“Oh, maybe your parents saw you on the red carpet? I don’t know if we were aired or not, but it’s possible. At the very least, maybe they saw a shot of us walking behind one of the actors getting interviewed.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” He sits back in his seat. “That’s very possible.”
He nudges me with his shoulder. “This is so cool, seriously, Miranda. Thank you so much for bringing me. Best night ever.”
“You’re welcome.”
As the lights dim and the orchestra begins to tune, Miles lets out a quiet, disbelieving sigh. “I can’t believe I’m actually here,” he murmurs. “This is insane.”
I glance at him—his excitement so pure, so unfiltered—and can’t help smiling.
The show moves through its rhythm—presenters, performances, applause that rolls through the theater. Miles and I whisper our commentary between segments, careful to keep our voices low,but when the lights dim again, and the announcer’s voice fills the room, my pulse kicks up.
“And now, the nominees for Best Actress in a Leading Role…”
My hands automatically find the clutch in my lap. I grip it tight.
Miles must feel the shift in my energy because he glances over, his knee bouncing lightly against mine. “Here it comes,” he whispers.
A montage flashes across the massive screen: faces, scenes, emotion. Each nominee appears in turn, their names echoing across the room.
“Samantha Delaney, forA Shadow Between Us.”
Applause.
“Renée Porter, forThe Quiet Hours.”
More applause.
“Annalise Sterling, forThe Glass Ceiling.”
The moment her name is spoken, something happens inside me. The audience erupts. I clap loudly, my heart swelling, my throat tightening. I steal a glance down toward the main floor, where Anna sits beside Jaden, her hands held tightly in his, her eyes wide and glistening.
Then the final nominee’s name fades, and the presenter holds the envelope. That silence—charged and delicate—fills the entire theater.
“And the Oscar goes to…”
A beat.
“Annalise Sterling!”
The crowd explodes. I’m on my feet before I even realize it, clapping so hard my palms sting. Miles cheers beside me, whistling loud enough that a few heads turn.
“Oh my God, she did it,” I breathe, my voice cracking.
Down below, Anna covers her face, visibly shaking, before Jaden pulls her into a hug. He kisses her forehead, and she stands. Tears streak her cheeks as she makes her way toward the stage, the golden spotlight following her every step.
“She looks beautiful,” Miles says softly.
“She always does,” I whisper.
Tears roll down my face as I try to absorb every second of this moment. I’m so incredibly happy for Anna, my chest aches. She’s wanted this for so long—to be recognized not for her body, her looks, or the fact that she’s the daughter of two Hollywood legends, but for her art and the life she breathes into every role. The Academy has finally seen the brilliance I’ve known all along. I told her years ago, back when she was performing in school plays, that she had something rare—a gift for embodying every character and pulling audiences deep into her world. She won because everyone who watched that film felt her character’s pain in their bones, her triumphs in their hearts. Tonight, they finally saw what I’ve seen from the start.
When she reaches the podium, she takes a shaky breath, the statue trembling in her hand. The audience quiets instantly.
“This… this is unreal,” Anna begins, her voice trembling before she laughs lightly through tears. “I’ve dreamed of this moment since I was a little girl, pretending to give speeches in my bedroom mirror. And now I’m here, holding this. I’m so honored.”
Her laughter fades into something softer, deeper. “I want to thank the Academy, of course, and everyone involved inThe Glass Ceiling—the cast, the crew, and our director, who believed in this story from the start. And to my best friend, Miranda Sinclair?—”
