I

Present

My breath caught in my throat, like I had just drowned, and finally reached the surface. The yellow light from the bed lamp slapped me back into reality. My spacious room—the messy gray sheets, the AC running, and the cold air piercing my sweat-soaked skin.

I hugged my chest, trying to soothe the rumbling that felt like it was hollowing out my ribs.

That dream again. The same dream. That night, Dylan had blood on his neck.

I covered my face with both hands, but that didn't erase it. The images still lingered in my mind's eye. Five years had passed, and this dream still crushed me every night, bringing me back to when everything stopped.

Where my heart broke. Where I lost My Brother.

I woke up fully, cold sweat beading on my neck and back.

Jumping out of bed, I dragged my body to the kitchen. The light above the dining table burns dimly, creating long shadows on the walls of my deserted apartment. I opened the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of cold water, and poured it into a glass. As the cold liquid touched my lips, a little consciousness returned. But the memory of Dylan, his blood, and the smell of the iron still surrounded my mind like a fog.

I sat at the dining table, hugging my knees as I looked up at the Los Angeles sky beginning to hint at dawn. The sleepiness was gone, replaced by a gnawing emptiness. On the corner of the table, the latest movie script waited.

I sighed, snatching the script. If sleep wasn't an option, work was. The role of the antagonist again—a cunning woman who manipulates everyone to her advantage. The sharp gaze, the knife smile, and the poisonous dialogue I've memorized. But this time, I had to understand what made her so dangerous.

Ironically, the world forgets it's an act whenever I play the enemy. The nasty comments, the nickname "The Ice Queen of Hollywood," and even the anonymous threats are relentless.

However, this role brought me to the top, and I didn't care about that.

I opened the script, reading with intense focus. The ticking clock on the wall was the only time marker. As the sun began to rise, I realized that I'd been here for hours, my mind occupied with characters and dialogue.

Just as the clock struck seven, the doorbell broke the silence. I looked up,  and I walk to the door and peek through the peephole with reluctant steps.

Megan—my manager, stood outside. Her blonde hair was disheveled, her face anxious, and her hand clutched tightly around her phone. Something in her expression made me instantly feel that something was wrong.

I opened the door. "Megan? What's wrong?"

She stepped right in without waiting for an invitation. "We have a big problem, Maya," she said, handing me her phone.

The phone screen displayed a news article with a big red headline.

"ACTRESS MAYA DE CRUZ CAUGHT IN HOT SCANDAL WITH TOP POLITICIAN!"

My eyes shifted to the headline.

The picture below shows me smiling while talking to a middle-aged man wearing an expensive suit at a dinner party. The smile is ordinary, and the conversation is not even more than small talk. However, the camera angle and media narrative make it seem more intimate.

"What is this?" I asked, even though the answer was obvious.

"They call you his mistress, Maya. And you know who his wife is. This will be a disaster if we don't act soon."

I slumped onto the nearest couch, staring at the phone blankly. The details in the article seemed to pierce my ears: "Maya De Cruz was spotted in intimate conversation with Senator Michael Rowe at an exclusive dinner. Sources say their relationship is more than professional..."

I bit my lower lip to contain the bubbling anger and frustration. "I don't even know him personally. It was just a casual conversation."

"But that won't stop the media," she said, sitting beside me. "We need to deal with this quickly before the rumors explode."

She wiped her face with the palm of her hand. My head was bowed, and I could feel Megan's heavy breathing beside me.

"Has there been any confirmation from their side?" I asked, my chest rumbling with burning fire but refrained from exploding my emotions at her.

"Not yet. But it's been everywhere. Tabloids, online media, and even gossip accounts. They don't need confirmation to keep frying this," she replied. Her hand reached for a piece of paper from her bag, thrusting it at me.

I took it. And then, I knew it was a draft of an official statement that I should read or post. The language was too diplomatic, too cold, even for a rebuttal.

"Will they believe this?" I asked.

