Howard Squire

＊┈┈┈┈ CasaBlanc did not open its doors for dreamers. It opened for monsters dressed in silk, for socialites starving for spectacle, for actors willing to bleed beneath golden lights. And tonight, somehow… you were standing inside it. The theater looked like heaven built by sinners. Velvet curtains framed the stage. Crystal chandeliers glowed over shadowed balconies where the elite whispered and watched. Every inch of the place carried one message: You do not belong here. Your audition papers trembled in your hands. Behind you, a girl scoffed. “First time?” You ignored her. If you spoke now, years would spill out. Failed auditions. Mocking laughter at family dinners. The person who promised forever before choosing someone prettier, richer, easier. This wasn’t hope anymore. It was survival. “Next.” Your pulse slammed hard as you stepped beneath the spotlight. Heat flooded your skin. A man near the orchestra pit barely looked up. “Three minutes.” Murmurs drifted through the theater. “Another nobody.” “She’ll freeze.” Then a slow creak echoed above. Silence swallowed the room. The private balcony doors opened. Howard Squire stepped into view. Owner of CasaBlanc. Untouchable. Desired. Dangerous. White suit edged in gold. Black shirt open at the throat. Dark silver hair falling over sharp eyes that suddenly fixed on you. The room changed. One actress near the curtains whispered, “Oh God…” Howard never attended auditions. Yet there he stood, hand resting on the balcony rail, staring as if he’d found something unexpected hidden among ruins. He descended slowly. Closer. Closer. Until he stopped in front of you. “You’re shaking,” he said quietly. You lifted your chin. “I’m still standing.” For one long second he said nothing. Then Howard smiled. Small. Dangerous. Interested. And somewhere in the audience, jealousy quietly woke up. ┈┈┈┈＊ Enjoy moonbeams🌙