Chapter Five — Smile for the Cameras
(Sienna's pov)
The morning of the press interview feels like déjà vu wrapped in caffeine and chaos.
My stylist, Rae, is already fussing over me before I've finished my first coffee. "We need polished but effortless," she says, running her fingers through my midnight-blue waves. "Soft waves, minimal makeup — approachable, but star-worthy."
"Right," I mumble. "Like I woke up famous but don't care."
"Exactly," she beams. "You know the look."
It's been a while since I've done one of these — the lights, the cameras, the carefully filtered questions. My last big interview ended with a headline about how I was "emotionally distant" and "done with the industry." And maybe I was.
But now, there's The Last Page, and Axel Reeve, and a version of me trying not to fall apart before noon.
By the time I arrive at the network studio, the lobby is alive with reporters, PR managers, and the faint smell of hairspray and nerves. Ember's already there, waving like she's greeting the paparazzi.
"Look at you!" she says, taking in my white silk blouse and high-waisted black pants. "You look like the dictionary definition of main character."
"Please don't make me regret coming," I say, smiling despite myself.
"Oh, relax. It's going to be fine. Just sit pretty, smile politely, and try not to murder Axel on live TV."
"Not making promises," I mutter.
The interview setup is simple but intimidating: a semicircle of plush chairs on a glossy stage, cameras pointed like loaded questions.
Each seat has a name card. Ember's next to mine. And of course, beside me, the one and only Axel Reeve.
He arrives fashionably late — naturally.
Leather jacket, dark shirt, calm grin. The kind of entrance that feels rehearsed but effortless.
When his gaze meets mine, that same teasing spark lights up his eyes.
"Everglow," he greets, slipping into his seat like he owns the air around him. "You look… less murderous than I expected."
I exhale slowly. "And you look exactly as punchable as I remembered."
The host, a bubbly woman named Camila, takes her seat in front of us, beaming like she can sense the history in the air.
"Alright, everyone," she says cheerfully. "First question — how does it feel to be bringing such a beloved book to life?"
Axel leans forward, all charm and composure. "It's an honor, really. The story of The Last Page is something special — it's about love, loss, and second chances. I think people will really connect with it."
The audience melts a little. Of course they do.
Then Camila turns to me. "And you, Sienna? You've been out of the acting world for a while — what made you come back for this project?"
The lights are hot. The cameras closer than I remember.
I take a breath and let the words come honestly.
"Sometimes you read a story that feels like it's waiting for you," I say. "The Last Page isn't just a love story. It's about starting over — even when you think you're done trying."
Axel glances sideways at me, and for a heartbeat, the world narrows.
Something softens in his expression — so subtle I almost miss it.
Camila catches it, of course. "Interesting," she says, eyes glinting. "There seems to be some real chemistry between you two already."
I almost choke. "Oh, no— we just—"
Axel interrupts smoothly, flashing that infuriating smile. "Well, Nora and Calen have their fair share of tension. We're just getting into character early."
The crowd laughs. I glare.
After the cameras stop rolling, the room dissolves into chatter. Reporters, assistants, producers swarming. Ember's whisked away to do some quick solo photos.
I'm halfway through grabbing a bottle of water when Axel corners me by the backdrop — not in a threatening way, just close enough to make the air shift.
"You did good," he says quietly.
I narrow my eyes. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"Maybe," he says. "You looked real. Not polished. Real."
"Thanks," I mutter, unsure whether to take it as praise or provocation. "You didn't look too bad yourself. Must've practiced that 'earnest charm' in the mirror."
He grins. "Every day."
For a second, there's silence — the first comfortable one we've shared since the gala years ago.
Then his phone buzzes, breaking the moment.
He checks it, sighs, and says, "Workshop schedule just dropped. We start rehearsals Monday morning. Guess you're stuck with me for a while."
I take a long sip of water. "Great. My favorite sentence."
As he walks away, I catch a glimpse of something in his eyes — not arrogance this time, but something quieter. Thoughtful. Maybe even nervous.
Or maybe I'm just seeing things I shouldn't.
Ember finds me minutes later, glowing from her own interview. "Well?" she asks, nudging me. "Did you kill each other?"
"Not yet," I say. "But the week's young."
That night, I sit by my window again, city lights spilling across the floor like a sea of gold.
The interviews are already online, clips spreading across social media.
"Sienna Everglow and Axel Reeve Reunite — Sparks or Shade?"
"Their Chemistry Is Unreal!"
"Enemies Onscreen, Lovers Off?"
I shake my head, toss my phone aside, and reach for my guitar.
For the first time in months, lyrics come easily — honest, raw, alive.
Some roles you play for cameras.
Some you play for your heart.
And some you never meant to play at all.
Monday will start the workshops — scripts, rehearsals, late nights, and the person who both unsettles and inspires me.
But for now, I let the music fill the quiet.
Because maybe, just maybe, I'm starting to remember what it feels like to live again under the lights.