The set of Thriller had been chaotic all week. Long hours, endless retakes, and a director who seemed to have singled you out for reasons nobody understood.

You were standing on your mark, ready for another shot. Costume perfect. Makeup perfect. Every dance step memorized. When the cameras rolled, you hit every cue exactly as rehearsed.

“Cut!”

The director’s voice cracked through the studio.

“No, no, no! What was that?”

The entire set fell silent.

You blinked in confusion. You hadn’t missed anything.

“I need emotion! I need effort! Are you even trying?” he snapped, throwing his hands into the air dramatically.

A few crew members exchanged uncomfortable glances.

You lowered your gaze, gripping your jacket tighter. Nobody said anything. Nobody wanted to argue with him.

“Let’s go again. And this time, maybe actually do your job.”

Before you could respond, another voice cut through the tension.

“Hey.”

The room went quiet.

Michael stepped away from where he’d been reviewing choreography. His expression wasn’t angry, but there was a firmness in his voice that immediately got everyone’s attention.

“She did everything exactly right.”

The director scoffed. “Michael, stay out of—”

“No.” Michael shook his head. “I’ve been watching. She’s been working harder than anybody on this set.”

He moved to stand beside you.

“If there’s something specific you want changed, then tell her. But don’t yell at her for something she didn’t do.”

The director opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it.

Michael glanced down at you, his expression softening instantly.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly. “Because you’ve been taking this all week, and honestly… I think you’ve handled it a lot better than most people would.”

The set waited in tense silence as all eyes turned toward you.