Miggy's POV
True to his word, Meynard called me a few minutes before the audition was set to begin in the conference room. When I arrived, the place was already packed. Everything was set—but it looked like a disaster.
"How many are auditioning?" I asked him.
"Over five hundred for the first screening," he said, serious and avoiding eye contact. "Some are downstairs in the lobby, others in the hallway. There's just not enough space to fit everyone here."
"This is a mess. We should've held this in a hotel. We could've rented a function hall to avoid this kind of chaos. If I'd known it would look like a damn rally, I never would've approved the conference room," I muttered, frustrated.
"I'll talk to the audition team and have them fix it."
"Also, check if the nearest hotel has an event hall we can use after lunch. If the President or VP sees this circus, they'll lose it. Why are we saving budget if we're just going to embarrass ourselves?" I snapped. "Call the team head. I want to talk to him in my office. Now."
Without waiting for a reply, I stormed out of the room and headed back to my office. It was humiliating—especially in front of the client rep.
"Sir, Andrew, the team head, is here with me," Meynard announced as I took a deep breath, drinking water to try and calm myself.
"Explain," I said the moment I faced them, skipping the pleasantries. I didn't need small talk—I needed solutions.
"Sir, we didn't anticipate this many auditionees," Andrew began. "We thought the conference room would be enough—"
"And now you're still not thinking of a way to fix this?" I cut him off sharply.
"Meynard, any updates?" I asked, my voice still raised.
"There's a hotel two blocks away with an available function hall. I've instructed the team to redirect the auditionees there. Neri is handling the contract now and will head over once it's finalized. Thankfully, the hotel agreed to prepare the space in advance since it's a closed-door deal. The auditionees can wait there until we resume. The panel and client reps have been informed."
Andrew avoided my gaze, and I didn't blame him. I rarely lose my temper, but this situation—and everything else on my mind—had pushed me over the edge.
"Good. Keep me updated. And make sure everything is handled out there. I don't want to be the one fixing this mess in front of our bosses. Inform the crowd about the delay, and don't abandon the panel. Make sure they're fed and comfortable. I don't want to hear a single complaint. If I do…" I trailed off, shaking my head. "Also, consider splitting the auditions into two days. There's no way we'll finish today with this turnout. Figure it out."
They didn't wait for more instructions. I watched them rush out of my office.
I sighed heavily once I was alone.
"Am I destined to be haunted by problems?" I muttered to myself. "It's exhausting. Like my brain's about to collapse from the pressure. How did my life become this complicated? How much longer do I have to deal with all this?"
I was still staring into space when Meynard returned.
"Sir?" he called.
I looked up.
"We've handled everything. Lunch has been arranged for the panel. Would you like to join them, or should I bring your food here? The audition will start at twelve-thirty. Everyone's been informed."
"Bring it here. I'm not in the mood to socialize. I need to calm down."
"Alright. I'll be back in a bit."
He gave me a quick glance before walking away.
Gabie's POV
"Besh! I'm so happy to see you here!" Jhay beamed, pulling me into a hug. "I knew it—my intuition was right! This project is meant for you. God really heard my prayer!"
That's Jhay—my best friend and manager. We met back in university, when he was juggling school and part-time work as a modeling agent. Eventually, he had to stop studying to support his family full-time after his dad had an accident at the construction site. Since then, Jhay's carried the load—earning for everyone, making sure his siblings can stay in school.
I, on the other hand, was just looking for a way to earn extra cash. Thesis expenses aren't a joke, and I never liked relying too much on Mama. So, when Jhay saw potential in me for modeling work, we teamed up. And somehow, we've been inseparable ever since.
"Wait—how come you didn't know I had an exam today?" I asked, adjusting the strap of my bag. "Thank goodness I finished early."
"Oh my gosh! I knew you'd ace it. I believe in you!"
"Stop saying that so loud—people might actually believe it," I muttered, half-laughing, half-embarrassed. "But hey, why are we meeting here? I thought you said the venue was different?"
