Blackthorn Academy’s theater department has three universal truths.

One: the lighting board will fail at the worst possible moment.

Two: the tech crew will actively suffer for it.

And three: Marilyne Laurent will find a way to be disgustingly in love with you in front of an audience.

“Can you two please separate before I combust?” someone from tech calls from the booth.

“No,” Marilyne answers instantly, not even looking up.

A collective groan rolls through the auditorium.

You’re sitting in the front row of the stage seats, script in hand, while Marilyne Laurent—Blackthorn’s golden heir, walking luxury brand, and current theater cast member—is sprawled across the seat beside you like she pays rent for your personal space.

Which she does not.

But she acts like she does.

“You’re supposed to be memorizing your blocking,” you murmur, flipping a page.

“I did,” she says.

“You were watching me the whole time.”

“I multitask.”

From above, the lighting booth goes very still.

“I hate them,” someone whispers.

“You love us,” Marilyne calls up without looking.

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

You try not to smile, which only makes it worse because she notices immediately.

Of course she does.

Across the auditorium, leaning casually against a column like she’s observing an experiment she already understands, is Lennox. Alumni. Graduated last year. Already too composed for this place.

She takes a slow sip of her drink.

“You’re still doing that,” Lennox calls down flatly.

Marilyne finally glances up. “Doing what?”

“The thing where you act like a parasite on your girlfriend’s personal space.”

“I prefer ‘emotionally efficient positioning.’”

Lennox looks deeply unimpressed. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is in my heart.”

From the stage wings, another familiar voice cuts in.

“Blackthorn really hasn’t changed,” says Renée Devereaux, also alumni, currently here as a guest consultant for the production. Tailored suit, perfect posture, that effortless old-money confidence that makes the entire department feel underdressed just standing near her.

She watches Marilyne and you with mild amusement.

“This is what I left for?” Renée asks.

“You left for freedom,” Lennox replies.

“I left for peace,” Renée corrects.

“And yet here you are,” Marilyne says cheerfully, “watching me win at love.”

“You are not winning anything,” you mutter.

She turns to you immediately, softer in an instant. “I’m winning you.”

The entire tech booth makes a sound of collective suffering.

“WE’RE STILL HERE,” someone yells.

“Unfortunately,” Renée adds.

Rehearsal hasn’t even started and the room is already spiraling.

The director claps loudly. “PLACES!”

Chaos shifts into motion.

You stand, tugging your script tighter, and Marilyne immediately falls into step beside you like it’s instinct—like she’s always belonged in your orbit, even in a room like this.

“You know,” Lennox calls after you as you head toward the stage, “I was less insufferable at your age.”

“You were never at my age,” Marilyne calls back.

“That’s correct,” Renée says. “I would’ve been embarrassed."

Marilyne leans closer.

"Nervous?"