Vengeance In The Spotlight

Chapter 1

Camille.

The beeping was the only friend she had left. Steady, then not so steady. A frantic rhythm for a frantic end.

Cold. The thin hospital blanket did nothing. The air tasted sterile, like bleach and regret.

On the small television bolted to the wall, beautiful people were giving each other golden statues.

"And the Oscar for Best Actor goes to... Marcus Vale for 'Velvet Night'!"

The applause was a distant, mocking thunder. Marcus. Her Marcus. He looked handsome in his tuxedo. He blew a kiss to the camera. Not to her. Never to her.

"I want to thank everyone," he said, his voice thick with fake emotion. "But especially the memory of my muse, Camille. Her tragedy gave me the pain I needed for this role. I only wish she could see this."

A single, hot tear slid down her temple. He didn't even use her last name. Just Camille. A footnote in his story.

The beeping of the monitor grew faster, a frantic bird trapped in her chest.

"Liar," she whispered, her voice a dry rasp. "You broke me for that role."

Her vision blurred. The golden statues and smiling faces swam into a meaningless soup of light.

The beeping stopped. A long, final note hung in the air. The sound of nothing.

Silence.

Then, a gasp.

Her own. Loud. Ripping through the quiet.

The air wasn't sterile anymore. It smelled of expensive coffee and old paper. The light wasn't the dim glow of a television; it was a harsh, fluorescent glare.

She was sitting. Not lying down. Her back was straight in a stiff leather chair. A heavy pen was clutched between her fingers, its nib hovering over a thick stack of papers.

"Camille, sweetie? Are you okay?"

That voice. That sickly sweet, venomous voice. Linda.

Camille blinked, her eyes focusing. She was in a boardroom. Polished mahogany table. City skyline through the floor-to-ceiling window. And the faces. Oh god, the faces.

Mr. Sterling, the CEO of Apex Media, sat at the head of the table, his smile like a shark's. His two lawyers, flanking him like vultures. And Linda, her manager, her supposed friend, her betrayer, hovering at her shoulder.

"You just zoned out for a second there," Linda said with a nervous little laugh. "Big day jitters. We all get them."

"Just sign on the dotted line, Ms. Rivers," Mr. Sterling purred, gesturing with a manicured hand. "And your new life begins."

Her new life. Her old life. The life that ended with a flatline and a liar on a television screen.

Camille's gaze dropped to the contract. The bold heading read: EXCLUSIVE TALENT AGREEMENT. And the date, printed in the top right corner. October 22nd. Five years ago. To the day.

The pen in her hand felt impossibly heavy. This was it. The moment it all went wrong. The slave contract she had signed out of desperation and terrible advice.

A wave of nausea hit her, followed by something else. Something cold and hard and pure. Rage. It started in her gut and spread through her veins like ice water.

She let out a small, quiet laugh.

Linda’s hand landed on her shoulder. "Camille?"

"Don't touch me," Camille said. Her voice was low, but it cut through the room like glass.

She lifted her head, and the dazed, hopeful girl from five years ago was gone. In her place was the ghost of the woman who died alone in a hospital bed. And that ghost knew things.

Mr. Sterling’s smile faltered. "Is there a problem, Ms. Rivers?"

"Problem?" Camille looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time. Not as an idol or a kingmaker, but as a parasite. "No. No problem at all. Just a moment of clarity."

With a flick of her wrist, she sent the expensive fountain pen flying across the room. It hit the far wall with a sharp crack, leaving a small black splatter of ink like a dead spider.

Gasps echoed around the table.

"What do you think you're doing?" Linda shrieked, her sweet facade melting away.

Camille stood up slowly, her chair scraping against the floor. She pushed it back and turned to face her manager.

"I'm rewriting the ending, Linda."

"What are you talking about? Sit down, you're making a scene."

"A scene?" Camille laughed again, a sound with no humor in it. "You haven't seen a scene yet. Let's talk about this contract. The one you told me was 'standard industry practice'."

