Chapter 88: There to see her fail.
Of course, when Camden asked Adelyn if she had any complaints, he wasn’t offering her sympathy.
His intent was far simpler.
He was making it clear that the decision had been his —and if she wished to place blame, he would accept it.
It was a test.
And Adelyn understood it perfectly. ’
A faint, polite smile curved her lips as she replied, "Director Rhodes, how could I complain when I consider this a valuable opportunity? I’m rather grateful to you."
She could have flattered him more using the same tone. But flattery was never her way.
So, she kept her words measured —just enough to make it clear that she held no grudge.
Once again, Director Rhodes was impressed, and this time, he didn’t bother to hide it.
Nodding, he said, "In that case, I hope you don’t disappoint me."
Adelyn inclined her head slightly. "I’ll do my best."
Her gaze briefly shifted past him —to a few familiar faces she had seen at the dinner before. She might not recognize them personally, but she knew they were the investors.
One glance was enough to tell that they were waiting to see her fail.
She didn’t mind.
Instead of acknowledging them, she simply refocused on the stage.
Seeing her ready, the cue was given.
The lights dimmed across the room —
Until only a single beam remained, falling from above and enclosing Adelyn in its quiet intensity.
The project was a period piece.
And since Adelyn had been placed in the slot for the female lead, the panel already expected her to perform a scene as the Empress.
What they didn’t know was that Director Rhodes had deliberately raised the stakes.
He had chosen one of the most difficult scenes in the entire script.
A scene that demanded not just emotional depth, but also physical execution —props, choreography, and supporting actors.
Yet none of those had been provided.
As the panel glanced down at the sheet and realized this, they all turned toward him with mixed expressions.
Confusion.
Disbelief.
Was he trying to disqualify her?
If so, why give her the chance at all?
Why push her into such a situation —one that almost guaranteed failure?
Director Rhodes felt their gazes.
He knew exactly what they were thinking. But he didn’t bother explaining.
"Focus on her," he said calmly. "If she fails, you’ll all support me in disqualifying her."
The panel fell silent.
Even the investors seated behind exchanged glances.
"Is he making things difficult for her?" one of them whispered.
"No idea," another replied. "But I heard he picked a very difficult scene for her —without props and support."
"Then it’s obvious," someone added, "At the dinner, he was just saving face for Polson. This is his real decision."
A few nodded, seemingly satisfied with that conclusion.
Their gazes returned to the girl standing alone on the stage.
She should have backed out when she had the chance, they thought.
"Action!"
Director Rhodes’s voice rang through the hall.
All attention snapped back to the stage.
For a moment —
Adelyn didn’t move.
No expression.
No gesture.
Just clean, heavy —almost deafening silence.
A few brows furrowed in impatience.
Had she frozen?
But then —
Something shifted.
The air around her seemed to grow heavier, as if an unseen presence had taken form.
And when she finally raised her head —the room stilled.
The sharpness in her eyes carried authority.
She no longer looked like the girl they had just heard or seen moments ago.
Her presence alone painted the image of an Empress.
Her gaze hardened —not with arrogance, but with the grief buried too deep to be shown.
Slowly, she stepped forward.
Each movement was measured, regal ... yet carrying an unspoken exhaustion.
"The emperor is gone ..." she spoke, her voice low —steady, but hollow at its core.
A pause followed.
Not empty —but filled with restrained sorrow.
Her fingers tightened at her side, as if gripping something invisible. though
A sword.
And in that instant, her entire aura changed.
Her shoulder straightened —not as a woman mourning her husband, but as a ruler standing before her people.
"... but the empire still stands."
Her voice rose —not loud, but firm enough to command.
The grief didn’t disappear —it transformed into a resolve, clear in her eyes.
She turned sharply.
And with that turn —
Her hand moved in a swift, precise motion. Her fingers curled as if gripping the hilt of a blade.
Her stance shifted seamlessly —left foot grounded, right one angled back, and body lowered slightly.
A perfect combat posture.
Even without a real sword —
Everyone could see it ... feel it.
"The enemy stands at our borders," she continued, her voice now cutting like steel. "They believe our loss has weaned us ..."
A step forward —sharp, controlled.
Her invisible blade sliced through the air.
Clean.
Decisive.
"They believe we will fall."
Another strike —
Faster this time.
Her wrist turned with flawless precision, her posture unwavering.
Every moment spoke of discipline.
Years of it.
No one blinked.
No one dared to.
Then —
She faltered, just for a fraction of a second. Barely noticeable, but it was there.
Her breath hitched, and her hand trembled. And in that single crack —the Empress’s grief surfaced.
"... he promised," she whispered, her voice breaking just enough to be felt. "He promised he would return."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Her gaze lowered —
And for a fleeting moment, she looked no longer the empress, but a woman who had lost everything.
She closed her eyes.
And when they opened again — the softness was gone.
As if it were burned away.
What remained was fire.
With a sudden, powerful motion, she raised her arm, as if lifting a sword towards the sky.
"Then I will finish this war in his stead."
Her voice rang through the room.
Not loud —but absolute.
What followed was no longer acting. It was the war.
She moved fast. Her motion was almost fluid.
Her every step was precise. Her every turn was calculated.
Her invisible blade cut through enemies only she could see —
Yet everyone in the room could feel them falling.
Another forward thrust —clean and lethal. Her body spun with controlled force.
And then a downward strike filled with suppressed rage.
Her breathing grew heavier. And her movements turned sharper, more desperate —yet never sloppy.
Even in the chaos, she remained perfect.
Then, another turning point came, and her body jerked as if struck.
Her step faltered, and her grip weakened.
For the first time, her stance broke.
But still, she didn’t fall. She forced herself upright.
Her legs trembled —yet she stood.
"... no yet ..." she whispered, her voice faint, but unyielding.
And then with one final step forward ... one final strike — slower now, as though every ounce of strength she left was poured into it.
Her sword arm dropped.
Her body swayed, and she sank to her knees.
Her gaze drifted —as if hearing distant cheers of victory.
A faint smile touched her lips —soft.
Bittersweet.
Her gaze lifted slightly, as if looking at someone only she could see.
"...we won."
It was a whisper, barely there.
Her body stilled ... completely.
Silence filled the room.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
Because by then, they had all forgotten this was an audition.
"Cut!"
It was Director Rhodes’s voice that sliced through the stillness —snapping everyone back to reality.
Was it over?