Chapter 2
Cool. Cool, cool, cool.
So not only had she humiliated herself in front of everyone, but she had now also physically assaulted the lead actress of the show with a prop.
Amazing.
Maya sighed, dropping her forehead against the clipboard. Maybe if she stayed like this long enough, she’d simply cease to exist.
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Carina stormed into her dressing room, slamming the door shut behind her. Not hard enough to be unprofessional, but just enough to feel satisfying.
She inhaled sharply, pressing her fingers to her temples before yanking out her phone and dialing a number she knew by heart.
Andrea picked up almost instantly.
"Sorella! È raro ricevere una tua chiamata a quest'ora," ("Sister! It's rare to receive a call from you at this hour.")
"Non iniziare," Carina sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
A pause. Then, a quiet chuckle. "Male giornata?"
"Male è dire poco," ("Bad is an understatement,") Carina muttered, pacing the small space. "Una nuova comparsa—una ragazza—è riuscita a dimenticare la sua unica battuta quattro volte, far cadere la cartella clinica, e poi, per concludere in bellezza, mi ha colpito con essa." ("A new extra—a girl—managed to forget her only line four times, drop the medical chart, and then, to finish off in style, hit me with it.")
There was silence. Then, Andrea burst into laughter. "Ti ha colpito?!"
"Sì!" Carina threw up her hands, exasperated. "Non per sbaglio. Con precisione chirurgica. Dritto al petto." ("Not by accident. With surgical precision. Straight to the chest.")
Andrea actually wheezed. "Forse voleva vedere se eri davvero un medico." ("Maybe she wanted to see if you were really a doctor.")
"Molto divertente," Carina deadpanned. She collapsed onto the couch, rubbing her temple. "Non ho tempo per questo. Abbiamo delle scadenze. E non posso passare la giornata ad aspettare che una comparsa impari a respirare mentre dice una frase di sei parole." ("I don’t have time for this. We have deadlines. And I can’t spend all day waiting for an extra to learn how to breathe while saying a six-word line.")
Andrea hummed in amusement. "Forse è solo nervosa. Lavorare con te non è facile, Carina. Fai paura." ("Maybe she's just nervous. Working with you isn’t easy, Carina. You’re scary.")
Carina frowned. "Io non faccio paura." ("I am not scary.")
"Sì, invece."
She rolled her eyes, but… fine. Maybe he had a point. But she didn’t have the patience for this. She wasn’t unkind, but she demanded professionalism, precision. There wasn’t time for coddling.
"Qualunque cosa," (“Whatever,”) she muttered. "Voglio solo che faccia il suo lavoro senza trasformarlo in una scena comica." ("I just want her to do her job without turning it into a comedy scene.")
Andrea hummed. "E se si ripetesse?" ("And if it happens again?")
Carina exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing.
"Allora spero che abbiano già pronto il mio sostituto, perché io me ne vado." ("Then I hope they already have my replacement ready, because I’m leaving.")
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Meanwhile, back on set, Maya was still contemplating running away.
The extras were chatting like this was just another workday. Crew members were checking their phones, adjusting the lighting. The director was deep in conversation with the producer of the show: Miranda Bailey.
And Maya?
Maya stood there, alone, stewing in her own mortification.
Carina had walked off set because of her. The actual star of the show had decided she was so incompetent that she needed to physically remove herself from the situation.
Maya tugged at the hem of her lab coat, swallowing hard. Maybe she should quit before they had the chance to fire her. Would anyone even notice? Would anyone care?
Probably not.
Just get through today, she told herself. One scene. One line.
She replayed every mistake in her head—the forgotten lines, the clipboard disaster, the way Carina had just stared at her like she couldn’t believe someone this incompetent existed.
God, this was bad.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe.
Maya had fully given up.
She was going to be fired anyway. Might as well go down with a stomach full of sugar.
The craft services table was her only safe haven right now. She grabbed a donut, then another, and now she was standing off to the side, stuffing her face like she was in the middle of some sort of emotional crisis.
Which—well. She was.
Her cheeks were full, her fingers dusted with powdered sugar, and she was already reaching for a third donut when—
""Oh mio Dio, anche golosa!" ("Oh my god, also greedy!")
Maya froze.
That voice.
No. No, no, no.
She swallowed—far too quickly—nearly choking in the process. Panic shot through her system, and she turned her head ever so slightly, only to find—
Carina DeLuca.
Standing right behind her.
Maya’s entire body went stiff, like a deer caught in headlights.
Carina raised an eyebrow, arms crossed, looking far too elegant for someone who had just returned from storming off set. She tilted her head slightly, gaze flicking over Maya’s sugar-coated hands before her lips curved into something unreadable.
"Ti stai preparando per un’operazione o per un letargo?" ("Are you preparing for surgery or for hibernation?")
Maya blinked. "What?"
Carina smirked. "Niente."