"It is standard," one of the lawyers muttered.

"Is a thirty-five percent commission standard?" Camille asked, her eyes locked on Linda. "Is signing away my music rights in perpetuity standard? Is the non-compete clause that would leave me unable to even sing in the shower for ten years if I leave this label standard?"

Linda’s face went pale. "How did you... you read the fine print?"

"I did more than that. I lived it. And let me tell you, the ending sucks."

She turned her attention to Mr. Sterling, who was watching her with narrowed, reptilian eyes.

"And you. You must think I'm so stupid. A desperate little girl from nowhere, so grateful for the attention she'll sign anything."

"Ms. Rivers, I suggest you reconsider your tone," Sterling said, his voice dangerously low.

"And I suggest you reconsider your business model. Because I'm not signing your contract. Not today. Not ever."

"You'll be blacklisted," Linda hissed. "I'll make sure you never work in this town again. You'll be nothing without me!"

"Nothing?" Camille walked around the table until she was standing directly in front of Linda. She was taller. She never realized she was taller. "Let me tell you what nothing looks like, Linda. Nothing is calling your star client while she's in the hospital, not to see how she is, but to tell her she's been dropped for breach of contract because she's too sick to perform."

Linda recoiled as if struck. "I would never..."

"Nothing is skimming an extra ten percent off her endorsement deals and hiding it in an offshore account in the Caymans."

The color drained completely from Linda’s face. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

"And nothing," Camille continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, "is selling her private songbook to the very man who broke her heart."

She leaned in closer. "Does the name Marcus Vale ring a bell?"

"Security!" Sterling finally shouted, slamming his hand on the table. "Get her out of here!"

"Don't bother. I'm leaving," Camille said, straightening up. She grabbed her cheap purse from the floor beside her chair.

She walked towards the door, her steps confident and sure. She was no longer the scared girl who walked in here an hour ago. She was a woman who had already died once. What was there left to be afraid of?

She paused at the door, her hand on the handle, and looked back at the stunned faces.

"You should have let me die, Linda," she said, a chillingly sweet smile gracing her lips. "It would have been kinder."

"You'll regret this!" Sterling bellowed, his face turning purple. "You're finished, Camille Rivers! Finished!"

Camille's smile didn't waver. "No, Mr. Sterling. I'm just getting started."

And with that, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving the architects of her ruin sitting in stunned silence, surrounded by the wreckage of a future that would never happen. The click of the door closing behind her was the most satisfying sound she had ever heard. It was the sound of a cage springing open. It was the sound of her first real breath.

Chapter 2

Camille.

The world outside the boardroom was a blur of muted grays and beige carpets. Her legs felt like they belonged to someone else, shaky and unreliable. Her heart was a frantic drum against her ribs, a wild rhythm of fear and exhilaration. She had done it. She had actually done it.

She didn't look at the receptionist as she stormed past the front desk. She kept her eyes fixed on the gleaming brass doors of the elevator bank at the far end of the lobby. Freedom was thirty floors down.

Her hands trembled as she jabbed the 'down' button. Once. Twice. A third time for good measure. A soft chime answered her, and a set of doors slid open with a quiet hiss.

Camille practically fell inside, desperate to be anywhere else. She spun around, ready to press the button for the lobby, to put this place, this life, behind her.

She crashed directly into a wall of solid muscle. A wall dressed in a suit that probably cost more than her entire apartment.

Strong hands gripped her upper arms, steadying her. They weren't gentle. They were firm, possessive, a silent command to stop moving.

"Watch where you're going," a voice said. The sound was low, cold, and laced with an authority that made the air crackle.

Camille's head snapped up. Her breath caught in her throat.

She knew that face. Everyone in the industry knew that face. Sculpted cheekbones, a severe jawline, and eyes the color of a winter storm. They were eyes that didn't just see you; they assessed you, weighed you, and found you wanting. Ethan Calder.

