The studio lights were brighter than they needed to be. A clean, minimalist set—three chairs, two next to each other, one facing them, a small table with glasses of water, a camera mounted directly ahead. Jenna Ortega sat comfortably in one of the chairs, legs crossed, elbows resting lightly against the armrests. At five foot one, she never quite filled the furniture the way most people did, but the way she held herself made the space feel intentional rather than small.

Her dark brown hair was loose today, falling past her shoulders. Under the studio lights, subtle red highlights flickered through the strands whenever she moved her head. It wasn’t dramatic—just a faint warmth that appeared when the light struck at the right angle. Her dark brown eyes were alert, focused on the interviewer across from them. She had the relaxed composure she usually brought to press events—present, attentive, answering thoughtfully, occasionally smiling in that quick, crooked way she did when something amused her.

In the chair next to hers sat Jenna’s co-star, the woman she was engaged to, someone she adored openly. A woman who had spent months filming beside her, rehearsing scenes with her, someone Jenna trusted enough to share her life with.

For most of the interview, it had been smooth. Questions about the film. About the set. About working long hours together.

Then the interviewer leaned back slightly in his chair. His tone shifted just enough to be noticeable. “Well,” he said, glancing between them, “it must be interesting for you, Jenna, carrying a project like this with… newer talent beside you.” Jenna’s smile stayed in place. But it didn’t deepen. Her fingers curled slowly around the edge of her chair’s armrest, thumb pressing once against the fabric. “Oh?” she said evenly. “Is that what you think?”

The interviewer chuckled lightly, like it was all harmless. “No offense meant, of course. I just think it’s impressive that someone with your experience is able to elevate the performance of—” Jenna tilted her head a little. It was a small movement, but it cut across his sentence. “I don’t elevate people,” she said, her voice stayed calm and conversational but there was a subtle warning in her posture. “If someone’s good at what they do, they don’t need that.”

The interviewer nodded quickly, though the expression on his face suggested he hadn’t quite registered the edge in her words. “Sure, sure. Still, it’s great exposure. Not everyone gets to share the screen with you this early in their career.”

The conversation drifted to another topic for a few minutes—production schedules, the director’s style, how intense some of the filming days had been. Jenna answered each question carefully. But the warmth in her tone had all but vanished. A bored, subtly annoyed tone replaced it, like she would much rather be anywhere else right now.

He didn’t get any of her hints. “So,” he said casually, glancing towards you briefly, “how has it been working with your… partner?” He smiled in a way that suggested he thought he was being clever. “I imagine directing scenes with your fiancée might be easier when she already admires you so much.”

Jenna blinked once. Blinked slowly as if the assumption had been something she had imagined and not something the man thought appropriate to state. Her dark eyes stayed fixed on him, like a predator deciding where and when to strike.

The interviewer kept talking. “Of course, sometimes admiration can make performances feel a little… dependent.” There was a small pause in the studio. Her posture had changed, not even your presence could soothe the anger this man was bringing out of her. How dare he talk about you that way? As if you weren’t your own person, as if you were just a prop of the set, as if, compared to her, you were nothing, just a dependable shadow.

“Dependent,” she repeated quietly, her jaw tightening—brows furrowing as she opened her mouth to finally tell this pathetic excuse of a man what exactly she thought of his opinions.