"It's not about believing it or not. It's about providing a narrative before they concoct a worse one," she replied. "But... we have to talk about this now, Maya. Is there anything you're not telling me?"

I looked up, giving her a sharp look. Her eyes searched my face for something as if trying to detect a lie.

"Seriously?" I hissed. "I don't even know him, Megan. Do I have to swear on this script for you to believe me?"

She sighed, throwing up his hands in surrender. "Okay, fine. I believe you. But the public won't. And the problem isn't just the public. It's his wife. That woman has a lot of influence. If she makes an emotional statement..."

My mind immediately went to the picture of the woman beside the senator. Always smiling, elegant, and looking like the perfect couple in every photo. Of course, a scandal like this would be a disaster for them.

But what about me? What would be left of me if this whole thing escalated?

"We need to focus on the next step," she continued. "We'll go to the office this morning."

I looked down, my body feeling weak. On the table, my phone vibrated incessantly—notifications from the media, messages from my friends and family, and fellow artists. I let it go and wrung my hair in annoyance.

"Welcome to hell," I muttered to myself.

>>>> 

The sky over Los Angeles was overcast, creating dark shadows along the street as I stepped into my label's building.

Megan, my manager, and Ashley, my assistant, walked beside me. Each held a folder and a phone, trying to look professional despite the worry on their faces. The building felt colder than usual, or maybe I was starting to see everything as a threat.

We were led to a large meeting room on the top floor with large windows overlooking the city. A long wooden table lay in the center of the room, the chairs neatly arranged but empty.

Megan glanced at her watch, then at the door, hoping someone would come in. "They might be late," she said, trying to sound calm.

I sat at the end of the table, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to contain the uneasiness that ran through my body. 

Five minutes passed.

Ten minutes.

No one came.

"What's going on?" I finally said, my tone sharp, cutting through the silence.

Megan gave a slight shrug, her face remaining flat even though I knew she was feeling the same pressure.

When the door finally opened, I breathed a sigh of relief, hoping it was someone with good news. But that wasn't the case. My label director, James Sterling, strides in with quick steps, his gray suit looking neat but his face full of anger.

He's carrying nothing but a tablet in his hand.

"James," Megan stood up, trying to greet him with a small smile. "We were waiting for...."

He raised one hand, cutting her off. "Sit down, Megan."

The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. He looked at me, his eyes cold as steel.

"Maya," he said, "you know why I'm here, right? The rumor is already thundering." James quipped, his tone sharp. "You think we can keep an actress with a reputation like this? After all the controversy you've created, now this? This is an insult to the company my family has built."

I opened my mouth, trying to defend myself, but he raised his hand again, stopping me.

"Don't try to deny it. The PR team has tried to calm the situation, but this is too big. It's too dirty."

"James, you can't blame Maya entirely. This is clearly media manipulation." said Megan.

"Manipulation or not," James replied quickly, "the damage is done. Your sponsor left. The big movie project is canceled. And now this scandal? Do you know what this means for us?"

I stood up, trying to control my mounting anger. "You don't know the real story. This is all untrue. I don't even know Rowe personally!"

James shot me a sharp look. "Unfortunately, it doesn't matter. What the public believes that's what matters. And right now, Maya, you are poison."

His words were like a crushing blow.

He sighed heavily, then folded his arms across his chest. "We have no choice, Maya. As of today, you are no longer part of this label. All your contracts with us end now."

I fell silent, a chill running through my body.

That was it? No defense, no attempt to salvage anything?

"I know it's tough," James continued, but his tone didn't hint at empathy. "But you brought this on yourself."

He turned away without waiting for a reply, leaving the room unceremoniously and leaving me standing frozen in place.

I looked at Megan, who was staring at me with a broken look, while Ashley looked down.

I fell back into the chair, my vision blurred by the tears I could no longer hold back. This world I had lived in for years now threw me out without warning.

I was no one anymore—just a woman with a tarnished name, discarded by the world that once adored me.