The ruthless, enigmatic CEO of Calder Entertainment. The only man Sterling at Apex Media truly feared. In her five years in the industry, in her whole first life, she had never once been in the same room with him. He was a god on a different Olympus.

The elevator doors slid shut, encasing them in a small, silent box of steel and glass.

Ethan Calder released her arms, his expression one of mild annoyance, like he'd just found a scuff on a perfect shoe. "Are you lost?" he asked, his voice dripping with condescension. "Sterling usually keeps his new puppies on a tighter leash."

Camille's shock gave way to a surge of the same icy rage that had saved her upstairs. "I'm not his puppy," she said, her voice surprisingly steady.

One of his dark eyebrows arched slightly. It was the only sign of interest he gave. "Not anymore, I take it? Did you get tired of the kennel?"

"Something like that."

He gave her a dismissive once-over, taking in her worn-out jeans and the cheap purse clutched in her white-knuckled grip. He was about to turn away, to dismiss her as nothing, and a fresh wave of panic seized her. This was it. This was her only chance. Apex would blacklist her. Linda would poison every well. But this man... this man could be a shield. Or a sword.

She had nothing to lose. She'd already lost it all once before.

"You want to hurt him," she said. It wasn't a question.

Ethan Calder turned back slowly, his storm-gray eyes narrowing on her. The casual annoyance was gone, replaced by a predator's focus. "And if I do?"

"I can help you."

He laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. It was sharp and humorless. "You? What could a failed actress possibly offer me?"

"Information," she said, taking a step closer. The elevator was small, but the space between them suddenly felt vast and dangerous. He smelled of sandalwood and power.

"I have people for information."

"Not this kind," she insisted, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Not yet." She had to remember. The news reports, the financial gossip she'd overheard Marcus discussing on the phone. It was all a haze, but one detail was crystal clear. It was the first domino.

"Enlighten me," he challenged, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He was indulging her, the way a king might listen to a court jester before calling the guards.

"Apex Media is about to close a merger," she began, her heart pounding. "They're acquiring Starstream Productions and Phoenix Pictures in a joint deal."

"Old news," he scoffed. "The papers have been reporting that for weeks."

"They've been reporting a rumor," she corrected him, her gaze unflinching. "I'm telling you it's happening. Sterling is signing the final papers this Friday."

He stared at her, his expression unreadable. "And your point is?"

"The point," she said, leaning in even closer, her voice barely audible, "is that it's going to fail. Spectacularly."

For the first time since she'd met his gaze, a flicker of genuine surprise crossed his features. It was gone in an instant, but she saw it.

"How?" he asked, his voice a low command.

"The Phoenix Pictures board. They're going to reject the offer at the last minute. Friday. Around noon. There's a clause about streaming rights they refuse to sign. Sterling is too arrogant to see it. He thinks he can bully them into it."

Silence descended in the elevator car. The only sound was the soft hum of its descent. Ethan Calder wasn't looking at her like a nuisance anymore. He was looking at her like a puzzle he was trying to solve.

"That is a very specific piece of information," he said slowly. "Why tell me?"

"Because when it falls apart, the stock for both companies will tank. And a clever man could buy up a controlling interest in Starstream for pennies on the dollar before Sterling even knows what hit him. Starstream, which owns the rights to the 'Crimson Blade' franchise. The franchise Calder Entertainment has been trying to get its hands on for a year."

His eyes were like chips of ice. "Who are you?"

"Camille Rivers," she said, giving him the name he would have forgotten if he'd ever even heard it.

"And how does Camille Rivers know all of this?"

She gave him a small, broken smile. "Let's just say Mr. Sterling celebrated his victory a little too early. And he did it in front of the wrong girl."

The elevator chimed softly, announcing their arrival at the lobby. The doors slid open to a world of polished marble and quiet efficiency.

Camille took a step back, breaking the strange intimacy of their conversation. "The information is free, Mr. Calder. A gift. Do what you want with it."

She turned and walked out of the elevator, not daring to look back. Her legs were still shaking, but every step felt like a victory.

