Chapter 169: Casting Dilemma

Chapter 169: Chapter 169: Casting Dilemma

She stared at the flashing name on the screen, her fingertip hovering over the answer button. After barely two seconds, she hung up without hesitation, set the phone to silent, and dropped it into the bag under the table.

The whole motion was smooth and detached, as if she’d just dismissed an insignificant telemarketing call.

"Sorry to keep you waiting." Irene looked up at Bryce and Henry, her expression settling back into a director’s professional calm. "Let’s continue. Start from the line where Elizabeth tells Will, ’I will wait for you to return.’"

Bryce paused for a beat, then slipped into character.

She turned to Will standing before her. In an instant, complex emotions surfaced in her eyes—the restraint of a noblewoman, the reluctance of parting from her lover, and a stubbornness buried deep beneath the surface.

"I will wait for you to return," she began, her voice catching just enough to feel real, but still held back. "No matter how long you’re gone, no matter what you have to face, I will be here waiting for you."

Her performance was delicate and moving. Her body language was controlled yet expressive, capturing Elizabeth’s balance of gentleness and inner strength.

Irene nodded. Bryce had the right temperament, and her chemistry with Henry Cavill was solid, but the stubborn resolve Elizabeth needed was still missing.

She jotted in her notebook: Strong emotion. Noble presence fits. Line delivery well-paced, but lacks the determination required in the face of unknown danger.

After Bryce left, the room settled. Everyone present was a seasoned professional. Gossip didn’t distract them, and no one was foolish enough to pry into the director’s personal life. Any initial curiosity had faded once the first audition began. The atmosphere returned to normal. Discussions resumed, though no one dared mention the photos.

Irene remained composed throughout. Her critiques were sharp and precise, her questions clear and logical, as if nothing had happened. But out of sight, the phone in her bag kept vibrating, a quiet reminder that this wasn’t over.

She drew a deep breath and looked at the next actor entering the room. Her eyes held nothing but focus for the film. "Begin."

The discussions ran until dusk. Sunlight outside had given way to an orange-red sunset, and the Disney studio’s streetlights flickered on one by one, stretching long shadows across the pavement.

Irene rubbed her aching temples and closed the stack of actor profiles. After a full day of intensive auditions, each of the seven actresses had strengths, yet none had convinced everyone enough for a unanimous decision.

Bryce Dallas Howard carried the perfect noble bearing, but lacked the fierce tenacity Elizabeth needed when cornered.

Rosamund Pike’s eyes were sharp and expressive, but she missed the naive charm of a sheltered young lady.

Keira Knightley had explosive energy and strong chemistry with Henry, but her youth showed—her presence was still a touch too slight.

Leelee Sobieski captured the liveliness and stubbornness, but fell short on emotional depth.

Jessica Alba was flawless in appearance, yet her classical bearing wasn’t there.

Rachel McAdams delivered a delicate performance, but it read too modern.

Emily Blunt had a steady, commanding aura, though it didn’t mesh with Will’s youthful energy.

Kirsten Dunst was vibrant and alive, but lacked that youthful, headstrong fire.

"Let’s call it a day," Jerry said, standing and stretching. "We’re all tired. Decisions made in exhaustion lead to mistakes. We’ll reconvene tomorrow at nine to review everything and vote."

Everyone agreed. Martha gathered a thick stack of notes. "Henry, your work today was crucial. You brought out the best in every actress, especially opposite Keira. That attachment and resolve in your eyes completely sold Will and Elizabeth’s bond."

Henry stood to the side, still in the simple white shirt from the audition. He gave a modest smile. "The actresses were excellent. I just did my part."

His gaze drifted to Irene. He noticed the fatigue in her eyes and the faint furrow of her brow. He wanted to say something, but held back, swallowing his concern.

All day, Irene’s phone had lit up countless times with "Loren" on the screen. She’d ignored every call, throwing herself into character discussions without a flicker of distraction.

When she finally stepped out of the audition room, the cool evening breeze hit her. Irene inhaled deeply, letting the tension of the day ease from her shoulders.

But at the studio gate, a guard stopped her. "Irene," he said, looking uncomfortable as he pointed toward a streetlamp nearby. "That gentleman’s been waiting for you all day. He says he has to see you."

Irene followed his gaze, and her chest tightened.

Loren stood in the halo of the streetlamp, wearing a dark coat. The wind had tousled his hair, and his eyes were bloodshot. He’d clearly been there for hours.

Irene’s steps faltered. The others glanced between her and Loren, but they were Hollywood veterans. They’d seen worse. After a few exchanged looks, they quietly left.

Shelly spoke up beside her, his voice low. "Do you want me to stay with you? Or should I make him leave?"

"No need," Irene said, shaking her head. Her voice was calm, without a tremor. "What needs to be settled will be settled eventually."

She walked toward Loren, one step at a time.

As she got closer, she could see the exhaustion, anxiety, and faint panic in his eyes.

When she reached him, Loren stepped forward, his voice hoarse with urgency. "Irene, you’re finally out! I called you so many times. Why didn’t you answer? They wouldn’t let me in, so I had to wait here. Those photos are fake. Listen to me—"

Irene didn’t speak. She just looked at him. Her gaze was calm as deep water—no anger, no resentment, only a detached indifference that felt colder than fury.

That look cut Loren off mid-sentence. His mouth opened, but the explanations he’d rehearsed felt pale and useless under her stare.

A gentle breeze drifted past, carrying the distant hum of the city, but it couldn’t dispel the heavy silence between them.

Henry stood in the shadows nearby, not intruding, only watching. A complicated emotion flickered in his eyes.

Irene studied the man in front of her—the man who had once made her heart race, the man she had trusted. She remembered his intimate posture with Ellie in the photos, his easy "just a regular friend" defense, and the tender messages he’d sent when she worked late into the night. The last thread of reluctance in her heart went cold.