After the first live performance, Charlotte became the undisputed "it girl" of Starlight, amassing a massive following overnight.
Her "battle-worn" aesthetic ignited a firestorm in the fashion world. Idols and influencers everywhere scrambled to mimic the look, and top-tier designers even began citing her as the muse for their upcoming "distressed" collections.
It was late that night when Olivia dragged herself into the dormitory lobby.
She'd been so sure she could dodge the cameras, but she'd overlooked a hidden lens in front of the lockers. It had caught her red-handed, shears in hand, approaching Charlotte's locker.
As she left, not a single person came to say goodbye.
Every other trainee was glued to the monitor in the lobby, their eyes darting nervously between their own popularity tallies as they waiting for the final leaderboard to drop on the Starlight website.
Olivia felt a bitter sting. She was supposed to be one of the lucky few, and yet, here she was, hitting rock bottom.
She paused and looked back, her gaze lingering on the closed door in the center of the hall. She stood there in silence for a beat, letting out a self-deprecating scoff before pulled her eyes away, and finally walked out of the training base she had called home for two months.
Inside the room, Charlotte was deep-diving into the funding behind the overseas account linked to "Eclipse Photography."
After tagging that hidden overseas IP, she'd sliced right through the studio's firewall. She discovered that Evan only held dividend rights; he had zero administrative control. The real puppet master was an anonymous offshore account.
She'd been too busy with the performance to look into it then, but now... it was time to find out who really held the knife.
Charlotte watched the screen with icy detachment, her eyes tracking the digital breadcrumbs as they wove across the map.
[Tracing financial trail... Laundering detected through three layers of offshore shell companies... Source identified.]
[Funding Source: Domestic account. Owner: Marianne Harrington.]
"Marianne?" Charlotte frowned, typing the name into the search bar.
[Search results: Marianne Harrington. Executive at a publicly traded corporation. Social connections: Biological aunt of Emily.]
In the original novel, Emily had mentioned having a single, career-driven aunt who treated her like a daughter.
"So that's the play."
Charlotte leaned back against the headboard as the pieces clicked into place. On the surface, Emily was the "hard-working underdog" with no backing. In reality, she was being bankrolled by heavy hitters. Her aunt had provided the capital to set up the studio using Evan's prestige, using it as a front to clear the field for Emily.
Evan, the high-minded artist, was completely in the dark—nothing more than a high-profile human shield for the aunt and niece.
"Talk about using someone else's hand to pull the trigger."
Charlotte looked at the photo of Emily and her aunt on the screen, her finger tracing Emily's innocent face.
"My turn. It's only fair I return the favor."
Just then, The producers dropped the brief for the second performance—
The next day, the main studio was uncharacteristically relaxed. The twelve trainees who had actually made the cut sat casually on the floor, gossiping while they waited for the guest mentor.
"I heard Caleb is a total class act—a real gentleman."
"He's an A-list actor, but they say he's got zero ego..."
Rachel huddled close to Charlotte, whispering, "Finally, a mentor who isn't a nightmare to deal with."
Gentleman? No ego? Charlotte didn't buy it for a second.
In the original story, this man was one of the primary architects of the original Charlotte's downfall into the adult film industry.
There was a light knock before the door was tapped gently before swinging open.
He looked every bit the refined intellectual in a light gray cashmere coat and gold-rimmed glasses. He wore his trademark smile—warm, polished, and refined. He radiated the scholarly elegance of a true intellectual.
[Ding! Final Capture Target unlocked—Caleb!]
"My apologies for keeping you waiting, ladies." Caleb's voice was a deep, magnetic baritone, dripping with chivalry. He took his seat at the mentor's table and even gave a slight, polite nod to the girls in the front row.
His gentle tone made the room visibly relax—except for Charlotte, whose spine went rigid.
She recognized that scent. He was one of her own kind.
The eyes behind those lenses might have crinkled into friendly crescents, but there wasn't a hint of warmth in them—only a vast, barren indifference.
"Let's jump right in," Caleb said softly, flipping through his notes. "I'd like to see where you all stand. The prompt is: 'A girl waiting for her lover in the rain'."
Emily, eager to seize the moment, was the first to raise her hand.
The scene began. Emily gave it her all—the shivering from the rain, the longing in her eyes, even a perfectly timed tear. She ended with a soulful monologue, quoting a famous line Caleb had once given in an interview about "the art of waiting."
When she finished, Emily looked at Caleb with expectant eyes. "Caleb, I've always kept your words in my heart. 'Waiting is the soul's...'"
Caleb didn't interrupt. He listened to her entire speech with patience, maintaining that same encouraging smile.
Once she finished, he gave two soft, light claps.
"Excellent memory," Caleb said with a smile, his tone as warm as if he were complimenting a schoolgirl.
Emily beamed. "Thank—"
"However," Caleb interjected, his voice still gentle as he adjusted his glasses. "Miss Emily, you've memorized a thousand-word interview by heart, yet even I haven't been able to make you understand what 'acting' actually is?"
The smile froze on Emily's face.
Caleb picked up a fountain pen and tapped the desk lightly, his tone one of regretful concern.
"Your shivering was a choreographed reflex. Your tears were nothing but a calculated biological response. You've demonstrated a magnificent capacity for rote memorization and a textbook people-pleasing personality."
He looked up, his gaze sincere, as if offering the best life advice imaginable.
"With your memory and your knack for studying your superiors' preferences... honestly, you'd make a fantastic executive assistant. Why waste your 'talent' in show business?"
The room fell into a deathly silence. Charlotte could actually hear Rachel swallow hard beside her.
Not a single curse word. Not a single shout.
With the gentlest of tones, he had disqualified Emily's entire career path and stripped her of her dignity as an actress.
This was pure malice. He could skin you alive without ever raising his voice.
Emily's face went from flushed red to a bruised purple, and finally, as pale as a sheet. This was far more devastating than one of Jax's rants. She clutched her face and, under Caleb's concerned gaze, burst into tears and fled the room.
Caleb let out a soft sigh and shook his head helplessly. "Kids these days... they're just so fragile."
Then, he turned. Those smiling fox-like eyes locked onto Charlotte, who had been standing expressionless in the corner the whole time.
"You over there, Miss Charlotte. You've been watching me quite closely." Caleb rested his chin on his hand, his smile taking on a cryptic edge. "Do you find my advice... funny?"