"I didn't want to bother you while you were taking the exam," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Turns out a ton of models showed up earlier, and the hallway and lobby were packed. My source said the manager lost his temper seeing the chaos, so they moved the audition here. That's why I brought you to this hotel instead. It's fate, besh. This project is practically calling your name!"
As he spoke, he dramatically flipped his shoulder-length hair. That's my Jhay—well, he prefers 'Jaya' nowadays because he says the name his dad gave him doesn't suit him. But to me, he's always just Jhay.
"Alright, alright. Come with me so I can change before we get caught," I said. I was still wearing my school uniform.
"No rush! The audition starts at twelve-thirty," he said, rubbing his stomach. "Let's eat first before my internal pet's riot. I can't afford to die from starvation, besh!"
"Huh? I can't eat too much—I might get bloated and look off," I whined.
"My goodness, Gabie! Facial wash is what you're endorsing—not clothes or shoes! Stop stressing!"
"Fine," I sighed. "Actually, I haven't eaten anything today. I woke up late and rushed to school so I wouldn't miss the exam."
"Well then, come on! But let me warn you, I'm broke, so no treating, okay? We're both struggling here."
I laughed. "Same here. Let's just go to the nearest fast-food place you mentioned."
He grabbed my arm, excited. "Yes! Let's go! I saw one just around the corner."
We chatted animatedly as we walked. With Jhay, there's never a dull moment—his mouth runs as fast as his brain. And honestly, it's one of the things I love most about him.
***
An hour later, I was in the hotel comfort room changing into a simple outfit: a three-fourth white blouse, tattered jeans, and white sneakers. Outside, Jhay was waiting, checking his phone.
"Besh, don't put on any makeup," he reminded me as soon as I stepped out. "That's what the staff said. They want to see the natural texture of your skin for the shoot."
"I didn't put anything on," I replied. "Just brushed my teeth and washed my face. I know I already showered this morning, but after that jeepney ride, I needed to freshen up or I'd show up looking like cooking oil."
He laughed. "That's why I love you! You're smart and gorgeous! Don't waste that intelligence on some useless guy, okay? Focus on your future. Choose someone who actually deserves you."
I raised an eyebrow. "Where is this coming from? Reality check—I don't even have a boyfriend. You know I don't want to get into anything serious while I'm focused on school and work."
"I know, I know," he said, putting a hand on his chest. "I just like reminding you. I want you to succeed, besh—not just in your career, but in love, too."
I squinted at him suspiciously. "Wait a minute… are you okay? You're not telling me something, are you?"
He rolled his eyes dramatically. "I'm fine! Don't be paranoid. Can't I just love my best friend and look out for her?"
I smiled. That was Jhay—loud, dramatic, sometimes too much, but always full of heart.
Miggy's POV
"Sir? Are you ready to leave?" Meynard asked, his voice hesitant as he watched me resting with my eyes closed, slouched against the office sofa.
"Yeah," I said, standing to grab my phone from the table.
"I've already sent over the folders of the auditionees," he added quietly.
"Okay." I nodded, heading toward the door. He followed.
The hotel was just a couple of blocks away. We decided to walk—traffic would only slow us down, and I wasn't in the mood to be trapped in a car with my thoughts.
As we entered the hotel lobby, a staff member greeted us politely. "Good afternoon, sir."
I gave a small nod. "Good afternoon."
Before I could ask about our reservation, Meynard stepped in, informing them about the audition. We made our way to the function hall, where everything was supposedly set.
"Good afternoon, sir," the production team greeted me outside the door.
"Everything's ready," Andrew reported, eyes flickering with nervous energy. "The camera's set, the auditionees are in the standby area—we're just waiting for your go-signal."
I didn't respond right away. My eyes swept across the room as another staff member led me to my seat. Andrew's voice faded into the background.
If they'd handled the earlier chaos better, we wouldn't be starting this late. But I bit my tongue. No point scolding them in public—not yet.
Two minutes after I sat down, the first auditionee stepped forward and faced the camera. I barely registered them. One after another, they introduced themselves while the camera zoomed in on their bare faces—no makeup, not even powder. That was the requirement. Raw. Real.
