Stealing The Spotlight

The opening ceremony for Land Under Heaven was a dazzling spectacle.

Flashes from countless cameras danced across the red carpet, illuminating the assembled cast and crew. Media personnel jostled for positions, their microphones and recorders capturing every word and movement. Outside, a sea of fans pressed against the barricades, hoping to catch a glimpse of their idols, their excited cheers echoing faintly inside the grand hall.

The spotlight naturally fell on the film’s leading pair. Vanessa Hartley, the reigning star of Starlight Entertainment, looked flawless in a cream satin gown, her smile polished and practiced. At her side, Theo Marston’s chiseled features and effortless charm seemed to command every camera. The pairing of a famous actor and a celebrated starlet drew instant attention.

“Vanessa, this is your second time acting alongside Theo on screen. Tell us, could you ever give your heart to a man like him in real life?” a reporter called, leaning forward.

Vanessa laughed lightly, the sound soft yet teasing. “Theo is indeed attractive, but that won’t happen! I have no space left in my heart for him.”

A ripple of laughter swept through the press.

Vanessa’s words reminded everyone of her high-profile relationship. A year ago, she had revealed publicly that she was dating the son of Sanders Rowes, CEO of the Rowes Corporation—a man of wealth, looks, and impeccable pedigree. Gossip columns had devoured every detail, and though some fans had been envious, her popularity had not wavered. On the contrary, headlines like “Vanessa Hartley: Winner in Life” and “A Perfect Pair” had only cemented her status further.

Theo, ever the gentleman, feigned a dramatic swoon. “Miss Blackwell, how heartless! This king has already given you everything, even my heart!”

The reporters chuckled, charmed by his theatrics.

But the true attention of the day wasn’t on the leads. It was on the supporting female lead—the actress who would play Natalie Frostman, the fiery, feared, and cunning assassin who had betrayed the nation in the film’s storyline.

A small crowd of reporters edged closer to Director Phil, eager to catch any snippet of information.

“Director Phil! Where is the actress for Natalie Frostman? Will she be here today?”

“Is it true you rejected Vivienne Kade during the auditions because she wasn’t beautiful enough for the role?” another pressed, clearly hoping to stir controversy.

Phil, a seasoned veteran with decades in the industry, smiled faintly, his voice smooth and measured. “Appearance is just one aspect. We consider suitability, presence, and interpretation of the character. Vivienne Kade’s appearance is lovely, but she did not fully embody the essence we envisioned for Natalie Frostman.”

“But she’s a rookie!” a reporter blurted. “How can someone with no experience take on such a demanding role?”

Phil raised an eyebrow, maintaining his composure. “That will be clear when the film releases. Patience.”

Still, the reporters persisted. “Is the actress playing Natalie prettier than Vivienne Kade?”

Phil’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. Enough to show irritation without breaking his calm exterior. “Every artist has her own merits. You’ll understand when you see her.”

Then, from the edge of the red carpet, a figure appeared.

All chatter halted.

Phil’s eyes widened for a brief moment, just long enough for his experience to kick in. “Speak of the devil… and there she is.”

Isabella Hartley stepped onto the red carpet.

She wore a magenta lace gown, the delicate fabric hugging her waist and accentuating her elegance. The collar framed her collarbones perfectly, while the open back hinted at refinement without excess. The color was bold, the design daring—but it suited her. Every movement she made radiated confidence and poise.

Though it was her first time on a red carpet, Isabella moved like she had done it a thousand times. Each step, each tilt of her head, each soft smile was captured by the cameras. Even casual glances towards the media framed her in the most flattering angles.

Reporters who had doubted a rookie’s presence were silenced.

This… this was Natalie Frostman?

A girl no one had heard of before, now standing center stage, commanding the attention of every lens, every reporter, every whispering fan.

Even Vivienne Kade, standing a little ways off, paled in comparison. It wasn’t just beauty—it was the aura, the charisma, the innate confidence that made Isabella irresistible to the eye.

She approached the signing tray, picked up a pen, and etched her name with elegance. The simple turn of her body, revealing just enough of her back, sent a wave of clicks through the press. Every shoulder, every line, every delicate motion seemed perfectly choreographed, yet effortlessly natural.

Finally, it was time for interviews.

The reporters, armed with pre-written questions meant to provoke, faltered. “Miss Hartley, is that dress a custom piece from Karl Lagerfeld?”

Isabella blinked. Of course it was—Alexander Sterling’s arrangements left no room for error. The dress wasn’t just exquisite; it was nearly a work of art.

Another question followed. “Is Arthur your stylist?”

She spoke up to change the topic, “Since it’s the opening ceremony for Land Under Heaven, it would be better if everyone asked questions related to the movie!” 

The reporters exchanged puzzled glances. She had completely avoided their questions.

“Miss Hartley, this role as Natalie Frostman is very demanding—do you think a rookie can truly handle it?”

She paused, her gaze calm and unwavering. “I’m looking forward to proving myself,” she said, letting her tone carry quiet confidence. Not defiance. Not arrogance. Just assurance.

The next wave of questions came fast. “Is it true that you were chosen outside the official audition channels?”

She took a gentle step back from the reporters. “The director and production team made the choice they thought was best. I respect their decision and will give my all to this role.”

The reporters tried again. “How do you feel standing next to Vanessa Hartley, a veteran and one of the most popular stars of Starlight Entertainment?”

Isabella tilted her chin, her eyes meeting the cameras without flinching. “I admire her work. I hope to learn from everyone on set.”

It was subtle. Graceful. She wasn’t revealing anything. And yet, every word painted her as professional, poised, and unshakable.

Phil, observing from the side, allowed himself a quiet nod. Good. She knows how to protect herself.

Phil kept nodding as he watched from the side. “This lady is doing really well! Despite having this kind of quality and EQ, she still hasn’t managed to make it big yet after entering the industry for a year… What do you think about this, Wale?”

The producer, Wale Tyler, said meaningfully, “If it’s not the upper ranks at Starlight Entertainment turning blind, then it’s…”

He gave him a ‘you know’ look, leaving the implication hanging in the air.

It was clear: someone at Starlight had been purposely suppressing her.

Meanwhile, Vanessa’s smile had completely vanished. Her composure cracked, revealing the anger she’d been trying so hard to mask. Her jaw clenched, and her perfectly manicured fingers gripped the edge of her designer clutch so tightly that it creased the leather.

She had deliberately instructed Lilian to inform Isabella at the last possible moment, thinking it would humiliate the rookie in front of the media. But instead…

Isabella had arrived like a vision, stunning everyone on the red carpet.

Damn it, Bella’s outfit alone cost several thousands! How in the world had she managed it?

The dress hugged her form perfectly, highlighting her slender waist and graceful posture. The magenta lace, delicate yet daring, made her look radiant, elegant, and untouchable. Every camera flash seemed to accentuate her presence, turning heads from every angle.

Clothing and accessories could be rented, sure—but who had done her styling?

Vanessa’s mind raced. She couldn’t have had access to the top stylists. Not possible… unless…she had some strong backing. Who could it be? She’s not supposed to know anyone powerful.