The heavy auditorium doors shut, cutting off the chatter of the hallway. Behind the long table, the production team looked exhausted. But the real pressure wasn't just in the room—it was the glowing red "LIVE" light on the camera rig hovering near the stage. To drum up massive publicity, the studio was livestreaming the final round of callbacks to millions of viewers online.
The casting director, Marcus, rubbed his temples and checked his monitor, which was flooded with a fast-moving live chat. "Alright, who's next? Let's keep it moving. The stream is maintaining numbers, but we need to give them something real."
The assistant checked her tablet, her voice dropping. "Next is Khloe Rose. Auditioning for Lyra."
The main producer, Elena, paused with her coffee cup halfway to her mouth. "Khloe Rose? As in the Khloe Rose? The one from the tabloid mess with Arthur Vance and Julianna? We are broadcasting this live to the entire internet, Sarah. The chat is going to lose its mind."
"It already is," the assistant murmured, showing her the screen. The live comment section was already flying by at a blinding speed: Why is SHE here? The real-life villain is trying to play a victim? Get her off the stage!
"Great," Marcus groaned. "A high-profile scandal walk-in. She’s probably here to try and fix her PR image on our dime. Let's just get this over with."
Khloe stepped onto the stage. She wore a simple dark sweater and jeans, her hair pulled back. She looked small under the harsh spotlight, but her posture was steady. She deliberately avoided looking at the live camera lens tracking her movements.
Marcus cleared his throat, speaking into his microphone. "Welcome, Khloe. You're reading for Lyra, the second lead. We’re looking at the scene right before her final concert, where she realizes the relationship is dead. Whenever you’re ready, you can start with the dialogue on page 42."
Khloe looked at the panel, her expression calm despite the visible tension. "If it's alright with you, I'd actually like to start with the song. Lyra is a songwriter; she says what she means through her music. I think it sets the tone better for the dialogue that follows."
Elena exchanged a skeptical look with Marcus but nodded. "Go ahead. The keyboard is plugged in. The audio feed is live."
Khloe walked over to the stage piano and adjusted the bench. She took a deep breath, letting her hands rest on the keys. On the live stream feed, the hate-comments momentarily slowed down as viewers waited to watch her fail.
Then, her fingers hit the keys. A melancholy, echoing chord filled the room. Her voice wasn’t polished or manufactured; it was a breathless, haunting confession.
"You said you saw her last night somewhere, walking down Main Street... And you were surprised that she's back in town after everything..."
Behind the table, Marcus stopped tapping his pen. Elena slowly set her coffee cup down.
On the production monitors, the live chat split-screen shifted dramatically. The insults stopped. A barrage of question marks and emotional emojis began to take over.
Khloe delivered the lines with a bitter, knowing smile. As she sang, her voice swelled, channeling the exact setting of a grand, tragic concert farewell:
"And so, she'll call and ask to meet... And you'll forget all about me. 'Cause she was always who you'd choose. I'm just the other point of view."
She hit the bridge, her voice cracking slightly with raw, genuine emotion, looking straight into the camera as if addressing the millions who had judged her:
"Really never meant to be such an intruder... If you had been honest, I would've left sooner. Living in a story that's not told for me... I'm just the villain built to come between you two."
The final chord died out. Khloe sat completely still, her hands resting on the keys, her chest rising and falling softly.
For several seconds, the auditorium was completely silent. The live chat on the screen was moving too fast to read now—millions of viewers completely stunned by the raw honesty of the performance.
Marcus slowly leaned forward, his cynical demeanor totally gone. "Khloe... that lyric. 'The villain built to come between you two.' Where did that come from? It's not in the original script draft."
Khloe looked up, meeting his eyes directly. "Because Lyra knows what the audience thinks of her. She knows that to the rest of the world, she's just a roadblock in someone else's great love story. It hurts, but she's accepting it."
Elena leaned into her microphone, her voice softer now, glancing briefly at the explosive live metrics. "You're not just playing Lyra's heartbreak, are you? You're playing your own. You know the whole internet is watching this right now?"
Khloe offered a faint, tired smile. "I think the best characters are the ones where you don't have to fake the bruises. Lyra deserves to be understood, not just blamed. If the world wants to watch me live, they might as well hear the truth."
Marcus looked down at her headshot, then back up at the stage, a definitive nod forming. He didn't care about the PR mess anymore; the art was undeniable. "Alright. Forget page 42. We don't need to hear the dialogue. Thank you, Khloe. Our team will be in touch with your agent by tomorrow morning."
"Thank you," Khloe said quietly. She stood up, grabbed her jacket, and walked off the stage.
The moment the backstage door clicked shut, Elena turned to Marcus, pointing wildly at the producer's monitor. "Marcus, look at the stream metrics. The view count just doubled, and the sentiment is completely flipping. They're demanding we cast her."
"Get the director on the phone," Marcus said, already crossing out the other names on his shortlist. "We just found our Lyra, and the whole world already knows it."
