Every story has to start somewhere, and this one begins with the doorbell ringing at a house party.

This isn't any ordinary house party, however, not by a long shot.

There is a lot of talk floating around about options and distribution rights, setups, and screenplays.

Some of the guests would look very familiar to the general public.

The rest of them are responsible for the rising fame of their on-screen counterparts.

No, this is definitely no ordinary gathering in an ordinary home.

This is a Hollywood party.

Most of the attendees are notable players in the film industry, and the location is a luxury condo in an exclusive neighborhood. Although some of them came from relatively humble beginnings,

all of the partygoers are now quite wealthy. Most of them are notable figures in the highly

competitive world of television and feature films. Their current existence is encased in a

wondrous bubble of splendor

and comfort. The average person can hardly imagine what it would look like to live among them,

to move in their circles and experience the marvelous pleasures they enjoy on a daily basis.

They dwell in the upper tiers of society, far above the relative squalor of the masses below.

And that crystalline bubble is about to burst with the ringing of the doorbell.

Lights?

Camera.

Seth Harwood happened to be the closest person to the door when the doorbell rang.

He yelled,

I'll get it.

And wandered over to take a bleary glance through the window.

There was a camera facing the front porch, but no one was monitoring the feed.

...