The private elevator rose smoothly through the core of KEB Tower, a whisper of motion that ended with a soft chime on the 62nd floor.
Kevin Emilio Boyce stepped out into the executive corridor—dark wood, recessed lighting, the faint scent of polished leather and ambition. He moved without hurry, custom oxfords silent now on the thick carpet.
Mara was waiting outside the boardroom, tablet in hand.
"Morning, sir. The final callback list for Lifebook just came in from casting."
She handed him the tablet.
Kevin scrolled once.
Seven names.
Sophia Reyes
Lena Park
Maya Ellison
Harper Voss
Alice Tanaka
Isla Moreau
Zoe Carmichael
The first four were rising stars—strong reels, good press, safe choices.
Six and seven were wild cards with raw talent.
But number five.
Alice Tanaka.
Her headshot loaded beneath the name: soft studio light, subtle makeup, curls framing her face exactly as he remembered. Dimples just hinted at the edges of a calm, professional smile.
Kevin's thumb hovered over the screen.
Ten years had softened her edges, but not the impact.
He handed the tablet back.
"Schedule the groups as planned," he said, voice low and even. "Reyes and Park on Tuesday morning. Ellison and Voss Tuesday afternoon. Moreau and Carmichael on Wednesday."
Mara nodded, fingers already typing.
"And Miss Tanaka?"
Kevin walked past her toward the glass wall overlooking the city.
"Thursday. 3:00 p.m. She comes alone. Clear the floor. No panel. No observers."
Mara didn't blink. "Just you?"
"Just me."
He didn't turn around. "Send the confirmations to the first six today. Hold hers until tomorrow night. Let her think it's standard."
"Yes, sir."
Mara left as quietly as she'd arrived.
Kevin stayed at the window, hands in his pockets, watching the distant traffic crawl along the 101.
A memory surfaced uninvited: Alice at fifteen, pointing across a classroom, voice sharp and absolute, ending his time at St. Augustine with a single accusation.
He let the memory come and go.
Then he pulled out his phone and opened the audition schedule himself.
He typed a new entry for Thursday:
3:00 p.m. – Alice Tanaka
Private read
Executive Producer: Kevin Emilio Boyce
He saved it.
Across the city, in a quiet West Hollywood hotel suite paid for by the studio, Alice Tanaka sat cross-legged on the bed, script pages spread around her like a paper fortress.
Her phone buzzed.
New email from KEB Casting:
Subject: LIFEBOOK Final Callback – Schedule Update
Congratulations again, Alice.
Your callback has been scheduled as a private session.
Thursday, 3:00 p.m.
KEB Tower, 62nd floor.
Please arrive 15 minutes early. You will read directly with the executive producer.
She read it twice.
Private session. No reader named. No panel.
Nerves fluttered—good nerves. The kind that meant they were taking her seriously.
She set the phone down and picked up the sides again.
Scene 17: the cafeteria.
Scene 24: the bicycle.
Scene 31: the accusation.
The dialogue felt heavier every time she read it.
Something about the girl—"Queen"—felt like looking into an old mirror she'd forgotten existed.
Alice shook her head, smoothed a curl behind her ear, and whispered the first line aloud.
"You're pathetic."
The words tasted strange in her mouth.
She didn't know why.
She had no idea that the man waiting on the 62nd floor had written them about her.
No idea that every cruel line she was about to perform had once been his real life.
Thursday was three days away.
The tower waited.
Kevin waited.
And Alice—beautiful, calmer, kinder, still carrying those perfect dimples—was walking straight into the story she'd helped create.
Straight into the gaze she'd once punished him for.
This time, she wouldn't be able to look away.