Chapter One Hundred And Eighty Eight
The backstage area of the creative arts hall was a loud, chaotic maze of bright clothing racks, flashing makeup lights, and shouting production assistants. People were running in every direction, holding steaming irons, clipboards, and heavy garment bags. The air was thick with the strong scent of hairspray, expensive perfumes, and the sharp, metallic smell of hot styling tools. Models were lining up against the white walls, getting their final touches of powder, while designers adjusted the hems of trousers and tightened the belts of structured winter coats. It was supposed to be the most exciting night of my career, the moment I had been working toward for years through every difficult casting call and late-night practice session.
But as I stood in
