SEAGLASS

Wren Kessler has spent three years learning exactly how much of herself to show a room full of Newport Beach somebodies — a skill that's kept her involved with Jack Vance for two years, even as he builds a life with his for-show girlfriend, Sloane Whitfield, granddaughter of the man whose name is on their school. Wren does what she's always done: adjusts, and gets closer to Sloane to protect her footing — just not in a way anyone could've predicted. Not even Wren.

Official Selection, Web Series Festival Global 2026.

SEAGLASS started, oddly enough, as a dream. What stuck with me afterward wasn't the plot. It was the question underneath it: what does it cost to want in on a world that was built to keep you out, and what happens when the thing you actually want isn't the world at all, but one person in it you least expected? I've spent the months since turning that question into a pilot I'm genuinely proud of.

ACT THREE

INT. BEVERLY HILLS ATELIER - DAY

Hushed, expensive, the kind of quiet that costs money. A SALESWOMAN pours champagne for Sloane, Wren, and two other girls, Isla and Priya, sprawled on velvet chairs surrounded by gowns. Isla and Priya peel off toward another rack, bickering happily over a dress. Sloane and Wren are, for the moment, alone.

SLOANE

(holding up a dress)

Be honest. Too much?

WREN

Nothing in here is too much, and you make anything work.

SLOANE

(a small laugh)

Fair. And not true.

Wren tries on a dress in front of the mirror. Deep green, stunning on her without trying to be. Sloane watches, drink in hand, and doesn't say anything for a second longer than she means to.

SLOANE (CONT'D)

That one's unfair, honestly.

WREN

(pauses, then dryly)

I'll take it off, then.

SLOANE

I didn't say that.

A beat neither of them explains.

SLOANE (CONT'D)

(quieter, more real)

Can I tell you something? You're the first person on that committee who doesn't treat me like I'm made of glass because of my last name.

WREN

Maybe they just don't know you very well.

SLOANE

Or maybe you're just better at seeing people than most are.

The champagne is doing its work. There's a warmth here that neither of them is doing anything about yet.

INT. BEVERLY HILLS ATELIER - DRESSING ROOM - CONTINUOUS

Smaller. Private. Sloane has followed Wren in to zip up a dress. Their eyes meet in the mirror and hold a beat longer than a zipper requires.

SLOANE

You're really good at making people feel like the only person in the room.

WREN

(a half-laugh, deflecting)

It's a skill.

SLOANE

I don't think it's a skill when it's real.

The zipper is done. Neither of them moves to end the moment. The mirror holds both of them, close, still.

SLOANE

(barely a whisper)

Wren —

Wren turns around. They kiss, slow at first, like neither of them has decided to yet, and then not slow at all. When they break apart, neither moves away. Foreheads still close. Both breathing like they ran somewhere.

SLOANE (CONT'D)

(shaky, quiet)

Okay.

WREN

(just as quiet)

Yeah.

SLOANE

That's not — I don't have a joke for that. I always have a joke.

WREN

(a small, disbelieving laugh, still catching her breath)

So do I.

They look at each other, both of them thrown.

SLOANE

(almost testing the words)

Whatever this is... I don't think it's just the champagne.

WREN

(quiet, frightened by how much she means it)

I don't think I want it to be.

A long beat. Neither of them moves to fill it.

ISLA (O.S.)

Are you guys almost done? Priya wants opinions on the yellow one!

The spell breaks. Sloane's hand drops from where it had drifted to Wren's arm.

SLOANE

(calling back, voice not quite steady)

One second!

She looks at Wren once more, can't quite read her own face, and pushes through the curtain. Wren stays behind a moment, hand flat against her own sternum like she's checking her heart is still doing its job. She catches her reflection and doesn't recognize the expression on it.