Oh, no. No, Maya had been through enough today. She had already embarrassed herself in front of this woman more times than she could count—she was not about to let Carina insult her in Italian without even knowing what it meant.
Maya straightened, wiping her hands on a napkin, and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "That didn’t sound like nothing."
Carina lifted a perfectly arched brow. "Are you fluent in Italian?"
Maya hesitated. "…No."
"Then it was niente," Carina said smoothly, reaching past her to grab a water bottle from the table, twisting the cap off her water bottle like she wasn’t committing psychological warfare.
Maya scowled. "It really didn’t sound like niente."
Carina hummed and simply took a sip of water, watching her over the rim of the bottle, clearly entertained.
Maya lifted her chin. "I could Google it, you know."
"Oh?" Carina feigned intrigue. "Please, do. I’d love to watch you struggle with Italian grammar."
Maya’s hand twitched toward her phone, then stopped. Okay, maybe she had a point.
Maya had never felt so caught in her life. Her stomach was still full of donuts, her fingers still vaguely sticky, and the woman who had already walked off set because of her had now also witnessed her emotional binge-eating session.
This day was never going to end, was it?
Maya was still frozen in place, half from shame, half from the unsettling realization that Carina DeLuca was clearly enjoying her suffering.
Because there was amusement in her eyes now—an unmistakable glint of it—as if watching Maya fumble her way through this entire day had somehow turned into her personal source of entertainment.
Maya cleared her throat, shifting awkwardly, trying to act like she hadn't just been stuffing her face like a sugar-deprived raccoon. "Uh—shouldn’t we be getting back to set?"
Carina didn’t move. Instead, she very deliberately reached out… and plucked a donut from the tray.
Maya blinked. "Wait—you eat donuts?"
Carina arched an eyebrow as she tore off a small piece of the pastry. "Perché? Why wouldn’t I?"
Maya gestured vaguely at her. "Look at you. You seem like the kind of person who eats… I don’t know. Almonds and celery."
Carina actually laughed at that—low and rich, a sound Maya definitely hadn’t expected to hear today.
"You think I survive on almonds and celery?" Carina repeated, shaking her head in mock offense. "And yet you are the one devouring pastries like it’s your last day on Earth."
Maya scowled, crossing her arms. "I was stress-eating. It’s been a day."
Carina hummed, clearly not feeling even a fraction of that stress. She popped the tiny torn off piece of donut into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before tilting her head at Maya. "Capisco. And you believe an excessive amount of sugar will improve your… tragic acting skills?"
Maya nearly choked. "Okay—ouch."
Carina smirked. "È solo una teoria." "It’s just a theory."
Maya threw up her hands. "I said my line! The clipboard thing was—was an accident!"
Carina took another slow, deliberate bite of her donut, looking wholly unbothered. "*Mmhm.*"
Maya groaned. "Oh my god, you like this, don’t you?"
Carina didn’t answer. But the way she studied Maya—like she was the most interesting thing to happen on set today—was enough of a confirmation.
Maya exhaled sharply, snatching another donut purely out of spite. "You are so lucky you’re famous."
Carina smirked, leaning in slightly. "Oh, bella, I am fortunata for many things."
Maya’s brain short-circuited for the fifth time that day.
She was not going to survive this job.
The moment of sugar-fueled torment ended when a voice echoed across the set.
"Alright, people, break’s over! Back to positions!"
Maya exhaled in relief, grateful for the excuse to physically remove herself from this situation. She quickly wiped her hands on a napkin, trying to shake off both the sugar and the lingering embarrassment of Carina watching her inhale donuts like a gremlin.
Carina, however, looked completely unbothered, finishing her donut at an infuriatingly leisurely pace before tossing the napkin in the trash and strolling back to set like she owned the place. Which, technically, she did.
Maya followed, shaking off the nerves. Okay. Just focus.
This was her second chance. She’d say her line, hand over the clipboard without causing any bodily harm, and walk away. That was it. No disasters. No humiliation.
Just one clean take.
The cameras rolled.
Action.
Carina delivered her line flawlessly, turning to Maya with that same commanding presence that made her actually believable as a doctor.
Maya took a deep breath, stepped forward, and—
"Here’s the latest patient report, Dr. Russo," she said, voice steady, movements perfectly normal.
She handed Carina the clipboard. No fumbling. No hitting.
Victory.
She had done it.
Maya could feel the relief washing over her. The director looked satisfied. The crew remained silent—no groans, no secondhand embarrassment.
For the first time all day, things were actually going right.
And then—
Carina dropped the clipboard.
On purpose.
The sharp clatter echoed through the set.
Maya’s stomach plummeted.
She barely had time to react before Carina let out an exaggerated sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose like she was the one suffering through this scene.
"Scusa, regia," Carina said smoothly, turning toward the director. "Can we do it again? Ho perso la concentrazione."
