FORGOTTEN SPARKS

CHAPTER 2: The Script and the Ghost

The stale, recirculated air of the airline cabin still clung to my clothes, a faint scent of expensive leather and tired sleep. Paris had been a whirlwind of dazzling lights, high-fashion cruelty, and absolutely no sleep. It was the natural progression for a newly crowned 'It Girl' like Savannah Pineda: win the prestigious award, ride the press wave, and be instantly catapulted onto the global fashion stage. She had handled the entire four-day trip with grace, professionalism, and an almost alarming amount of energy.

Now, though, the exhaustion was palpable.

I glanced over at Savannah, curled up in the plush leather seat beside me. Her head was tilted against the window, the harsh afternoon sun from the tarmac barely visible through the drawn shade. Her makeup—applied expertly for the flight by her tired-but-loyal MUA—was starting to show its age, but even slightly smudged, she looked ethereal. She was asleep, of course, having crashed almost immediately after we reached cruising altitude, using her limited downtime wisely.

I, on the other hand, was operating on sheer adrenaline and an industry-standard level of professional vigilance. My internal clock was a confused mess of time zones, but the only thing that mattered was the time in Manila: 3:30 PM. We were due at the company headquarters for an urgent meeting with Lincoln Marquez, our CEO, by 4:00 PM sharp.

"Almost there, Savvy," I murmured, reaching over to gently brush a loose strand of hair from her cheek. I had to wake her soon, but I hated to do it.

I pulled out a dark chocolate-almond snack bar—Savannah's current favorite. It was part of my routine, an unspoken clause in my managerial contract: keep the talent fed, hydrated, and emotionally stable. She hadn't eaten a proper meal on the plane, choosing sleep over the catered luxury food, which, for a young woman constantly under scrutiny, was understandable.

I leaned closer and tapped her shoulder gently. "Savannah. Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. We're about to land."

She stirred slowly, a soft, sleepy groan escaping her lips. Her eyes fluttered open, dark and slightly confused.

"Are we back?"

"We are. Welcome home, Rookie of the Year," I said, offering a small, tired smile. "I know you're exhausted, but we have to head straight to the office. Lincoln wants to see you immediately. Something about a surprise."

Savannah stretched, a long, languid movement that cracked her joints. "Ugh. My soul is still in the fifth arrondissement," she grumbled, but she was already sitting up, shaking off the sleep. The young star was nothing if not a professional. "I need coffee, like, an IV drip of espresso."

"The plane coffee is heinous. Just hold on for a little longer. Here," I said, placing the chocolate bar into her hand. "Emergency fuel. Eat it on the way to the office. You haven't had a proper meal in hours."

She accepted the bar instantly, a genuine look of gratitude washing over her face. "You're the best, Nayara. You always know what I need. Seriously, how do you do it? Are you secretly a mind reader?"

"It's in the job description," I replied dryly, checking my phone for any urgent messages, "Section 4, Subsection C: Anticipate and Prevent All Talent Crises, Minor and Major. Now, let's get off this bird and into a car."

Forty minutes later, we were in the polished, climate-controlled elevator of the Marquez Entertainment Group tower. Despite the exhaustion, Savannah had a renewed energy. The chocolate bar had helped, but more importantly, the adrenaline of a potential 'surprise' from the CEO was fueling her. Her excitement was a small, satisfying reward for my own relentless efforts.

The elevator chimed its arrival at the penthouse floor. Ting.

The doors slid open onto a hushed, immaculately decorated anteroom. Lincoln's secretary, the ever-impeccable Ms. Eliza, rose instantly from her desk.