"Ms. Rivers," his voice called after her, sharp and commanding. It stopped her in her tracks.

She glanced over her shoulder. He stood framed in the elevator doorway, a dark, imposing figure of immense power.

"This is a dangerous game you're playing," he warned.

"I'm a dangerous woman," she replied, though she felt anything but. "I just had to die to figure it out."

Before he could respond, she turned and fled. She walked as quickly as she could without running, past the security desk, through the massive revolving doors, and out into the chilly October air.

She kept walking, not knowing where she was going, just needing to put distance between herself and that building. She didn't see the sleek black town car that pulled away from the curb moments later. She didn't see the man inside.

Ethan Calder watched her disappear into the crowd of pedestrians. He lifted his phone to his ear. It had been answered on the first ring.

"Sir?" the voice on the other end was clipped and professional.

"A woman just left my building," Ethan said, his eyes still fixed on the spot where she had vanished. "Her name is Camille Rivers. Brown hair, five-seven, looks like she's about to shatter into a million pieces. Find out everything there is to know about her. Her history, her connection to Sterling, what she had for breakfast this morning. Everything."

"And, sir?"

"Yes, Mark?"

"What should we do when we find her?"

Ethan allowed a slow, cold smile to touch his lips. It was the first real smile he'd worn all day. "Don't let her out of your sight."

Chapter 3

Camille.

The taxi ride back to her apartment was a nauseating blur of traffic and smog. The building was old, the paint was peeling, and the lobby smelled faintly of old garlic and damp carpet. It was a universe away from the polished marble of Apex Tower. It was home. For now.

She unlocked the door to apartment 2B, her hands still shaking. She just needed to grab her things and disappear before Linda or Sterling could think of a new way to ruin her.

The moment she stepped inside, a sickly sweet voice hit her. "Camille? Oh my god, there you are!"

Cassie shot up from the lumpy sofa, her phone clutched in her hand. Her face, usually a mask of vapid cheerfulness, was twisted into a caricature of concern. Cassie. Her roommate. Her best friend. The girl who would steal her songs, her career, and her future without a second thought.

"What happened?" Cassie rushed forward, grabbing Camille's arms. "Linda called me. She was hysterical. She said you threw a pen at Mr. Sterling and walked out!"

Camille let her shoulders slump, forcing the fire in her eyes to dim into a watery, defeated haze. She allowed her body to go limp in Cassie's grip. "I couldn't sign it, Cass."

"What are you talking about? Couldn't sign what? The contract?"

Camille nodded, summoning a tear to her eye. It wasn't hard. The grief was real, just not for the reason Cassie thought. "It was awful. They wanted to own me. Everything I ever wrote or will write. For almost no money. I panicked."

Cassie's grip tightened, her perfectly manicured nails digging into Camille's skin. "Are you insane? Camille, that was your one shot! Our one shot! What are we going to do now?"

There it was. Our. Not your. Camille pulled away, stumbling back a step as if she were about to collapse. "I don't know. I think I ruined everything."

"You did!" Cassie snapped, her mask of concern slipping to reveal the raw, ugly ambition beneath. She caught herself, softening her voice again. "I mean... no. No, we'll figure it out. We always do, right?"

"There's nothing to figure out," Camille whispered, looking at the floor. "I'm done. I'm going home."

"Home?" Cassie squeaked. "You mean back to Ohio? You can't be serious. You hate Ohio."

"I hate this more," Camille said, gesturing vaguely at the tiny apartment. "The rejection. The pretending. I'm not strong enough for it, Cass. You are. But I'm not."

She saw the flicker of calculation in Cassie's eyes. The little wheels turning. If Camille was gone, who would write the songs Cassie would sing? Her expression softened into one of pity. "Oh, sweetie. Don't say that."

"It's true," Camille said, her voice cracking. "I just... I need to get out of here. I can't think straight."

She walked past Cassie into their shared bedroom. It was barely big enough for two twin beds and a single dresser. Camille's side was neat. Cassie's was an explosion of clothes and makeup.

