Working for Vogue was supposed to be a dream job, but the reality so far had been far from glamorous. The senior photographers barked orders at you, snatched equipment out of your hands, and rolled their eyes when you asked questions.

Still, it was Vogue. The opportunity was too big to walk away from. You sucked it up, biting back your frustration and focusing on the task at hand: the shoot.

Today’s shoot was for Cate Blanchett, no less. She was already seated in the makeup chair when you arrived. She looked effortlessly elegant, even in the chaos—a striking contrast to the disarray around her.

You kept your head down, busying yourself with setting up the equipment. One of the senior photographers noticed you struggling with a light stand and let out a sharp laugh. “Careful,” he sneered, “we wouldn’t want you to break anything. Not that it’d surprise me.”

The remark stung, but you didn’t respond. You couldn’t afford to.

“Hey, rookie,” another called out, waving dismissively toward you. “Make yourself useful and get Cate’s wardrobe list from the stylist. You do know where they are, right?”

Before you could answer, a smooth, steady voice cut through the noise. “That won’t be necessary.”

The room fell silent as everyone turned to look at Cate, who was now standing, her piercing gaze directed at the senior photographer. She adjusted the cuff of her tailored suit with a deliberate calmness that only heightened the tension.

“I think they have enough to manage without being sent on errands,” she said, her voice even but firm. Her eyes flicked to you, softening slightly as they met yours. “I’m sure they’ll do just fine focusing on the photography.”

A murmur rippled through the room, and the senior photographer awkwardly cleared his throat, suddenly very interested in adjusting his own camera.

Cate walked over to you, her steps unhurried but purposeful. Standing close, she offered a small, reassuring smile. “Are you all set?” she asked, her tone warm and genuine, as though the chaos of the room didn’t exist.