the price of spotlight

Darla’s POV

I turned to the actor and whispered, “Hide. Now!”

He didn’t argue. He grabbed his shirt and slipped into the narrow closet near the bathroom. I cracked the door open. It was her.

Melanie.

She stood there with concern written all over. If I hadn’t heard about her plan to kill me earlier, I would have totally fallen for it. But I knew better now.

“There you are,” she said. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

I raised a brow. “Why?”

“Well, I couldn’t find you at the party,” she said with a forced laugh. “You just disappeared, so I figured maybe something happened. I came to check.”

I leaned on the doorframe. “And you just happened to check this hallway?”

Her eyes shifted behind me, like she was trying to look into the room. “I also saw someone, a guy, walk this way earlier. I just thought maybe he was looking for something too.”

She wasn’t as sneaky as she thought she was.

“You know,” I said, “it’s funny how you always show up where you’re not invited.”

“I was worried,” she said quickly. “You don’t believe me?”

I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “Come on. Let’s get back.”

She hesitated, then stepped aside and followed me down the hallway. Neither of us said anything. But I knew she’d be back with more.

It was past midnight by the time I got home. I was still feeling good from everything that happened that night. Still proud of what I had done.

I had owned the room, taken what I wanted, and absolutely no one could take that away from me.

Or maybe that’s what I thought.

The next morning…

I woke up slowly. The sunlight pouring through the windows hit my face. My dress from last night was crumpled on the chair, my mind filled with memories from last night, and my phone buzzing with notifications.

I reached for it. They were probably work notifications. I rubbed my eyes to clear my vision, and the moment my eyes could clearly see the screen, I froze.

HEADLINE: Talent or pillow privilege?

New actress lands lead role in “Second Dawn.” Anonymous source claims Darla Morrison slept with the film’s executive producer, Xavier Lorette, before casting was finalized.

“Pillow privilege?… Really?” I said to myself, my chest tightening with every word.

My throat felt dry as I stared at the headlines, trying to blink it away, but it didn’t go. I scrolled further, but there were no photos, no video: just words.

Some posts praised me as the perfect fit for the role of Eva Sinclair, while some accused me of using my body for fame.

But there was no evidence.

Just whispers, and in this town, whispers spread like wildfire.

My heart twisted.

I had earned this role. Trained for it. Fought for it. But now the world would think I was handed it under the sheets.

And the worst part?

They weren’t even accusing me of sleeping with the actor from last night. They were accusing me of sleeping with Xavier Lorette, the producer. I had never even met him.

I was still staring at the screen when I heard the doorbell ring. I didn’t rush because I already knew who it was. I threw on my robe and walked to the front door.

It was Richard.

Of course he was going to come. He was still my boyfriend.

He stood there with a soft look on his face, like he wasn’t part of the mess I was trying to clean up.

“Hey,” he said gently, his voice low and soothing. “Can I come in?”

I moved aside without a word.

He stepped in with his hands in his pockets like a guilty boy. “I saw the rumors about you and the producer. Are you okay?”

I gave a small nod and headed to the kitchen. He followed behind me.

“I just wanted to check on you,” he added, “and maybe talk…”

That part made me turn.

“Talk?” I said, raising a brow. “About what??”

He looked away for a second. “About yesterday. The office.”

Ah, that.

I took out a bottle of water from the fridge and sat at the kitchen table.

“I know how that looked like,” he said quickly, “but it wasn’t what you think. Melanie just stopped by and we were talking…”

“In a locked office?” I asked.

His jaw twitched. “Okay. It was stupid. I should have told you she was coming. I just didn’t want to upset you. That’s all.”

“Right,” I said. “Wouldn’t want to upset me?”

He looked like he wanted to say more but didn’t know how or what to. Instead, he reached for my hand and gave it a light squeeze.

“I’m sorry… I really am on your side.”

I just smiled and pulled my hand away.

“Stay if you want,” I said. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

He nodded. We walked back to the parlour and he settled on the couch like he belonged there. Like he hadn’t broken something I wasn’t ready to talk about yet. Like he hadn’t planned to kill me soon.

About ten minutes later, the doorbell rang again. It couldn’t be anyone else but my sweet cousin. I opened the door with a soft, practiced smile.

“Oh my sweet Darla. I saw the story,” she said, stepping into the room, her eyes filled with concern. “I can’t believe they’re saying that about you. You worked so hard for it. It’s disgusting.”

I just stared at her.

“I mean,” she added quickly, “you would never do something like that, right?”

I still didn’t say anything. I just smiled lightly and shut the door behind her. Then she noticed him.

Their eyes met and I felt a strange shift in their atmosphere, and her whole body tensed.

“Richard?” she said, surprised. “I thought you were out of town. You told me you had business.”

He stood up, slow and awkward. “Yeah… I finished early.”

She looked at me, then back at him. Her smile faltered. The tension between them hit like perfume in a closed room. It was thick, heavy, and filled with unspoken words.

I noticed.

Of course I noticed. And I laughed. Because watching them squirm was the best thing I’d seen all day.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “You’re both welcome here. Stay as long as you want.”

They exchanged a glance, but neither of them said a word. I walked to the kitchen to grab my phone, still smiling. And then:

Buzz.

Casting Assistant:

“You’re expected on set in an hour. Wardrobe fitting and test scene. Details attached.”

Perfect timing.

I got to my room and changed up in record seconds.

“Duty calls,” I said. “Don’t wait up.”

And I left them there. Alone in my house. Sitting in the silence they built together. I didn’t have time for their fake pity. Neither did I have time to feel sorry for myself or drown.

Whoever did this wanted to see me fall, but I wasn’t going to.

By the time I got to the studio, a lot of people were already whispering.

“That’s her.”

“She’s the one.”

“Is it true what they’re saying?”

Well… let them talk. I was here to work.

A woman with a clipboard spotted me and waved at me. “Wardrobe’s this way, Miss Morrison.”

The fitting was quick but snug. They handed me Eva Sinclair’s signature dress. It was a deep red dress with big sleeves and a tight waist.

Ten minutes later, I was standing under a spotlight in front of two cameras and three casting heads. I took a deep breath and started rendering my lines.

“You think I came here to beg?” I snapped, my voice sharp and controlled. “No. I came to take back what you stole.”

There was a short moment of silence. Then a quiet, “Cut.”

One of the casting assistants smiled and nodded. “Perfect.”

I smiled too, but not for them. For myself. Because I could still feel last night’s power under my skin.

It didn’t take long. I was done in the space of an hour, and I headed home.

By the time I got back home, the air was weird. Too still. The house felt weirdly quiet.

I opened the door and found Richard in the living room. Melanie was beside him. Her lipstick looked freshly smeared. His shirt was buttoned wrongly: the top button skipped, and the collar twisted slightly.

I stood at the doorway and let the silence hang for a bit too long.

“You’re back,” Melanie said, standing quickly.

Richard just rubbed the back of his neck.

“Didn’t know you’d be home this early,” he muttered.

“Do I now need permission to come to my own house?” I asked, tilting my head.

Melanie let out a nervous laugh. “Of course not. We were just talking.”

“Right,” I said, eyes drifting to Richard’s chest. “Next time, maybe let your buttons do the talking.”