A NIGHT WITH THE DEVIL

The ballroom was full of bright gold sequins and flashing cameras. The air smelled like expensive flowers and heavy perfume.

“Alita! Over here!” a producer yelled, waving his hand wildly.

“You were amazing in that final scene!” another woman shrieked, grabbing Alita’s arm. “Absolutely breathtaking!”

Alita laughed, feeling a bit out of breath.

“Thank you! I—I still can’t believe it!”

“Best Female Lead!” a man roared, holding up a glass of champagne. “To Alita! The new queen of the screen!”

Clink!

A dozen glasses hit together at the same time. The sharp sound cut right through the loud, thumping music.

Camera flashes exploded from every direction, bathing the ballroom in bursts of white light. Reporters eagerly scribbled notes while celebrities and investors pushed through the crowd, each hoping to congratulate the industry’s newest sensation.

Director Marcus stepped forward. His face was red with pride. He held a bottle of expensive champagne, and cold water dripped down the label.

Pop!

The cork flew toward the ceiling.

Marcus grinned and poured champagne generously into Alita’s glass.

“This deserves a celebration that lasts until sunrise!” Marcus shouted. “Drink up, Alita. You earned every drop of this.”

“I should probably slow down,” Alita whispered, though a smile tugged at her lips.

“Nonsense!” Marcus laughed. “Tonight, the rules don’t apply to you. Drink!”

The room erupted into laughter.

Alita raised her glass.

“To new beginnings.”

She took a sip.

Then another.

And another.

Hours slipped by.

The music became softer.

The lights melted into warm golden streaks.

Voices around her gradually blended into an indistinct hum, their words dissolving beneath the pounding rhythm of the music as the champagne warmed her veins.

The room swayed gently around her.

She leaned back against a velvet sofa, her award resting carelessly on the coffee table.

“I feel… floaty,” Alita giggled. “Everything is just… so bright.”

“That’s the victory talking,” a familiar voice whispered.

Alita blinked several times before the figure standing just beyond the lights came into focus.

“Bianca!”

Her smile widened lazily.

“You came…”

Bianca stood elegantly in a shimmering silver gown, a glass of water resting lightly in her hand. Her lips curved into a polite smile, but there was something unsettling about her eyes.

“I wouldn’t have missed your biggest night,” Bianca replied.

“I won,” Alita slurred proudly.

“I saw.”

Bianca took another sip of water.

“It was a truly impressive performance, Alita.”

Alita beamed.

“Thank you.”

“You really played the innocent victim perfectly.”

Alita frowned.

“What do you mean?”

Bianca stepped closer, her smile sharpening ever so slightly.

“Oh, nothing.”

Her voice was smooth.

“It’s just that you’re so good at pretending.”

Alita laughed weakly.

“Heehee… you’re just being… weird.”

Her eyelids suddenly felt heavier.

A strange wave of dizziness rolled through her body, heavier than anything a few glasses of champagne should have caused. She rubbed at her eyes, trying to clear the growing haze clouding her vision.

She reached for her champagne glass.

Her fingers slipped.

Clatter!

The glass crashed onto the table before falling to the floor, spilling champagne across the white tablecloth.

“Oops…” Alita mumbled with a sleepy sigh.

From the corner of the room, Bianca watched Alita struggle to sit up.

The cruel smile on Bianca’s face reflected in the gold of Alita’s trophy.

Your end is near, bitch.