Maya’s jaw nearly hit the floor.
The director groaned, rubbing her face. "Alright, reset."
Maya whipped her head toward Carina, eyes wide. "What. The. Hell."
Carina turned to her, completely unfazed, a dangerous glint of amusement in her eyes. "Something wrong, Ma-ya?"
Maya gawked at her, utterly betrayed. "You just screwed that up. On purpose."
Carina gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I lost focus."
"You lost focus?" Maya repeated, incredulous. "After I finally got it right?"
Carina’s lips curved into the most infuriatingly smug smile Maya had ever seen. "Interesting feeling, no?"
Maya’s stomach burned.
Oh, this was war.
And Carina DeLuca had just made it personal.
Maya narrowed her eyes.
Alright. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.
Maya could do this all day.
She snatched the clipboard off the floor, handed it to Carina with all the warmth of a DMV employee, and stepped back.
Carina took it.
She held onto it.
And for one blissful second, Maya thought they were in the clear.
Then—
Carina sneezed.
SNEEZED.
And let the clipboard fall out of her hands like she had been shot.
Maya didn’t even register the clipboard hitting the floor this time. All she saw was red.
"Mi dispiace, regia," Carina said, touching her chest delicately. "I must be allergic to something."
Maya stepped in closer, voice low and dangerous. "Yeah. You’re allergic to me getting this scene right, apparently."
Carina turned her head slightly, eyes twinkling. "That’s an interesting diagnosis. Have you considered med school?"
Maya was going to combust. Right here, on this very set. Just spontaneously burst into flames out of pure, unfiltered frustration.
The director pinched the bridge of her nose so hard it looked painful. "One more time. And let’s get it right."
Maya sucked in a deep breath, hands clenched into fists at her sides.
This was it. She was getting through this take if it was the last thing she ever did.
Oh. Oh, so this was a game to Carina?
Fine. Game on.
The set reset again. The director looked like she was this close to throwing her own clipboard at the wall, but the cameras started rolling.
Maya inhaled deeply, steadying herself. This time, she wasn’t just going to deliver her line—she was going to make damn sure Carina felt it.
The scene started.
Carina, ever composed, spoke first. "Dr. Greene, I need that report now."
Maya stepped forward, her jaw tight, her grip on the clipboard firm.
She met Carina’s eyes—held them.
And this time, instead of just saying the line, she owned it.
"Here’s the latest patient report, Dr. Russo," she said, her voice sharp, clipped, just enough bite behind it to make it clear—she wasn’t some extra to be toyed with.
She shoved the clipboard forward—not aggressively, but with purpose.
And Carina—Carina, who had been entirely in control all day—reacted.
Something flickered in her expression. A split-second of something unreadable. But instead of just taking the clipboard and moving on like she was supposed to, she improvised.
She let the clipboard linger between them for a moment, fingers brushing against Maya’s just a second too long.
Then she tilted her head, lips curving ever so slightly. "You seem tense, Dottoressa."
Maya’s breath hitched.
That was not the line.
She stiffened, scrambling to figure out how to respond, but Carina wasn’t done.
She took a step closer. Just enough to shrink the space between them, just enough to make Maya’s brain short-circuit. "Long day?" Carina asked, her voice softer now, edged with something almost teasing.
The crew shifted. The energy had changed.
This wasn’t just a dry hospital scene anymore.
This was charged.
The air felt thick. Electric.
Maya knew she had a choice—either let Carina take full control again or push back.
So she lifted her chin and matched Carina’s stare. "You could say that," she shot back, her voice lower, steadier.
Carina’s smirk deepened. "Perhaps you should take una pausa."
Maya exhaled sharply, gripping the clipboard tighter. "Perhaps you should read the damn report."
Silence.
Then—
"Cut!"
The director sounded stunned. The crew exchanged looks.
The chemistry between them was palpable.
Maya barely had time to process before she heard the director mutter, "Huh. That was actually… good. Let’s keep that."
Maya’s pulse hammered.
She exhaled deeply, scrubbing a hand down her face. Finally. Finally, she was free from this torment.
She turned to Carina, prepared to either demand an explanation or just launch herself into the void, when she saw it—
Carina grinning.
Not just grinning.
Smirking. Smug. Triumphant.
Like she had won.
Maya’s exhausted brain short-circuited again. "Why do you look like you just won an Olympic medal?"
Carina casually tucked the clipboard under her arm, strolling past Maya with the kind of self-satisfied confidence that only she could pull off.
She leaned in just slightly, voice warm with amusement.
"Vedi, bella? This last scene was much better. Now we’re even."
Maya’s mouth fell open. "You—what?!"
But Carina was already walking away, leaving Maya standing there, reeling.
And that’s when she realized—
She had been played.
Maya swallowed hard.
This was no longer just a job.
This was war.
And Carina DeLuca was playing dirty.