Devilish secretary - Chapter 311

Chapter 311: Chapter 311 She’s so weird
“Yeah… someone shouldn’t be that kind.”

Her voice was sweet. Hollow.

Because while Sofia helped her rise in the industry by tossing her connections, vouching for her talent, speaking up when no one else did…

Sofia’s boyfriend was warming Lia’s bed most nights.

And Lia never once said no.

****

Sofia’s name was called not long before hers. She had been selected for the third female lead.

A role with just enough screen time to stay relevant, but not enough depth to leave a mark. Still, Sofia smiled proudly, clinging to the moment like a trophy.

She walked out of the audition room with her head high, clutching her script like a queen exiting the battlefield, even though her sword was barely scratched.

Lia followed close behind, arm looped into hers with that same gentle sweetness she always wore when others were watching. But as they passed Lilith, Sofia’s smile dropped for just a second, and her eyes shot her a look–cold, dismissive, sharp as glass.

Lilith didn’t react much.

She simply raised her brows and chuckled softly to herself, as if the entire drama unfolding around her was nothing more than an amateur rehearsal. She didn’t even look directly at them. The laugh alone quiet, almost amused was enough to make them scared.

A few of the other girls waiting for their turn turned toward her, confused, some whispering under their breath.

“Is she laughing by herself?”

“She’s so weird…”

“So scary…”

But Lilith didn’t care.

She knew how it looked. Knew how they saw her and now… finally, her number was called.

“Number 90—Miss Lilith Parker.”

She stood.

And silence followed.

She walked into the audition room, her steps even, heels echoing softly against the floor. Inside sat Director PJ, the man behind some of the most emotionally gripping films in the industry. Beside him, two producers and seated on the far end were two investors, both watching her curiously over their laptops

One of the producers—an older man with narrowed eyes and fingers tapping rhythmically against his clipboard looked up and spoke without smiling. “Please give your introduction. And if you have any experience, feel free to share.”

Lilith stood with her hands lightly clasped in front of her, the black dress flowing just enough around her ankles to catch the studio light. Her expression didn’t shift. No tension in her brows. No flutter in her voice.

“Lilith parker,” she said calmly, her voice low, elegant, controlled. “I’ve never acted before in a film or drama. This is my first audition.” She let that hang in the air, watching the flicker of surprise in one of the investors’ eyes, just for a second.

But she didn’t rush to explain. She didn’t try to justify herself. She didn’t pretend.

“I’m here because I read Evelyne’s script,” she continued slowly, meeting each judge’s gaze, “and I don’t think she’s meant to be acted. I think… she’s meant to be understood.”

The room went still.

Director PJ leaned forward just slightly in his seat, the tapping stopped.

Lilith didn’t say more.

“Oh?” the second producer asked, lifting an eyebrow with faint interest. He was younger than the rest, but sharper, like someone who had learned to spot masks and ambition before most people even opened their mouths. “And how do you understand Evelyne?” he asked, fingers steepled, tone casual but his eyes watching her like a test.

Lilith’s lips parted slightly, but her answer wasn’t rushed.

Her voice came quiet at first, but it carried something that wrapped around the room like a slow, icy breeze.

“Because…” she said, eyes calm, “Evelyne isn’t angry because she lost love. She’s angry because she was forgotten without ever being understood. She’s the kind of woman who stayed quiet when she was in pain, smiled when she was falling apart, and clapped for others even when her hands were bleeding.”

The room stilled. Even the sound of paper shifting stopped.

“She’s not here to be liked. She’s here because she still bleeds, just quieter now. And that’s what makes her terrifying.”

No one spoke.

Director PJ slowly leaned back in his chair, exhaling softly. The older producer dropped his pen.

One of the investors looked up from his laptop for the first time and stared at her.

The younger producer leaned forward now, his earlier casual demeanor gone. His gaze sharpened, no longer scanning her like a pretty face in a black dress but as a serious contender. “You seem to have analyzed her character very well,” he said slowly, folding his arms. “Can you perform scene three from the script? The confrontation in the rain.”

Lilith nodded once, her eyes lowering slightly as she reached for the script but then paused.

“No need,” she said gently.

“I’ve memorized it.”

That alone made the older producer raise an eyebrow.

Scene three.

The one every actress struggled with.

Evelyne stands in the rain, outside the wedding hall of the man who once loved her, watching him marry someone else. Not because she wants him back. But because he never once said goodbye.

Lilith took a slow breath, then took two steps forward.

And changed.

Her shoulders dropped, her eyes darkened with deep emotions. Her voice, when it came, wasn’t loud. It was like a whisper that demanded to be heard.

“You didn’t even turn around…” she said, staring past the casting table, as if looking through the glass walls into a memory only she could see. “You walked away like I was a city you already burned down. And now you’re standing under white lights and holy music like you never touched my darkness.”

Her lips trembled, but she didn’t blink.

“I don’t want your love back. I just wanted to know…” she paused, breath hitching, eyes glistening. “…was any of it real? Or was I just your practice before the real performance?”

She looked up, and her voice cracked, not like acting but like a real woman remembering how to breathe after drowning.

“You should’ve at least turned around, just once. Just to say goodbye. Even ruins deserve a farewell.”

The room was frozen.

No one moved.

Even the younger producer, who had been stone-faced through many auditions before this, lowered his gaze.