The set had been re-dressed. The gloomy funeral parlor was gone, replaced by a lavish, cold dining room.
This was the Introduction Scene. It was the moment the Stepmother (Sienna) meets the orphan boy (Sacha) and establishes her dominance.
Sienna sat at the head of the long table. She looked breathtaking in a blood-red dress, her diamonds sparkling under the studio lights. But her expression was tight.
She was watching Sacha.
The boy was sitting in his designated chair, swinging his short legs. He was currently trying to balance a spoon on his nose while Anaïs (Eve) whispered furiously at him to stop.
"He's a menace," Sienna muttered to her assistant, who was fanning her. "Look at him. He has no discipline. Bastian only hired him because he likes charity cases."
"You look beautiful, Miss Sienna," the assistant said nervously. "The lighting is perfect."
"It better be," Sienna snapped. "I have to share the screen with a child. Do you know what they say in Hollywood? Never work with kids or animals. They steal the focus."
She narrowed her eyes. She wasn't worried about Sacha stealing the scene with talent. She was worried about the way Bastian watched him.
Bastian was standing by the monitors, his arms crossed. He wasn't looking at his phone. He wasn't looking at the script. He was watching the boy with a strange, intense focus that Sienna had never seen before.
He never looks at me like that, Sienna thought, a spike of jealousy piercing her chest.
"Places!" the Assistant Director shouted.
Anaïs pulled the spoon off Sacha's nose. "Okay, Sacha. Remember the deal. You do this scene, you get the chocolate fountain."
"And I get to scream," Sacha reminded her, his eyes gleaming.
"Only when the script says so," Anaïs warned.
Sacha walked onto the set. He climbed into the oversized chair opposite Sienna. He looked tiny and fragile.
"Scene 14, Take 1. Action!" Bastian called.
The cameras rolled.
Sienna's face instantly transformed. She wasn't the annoyed actress anymore; she was the icy, elegant Stepmother. She picked up her wine glass, took a sip, and looked down her nose at the boy.
"So," Sienna delivered her line with perfect, chilling grace. "You are the son he left behind. You look smaller than I expected."
Sacha looked at her. He blinked.
"And you look older," Sacha said.
Silence.
The crew froze. That wasn't in the script. The line was supposed to be: I want to go home.
Sienna's eye twitched. She stayed in character, though her knuckles turned white on the wine glass.
"Excuse me?" she asked, improvising. "I don't think you understand your position, child. You are a guest in my house."
"It's a big house," Sacha said, looking around the set. "But it feels empty. Is that why you talk so loud? To hear the echo?"
Bastian didn't yell "Cut." He leaned forward. This was interesting.
Sienna stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. She walked toward Sacha, her heels clicking like gunshots. She towered over him, casting a long shadow.
"You have a sharp tongue," Sienna hissed, leaning down. "But in this world, little boys should be seen and not heard. Your father is gone. No one is coming for you. You belong to me now."
This was the moment. The script said the boy was supposed to cower and cry.
Sacha didn't cower.
He looked at Sienna. He looked at her flawless makeup, her expensive jewelry, and the desperate need for control in her eyes.
"You're lying," Sacha said calmly.
Sienna blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"You said I belong to you," Sacha said. "But you don't even like yourself."
Sienna recoiled as if he had slapped her. "You insolent little—"
"My mommy says happy people don't need to be mean," Sacha continued, his voice rising. He wasn't shouting yet. He was dismantling her. "You wear big rocks on your finger to hide that your hands are cold. You wear red dresses so people look at you. But Daddy doesn't look at you, does he?"
The air on set vanished.
Sienna froze. Her face went pale beneath the makeup. It hit too close to home. Bastian didn't look at her. Not really.
"How dare you," Sienna whispered, her voice trembling with real rage.
"He looks through you!" Sacha shouted now, standing up on his chair. He was using the permission Bastian gave him. "You're just a decoration! A pretty vase! And you hate me because I'm real!"
"CUT!" Bastian yelled.
The word echoed through the silent studio.
Sienna stood there, breathing hard. She felt stripped naked. The crew was staring at her. She could feel their pity. A five-year-old had just psychoanalyzed her in front of fifty people.
Sacha sat back down, picked up a prop grape, and popped it in his mouth.
"Was that loud enough?" Sacha asked Bastian innocently.
Bastian walked onto the set. He looked at Sienna, who was on the verge of tears, and then at Sacha, who looked bored.
"That was..." Bastian paused. He looked at the playback monitor. The raw emotion on Sienna's face—the genuine hurt—was incredible. It was the best acting she had done in years.
"That was perfect," Bastian decided. "Print it."
Sienna spun around. "Perfect?! Bastian, he humiliated me! He went off-script! He called me a decoration!"
"And it worked," Bastian said calmly. "Your reaction was visceral. It's exactly what the scene needed. Good work, everyone. Ten-minute break."
He turned and walked away.
Sienna stood alone in the center of the set. She looked at Sacha.
The boy was hopping off the chair, running toward his masked manager. "Mommy! Did you hear? I called her a vase!"
Sienna watched them.
She watched the way the manager hugged the boy, stroking his hair. She watched the way Bastian lingered by the monitor, replaying the scene, a small, rare smile touching his lips.
Something cold and ugly settled in Sienna's stomach.
It wasn't just that the brat was annoying. It was that he was winning.
He had charmed the crew. He had impressed Bastian. And he had seen right through her insecurities.
If this continued, this child would become the star of the movie. And she? She would just be the Evil Stepmother.
"Miss Sienna?" her assistant whispered, holding out a water bottle. "Are you okay?"
Sienna slapped the bottle away. It hit the floor with a loud crack.
"I'm fine," Sienna said, her voice eerily calm.
She smoothed down her red dress. She looked at Sacha one last time.
"He's a liability," she whispered to herself. "He's unpredictable. Unprofessional. Dangerous."
She turned to her assistant.
"Get me the production schedule," Sienna ordered. "And get me the list of safety protocols for the next scene."
"The... safety protocols?" the assistant stammered. "For the stairs scene?"
"Yes," Sienna smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Kids are so clumsy, aren't they? They trip over everything. Cables, props... their own feet."
She looked at Sacha, who was laughing at something his mother said.
"This set is a dangerous place," Sienna murmured, her eyes glittering like ice. "I think it's time the Little Prince realized that this isn't a playground. It's a war zone."
"And in my war zone," she added, turning on her heel, "I don't take prisoners."