Her eyes landed on the worn, leather-bound notebook on her nightstand. Her songbook. Her soul. Everything she was, everything she had been, was written on those pages.

"What are you doing?" Cassie asked from the doorway.

"Packing," Camille said, pulling her worn duffel bag from under the bed. "I can't stay here tonight. Too many memories. I'm going to stay with my aunt in the valley for a couple of days. Just to... you know. Figure out how to tell my parents I'm a failure."

She didn't have an aunt in the valley. She didn't have anyone.

"That's a good idea," Cassie said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Take some time. Clear your head."

Camille turned her back, using her body to shield her movements. She opened her dresser drawer and pulled out a handful of shirts and a pair of jeans, stuffing them messily into the bag. Underneath the clothes, she grabbed a small wooden box. Inside was the two hundred and forty-seven dollars she had to her name, and a silver locket from her mother.

Then, with a swift, practiced motion, she snatched the songbook from the nightstand and slid it into the bottom of the duffel bag, covering it with a sweater. Her heart hammered against her ribs. That was it. The crown jewel. The only thing in this life, this second life, that truly mattered.

"Do you need any money?" Cassie asked. The offer was as empty as her promises.

"No, I'm fine," Camille lied, zipping the bag closed. "I'll be okay."

She walked back into the living room, slinging the bag over her shoulder. It felt heavier than it should, weighted with the gravity of her decision.

"Will you call me?" Cassie asked, doing a poor job of hiding her eagerness to get rid of her.

"Of course," Camille said, forcing a watery smile. "As soon as I get to my aunt's place. I'll just... I'll check bus schedules online from there."

A perfect little digital breadcrumb for them to follow. A fake search history leading to a bus ticket to a town she had no intention of visiting.

"Okay," Cassie said, pulling her into a stiff, awkward hug. "It'll be okay, El. You'll see."

Camille could feel her patting the outside of the duffel bag, probably searching for the familiar shape of the notebook. She pulled away before Cassie could get too curious.

"I'll see you, Cass."

"Yeah. See you."

Camille walked out, closing the door on her friend, her betrayer, her past. She didn't look back.

She didn't go to the bus stop. She walked three blocks in the opposite direction, her head down, her senses on high alert. She felt watched, a prickling on the back of her neck she couldn't explain. She ducked into the dark doorway of a pawn shop and hailed a taxi that was speeding past.

"Where to?" the driver asked, not looking at her in the rearview mirror.

"The Starlight Motel. Out by the airport," she said, naming the cheapest, seediest place she could think of. A place no one would ever look for a rising star. Or a falling one.

The room was exactly as grim as she expected. The carpet was stained, the air smelled like stale cigarettes and disinfectant, and the lock on the door looked like it could be opened with a credit card.

She dropped her bag on the floor and walked into the tiny bathroom. The face in the mirror was a stranger. Pale, haunted, but with a fire in her eyes that hadn't been there this morning. That hadn't been there for five years.

The reality of it all crashed down on her. She had died. She was back. She had a second chance, a terrible, beautiful, terrifying second chance.

She turned on the shower, cranking the knob to as hot as it would go, and stripped off her clothes. Stepping under the scalding spray, she braced her hands against the grimy tile wall and finally let go.

The sobs came from a place deep inside her, a place that had been silent for five years. They were ragged, ugly sounds of grief and terror and rage. She cried for the girl she had been, so full of hope and naivety. She cried for the woman she had become, who died alone and forgotten. And she cried for the person she had to be now: a fighter, a liar, a ghost bent on vengeance.

The water washed over her, plastering her hair to her face, mingling with her tears. It couldn't wash away the memories. It couldn't wash away the pain. But as she stood there, shaking in the steam and the gloom, the tears began to subside. The fire in her gut, the one she'd felt in Sterling's office, began to burn again.

She wasn't just burning a bridge with Cassie. She was burning the whole damn world she used to know. And from the ashes, she would build an empire.