won't do it again!

Gleb continued to pack his clothes without looking at her. He was cold as ice. Liza, feeling her last chance slip away, blocked his path.

— Please give me the interview! Otherwise, I'm finished!

Gleb snapped the suitcase shut. — I couldn't care less. I hope I never see you again.

Without explaining anything, he abruptly pushed Liza aside and left the room.

EXT. DACHA. YARD - DAY

As Gleb got into his car, Liza did not stop trying to stop him. — Don't do this! — she whined. — I won't play any more tricks. A small interview, and that's it!

Gleb, without turning, snarled: — I am not going to give an interview to a worthless screenwriter who is trying to make a name for herself at someone else's expense!

He pushed Liza away from the door and drove off abruptly. Liza fell to the ground. Volodya came over and helped her up.

— I missed my own chance, — Liza whispered bitterly, looking at the retreating silhouette of the car.

EXT. PRODUCTION OFFICE - DAY

Driving at maximum speed, Gleb slammed on the brakes right by the office's main entrance, narrowly missing a flowerbed. He jumped out of the car and, with blazing eyes, stormed into the studio. With wide, determined strides, he headed towards the glass doors, ignoring the bewildered looks of the security guards. He was immediately met by the Casting Manager who had called him.

— The contract has been terminated. The sponsors don't want a homosexual representing their brand.

— I demand a meeting with the director! — Gleb didn't even try to contain his shout.

— He’s left.

Gleb clenched his fists. He could clearly see the director's expensive sedan parked near the building. He spun around and rushed towards the office where he instinctively felt the cowardly head of the studio was hiding.

In the office, which he burst into without knocking, Gleb yelled: — You, who once begged me to star in your films, are now hiding like a coward?!

— Neither the sponsors nor I personally want to see you in our films anymore! — the Director replied viciously. — Get this homo out of here immediately.

Security guards physically dragged Gleb out. He was hauled out of the building like a criminal. The world of big cinema slammed its door shut on him, leaving him outside, amidst the city noise.

For Gleb, a period of continuous humiliation began, tearing his pride to shreds. After the door of his home studio slammed shut, he became an outcast, whose name, which just yesterday brought in millions, now evoked revulsion.

First, there was a meeting with a famous director in an expensive restaurant. Gleb went there with the remnants of hope, but the director, nervously fiddling with his napkin, refused, apologizing and throwing his hands up.

— Understand, Gleb, I can’t take such a risk. Playing main romantic leads while being gay... it will scare away the female audience, — the director whispered, as if pronouncing a death sentence.

Then followed a visit to a large production company, where the director, without even offering him a seat, dryly cited "low ratings," looking at Gleb across the table with unconcealed coldness.

Even Anatoly Petrovich, a friend and owner of a small firm, could only offer a temporary way out with regret: — I would help, but I don't have any projects right now. You could tide yourself over with commercials for a while, Gleb. That’s the only way.

Gleb took the advice and went to a casting call. He sat on a low, squeaky chair in the corridor of an advertising agency. Young, ambitious applicants crowded around him. His once-star name was now on a common list for an audition for some household commercial. He clutched his number, feeling utterly humiliated. When he was called, he walked in, gathering the last vestiges of his acting pride. But the moment Gleb stepped over the threshold, the director and producer jumped up as if scalded.

— How could you call him in?! — the Director screamed, his voice rising to a shriek, waving his hands in the casting manager's face.

— Please leave, Gleb. We can’t hire you, — the Producer cut him off.

Gleb, his face burning with shame, slowly turned around and walked out. He felt like a leper, at whom people recoiled the moment he approached. Even at the lowest rung of the industry, in advertising, there was no place for him. This was the final realization that his former, beloved life had collapsed.