Still, their words blurred together.
I wasn't sure if it was exhaustion or disinterest—but my mind was elsewhere.
Gabie's POV
"Good luck, besh! You're about to be called. Be confident, okay? You've got this—your face is naturally flawless, your pores are barely visible, and best of all, you've got zero pimple scars. Like, seriously. You're so blessed!"
That's his usual script every time I go to an audition.
"Hoy, stop it! You're the only one being noisy here," I scolded him, whispering harshly.
He just grinned. "What? I'm just being a proud best friend!" Then he looked me over one last time and started to walk away.
"Hey! Don't leave me!" I hissed, grabbing his arm. "I'm nervous, and you're just making it worse!"
"Relax," he laughed, though I was already tempted to scream into a pillow. "I'll be back. I just need to check on my two other auditionees over there—they're chatting across the room. If I don't say hi, what will they think of me? I'm playing favorites."
He motioned to two girls nearby, both fellow print ad models. I knew them from past shoots, though we'd never really gotten close.
Still, the nerves in my stomach churned harder.
I inhaled deeply, trying to settle the pounding in my chest.
Miggy's POV
One by one, the auditionees stood in front of the camera, introduced themselves, and followed the crew's instructions. Most of them were beautiful, yes—but beauty wasn't enough. Some had large pores, some bore the faint remains of acne scars, and others simply didn't translate well on screen. We weren't just looking for a pretty face. The right endorser needed a clear complexion, a strong camera presence, and above all, confidence. A strained smile could look like constipation on camera—and no product wanted to be associated with that.
I didn't bother checking their folders. It was easier to watch from the monitor and observe how each of them moved, smiled, and handled pressure.
Then she stepped in front of the camera.
"Wow," I murmured, almost without thinking. Her beauty wasn't forced. Her smile was warm and natural—no sign of nerves. Fair skin, a soft flush in her cheeks, and the way her face registered on camera—it was striking. I could hear similar murmurs from my fellow panelists.
Then Meynard leaned close and whispered, "Sir, Carla called. It's urgent—about Ma'am Barbs."
I clenched my jaw. Of all times…
"Just tell her to leave a message. We're in the middle of—"
"She said your mom's in the hospital. They rushed her earlier."
The words shattered everything. My heart sank, the audition disappeared from my focus, and the monitor blurred. I excused myself, muttered a quick apology, and promised to review the remaining tapes later. Meynard insisted on driving—probably still traumatized from the last time I drove while emotional, the day I fought with my father.
We left the hotel quickly, but traffic was unforgiving. An hour passed, and the hospital still felt miles away. I couldn't take it anymore. My pulse spiked with every honk and brake light. I threw the door open and started running—half-jogging, half-sprinting—ignoring the people I bumped into. Sweat drenched my shirt. My legs ached. My chest burned. But none of it mattered.
Only Mom mattered.
I didn't stop until I saw the hospital entrance. I grabbed my phone and dialed Carla with trembling fingers. Thankfully, she answered on the first ring.
Room 508.
I burst into the room, breathless and disheveled. My shirt clung to me with sweat, and my hair was a mess. Carla and Uncle Manuel looked up, startled.
"Sir, what happened to—"
"Son?"
I ignored their questions. "What happened to Mom?"
"She's dehydrated," Aunt Beth said gently. "Too much alcohol, irregular meals, no sleep..."
I nodded, but her voice faded behind the noise in my head.
I stepped closer and kissed Mom's forehead. Her face had changed—noticeably. She'd lost weight. Her skin was duller, her eyes sunken beneath dark circles. I'd seen her tired before, back when she was shooting films back-to-back, but this… this was different. This was fragility.
I sank into the plastic chair beside her bed, held her hand, and gently ran my fingers through her hair. Everyone else went quiet, just watching. I couldn't speak. I couldn't even think anymore.
All the questions that had filled my head on the way here were gone.
I had no words left—just the sight of my sleeping mother and the overwhelming need for her to wake up.