Page 80
What happens in Chapter 80 of "Vicious Obsession"? “Selena Carmichael?” Director Cho asked, glancing up from her notes.Her voice sounded calm, neutral, giving... Read on to find out!
“Selena Carmichael?” Director Cho asked, glancing up from her notes.
Her voice sounded calm, neutral, giving nothing away.
“Yes,” I said, forcing myself to take a few steps forward, even though my instinct was to hover near the door and make a run for it if things went badly.
“Come in. We’ll try a few different reads today.”
There was no chair this time. Just open space in the middle of the room, like a stage stripped down to its barest form. I moved into it anyway, gripping the script they’d handed me a little too tightly, as if the paper itself might steady me.
“Let’s start with Hero,” Cho said. “Act four. The wedding scene.”
I glanced down at the page, my throat already tightening.
Hero was gentle, soft-spoken—and then suddenly, brutally exposed. Accused. Shattered in front of everyone.Perfect.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
I nodded, though I wasn’t ready at all.
I took a breath, opened my mouth— and nothing came out.
Heat crept up the back of my neck, my fingers tightening around the edges of the script as I stared down at the words, willing them to settle into something I could actually say.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “Just—one second.”
No one rushed me or tried to fill the silence.
They just waited, which somehow made it worse.
I swallowed, forcing another breath into my lungs.
It’s just reading. Just words. Just a room. No one here knows anything about you. They don’tknow.
I lifted my head again, and this time, I started.
“I talked with no man at that hour, my lord?—”
The line came out too subdued, too uncertain, and I felt it immediately, the wrongness of it, like wearing something that didn’t quite fit. My instinct was to stop, to apologize, to ask to start again before I made it worse.
But something in me resisted.No. If I was going to fail, I was at least going to finish.
I steadied myself, forced my shoulders back just a fraction, and tried again, letting the words settle before I spoke.
“I talked with no man at that hour, my lord.”
Better. Still quiet, but steadier, less fragile.
I made myself look up this time, meeting their eyes instead of hiding behind the page.
“They know that do accuse me. I know none.”
My voice caught slightly, not on purpose, but it worked, because suddenly I wasn’t thinking about how I sounded anymore. I wasn’t trying to perform it right.
I was reacting.
Being watched. Being doubted. Being told I was something I wasn’t.
The room blurred at the edges.