The TV hummed in the background—some random late-night talk show none of them was actually watching. Kira sat with her legs tucked under her on one end of the couch, a half-empty bowl of popcorn precarious on the armrest. Her eyes kept drifting, losing focus on the glowing screen. On the other end, Lia was totally sprawled out, one leg hanging off the side and her toes brushing the scratchy carpet. A lamp in the corner cast a dim, yellow light over the room, making their mismatched furniture and the stacks of head-shots on the coffee table look a little less cluttered than they really were. It was that heavy kind of quiet that follows a really long, crappy day—the kind that isn't actually peaceful, just exhausting.
The place was small, but it definitely looked lived-in. You could see their lives in the faded floral pillows Kira had grabbed at a thrift store months ago, the string of fairy lights Lia had tacked over the window, and the sticky notes covered in motivational quotes above the TV. *Your time is coming. Keep pushing. Stars don't shine without darkness.* They'd written those on a good day, back when good days happened more often. Now, they mostly just looked at them because they were there.
This was life at Bellamy House. It was a four-story building tucked away on a side street, just far enough from the fancy part of the city to feel like a different world, but close enough that you could almost smell the "big break" when the wind blew right. The building was full of dreamers—actresses, models, singers, you name it. Girls who showed up from small towns with portfolios and big plans. Some had been there a few months; others, like Kira, had been there for years.
The front door gave its usual loud creak, and Emma walked in. Both Kira and Lia looked up immediately. They didn't have to ask how it went. You could see it in the way she let her bag thud onto the floor and the long, heavy breath she let out the second she stepped inside.
Emma was pretty in a real way—not like the airbrushed girls on the billboards, but more natural. Her gray eyes were sharp even when she was wiped out, and right now, they were just full of frustration. She kicked off her shoes and walked across the room in her socks, collapsing onto the couch between them like she'd just come home from a war zone.
"Any luck today, Em?" Kira asked, hitting the mute button.
Emma stared at the ceiling for a long beat, like talking was just too much work.
"No," she said flatly. Then she sat up a little, because Emma wasn't really the type to stay down for long. "I hit fifteen places today. Fifteen, Kira. I even wore the good heels." She pointed a thumb at her shoes by the door. "Everyone was 'out' or 'in meetings.' Every single one." She gave a dry, annoyed laugh. "This is seriously getting on my nerves. I've been to every agency in this city, and it's always the same script. The producers are busy. They're at lunch. No auditions today. Just leave your head shot at the desk." She made a face. "As if those don't go right in the trash."
Lia, who knew exactly how that felt, flopped over onto the cushion. "I get the same thing every time," she said to the ceiling. "Every single time. Why is this so hard?" She wasn't really asking them; she was asking the universe, hoping for an answer that probably wasn't coming.
Emma straightened her back. There was something about her that just wouldn't break. "Because we want this too much to quit," she said. She wasn't trying to be deep; she was just stating a fact.
Lia sighed—one of those long, tired sighs. "I guess. I'm just ready for my turn. Ready to actually get paid." She sat up and rubbed her hands together like she was plotting to get rich, and finally, Kira and Emma lost it. They started laughing—a real, genuine laugh that only happens when you're all stuck in the same mess together.