Chapter Five

The house was still. Only the faint hum of the dryer rumbled in the background, paired with the steady tick of the ornate wall clock — one of the few gifts Gregory’s parents had ever picked out for them.

Isabelle sat at the edge of the couch, a laundry basket beside her, phone pressed to her ear.

“I swear, these new girls are all gloss and glitter but no gut. No fire. Just followers.” A chirpy voice exploded through the phone speaker.

“Remember when we used to shut down entire rooms just with your walk? You could turn a Vogue intern into a puddle without saying a word.”

A smile slowly crept onto Isabelle’s lips. The voice belonged to Camille, her ex-manager. Though Isabelle had left the spotlight six years ago, Camille still called often. Mostly to check in. Mostly to pester her back into the game.

“Still dramatic, I see,” Isabelle said, voice quiet but fond.

“Please. I was born for drama.” Camille’s tone dipped, gentler now. “You were it, Belle. The girls now don’t seem to get it at all.”

Isabelle leaned back into the couch silently and her smile faded into something softer. Nostalgia, perhaps.

“I’m retired,” she murmured. “I have a family now. It’s enough.”

“Of course it’s wholesome,” Camille sighed. “Anyone would kill for a cute boy like Ryan. But how can that be enough?”

A finger snap crackled through the speaker. “And you’re not retired. Just on a break. It’s not like you held a press conference.”

Isabelle exhaled wordlessly.

Camille seemed to catch the pause and dialed herself down a notch.

“Why don’t you come by the studio?” she asked, lighter now. “No pressure. Just… come see. It’s been so long, you must miss the thrill.

Isabelle didn’t answer immediately.

Her eyes wandered over the quiet house and the basket of unfolded laundry for a second.

Then, after a beat: “Okay.”

Later that morning, she walked through the studio’s sliding glass doors.

The moment she stepped through the doors, it all came flooding back. The waxy scent of stage makeup, the sharp click of heels on polished floors, and the overlapping voices rehearsing lines.

It was a world she once ruled.

Now, she stood in it like a ghost wandering back through her own legend.

She looked around finding everything different. They must have made some renovations here and there. A group of girls shuffled past her, dragging tangled costume racks behind them and cheap glitter spilled from one hem.

‘Tacky,’ Isabelle thought absentmindedly. No wonder Camille was about to blow up her top.

A frustrated voice echoed from down the hallway suddenly so she looked toward it..

“No, it’s ‘I won’t wait for you, even if the stars beg me to.’” The person enunciated.

A young actress recited the line again, her voice flat and uncertain.

Isabelle didn’t mean to step in. She just spoke up before she knew it.

“Lift your chin on ‘wait,’” she said gently. “Let your voice break on ‘stars.’ It’s not anger. It’s grief pretending to be pride.”

The girl blinked at her, startled at first. Then, she nodded slowlyand repeated the line. This time, she delivered.

A soft laugh echoed behind her.

Isabelle turned, startled..

Camille stood with her arms crossed and a knowing smirk.“See? Muscle memory.”

“Camille…” Isabelle smiled despite herself.

“Still looking stunning,” Camille mused. “I haven’t seen you in so long.”

Isabelle’s smile only went wider. “With how you’re praising me, I fear you’ve tricked me here to sell me off.”

“Ah—” Camille gasped theatrically. “Why didn’t I think of that? You’d fetch a fortune.”

She began to lead Isabelle toward the open door of Studio 2, where an audition practice was ongoing.

A teenager was currently performing an action scene. He lunged forward, sliding across the floor in a controlled skid before springing up into a spinning kick. Then, he landed firmly, breathing heavily as he slashed through the air with a wooden prop katana.

The moment he finished, the room erupted into loud, boisterous cheers with students clapping, and some even whistling.

Isabelle’s arms slowly lowered, her eyes fixed on the boy as if something had just stirred inside her.

Camille leaned toward her with a smirk. “How’s he?”

Isabelle gave a soft nod, as though her voice was touched with something warm. “Really good.”

***

The wind tugged gently at her coat as Isabelle stepped out of the car. Her heels clicked lightly against the pavement as she strode into the school. Her makeup was fresh reflecting her mood which was lifted after visiting the studio.

But the moment she reached Ryan’s class however, the smile fell clean off her face.