Chapter 3 Unraveling secrets

If I take one more step, my body will collide with the ground. I froze behind the door, slowly, I lowered my body and sat on the marble floor of my sitting room. My lips started to tremble as I burst into tears. I wanted to scream, to pull my hair out and claw at the whirlwind of emotion that surged through me at once.

How did I slip up?

My deepest fear rose like a monster from the depths; my family. The Gabbys. My father. The very reason my mother fled with me fifteen years ago. The reason my life had always been shadowed by secrets and lies. And now, the media storm was just noise compared to the terror of my family coming after us.

My father... he was the real fear. The thought of him finding me, dragging me back into the nightmare we escaped; crushed me. This was the terror that gripped my heart more than any headline.

I curled into myself, huddled behind the door like a broken doll. My head spun. My legs screamed from the awkward position, but the pain in my chest overshadowed it all. I had failed; failed my mother, my agency, and myself.

Only this morning, I was basking in the glow of a record-breaking movie premiere. And now? I was crumbling under the weight of a past I'd spent fifteen years burying.

How did it unravel so quickly? How was my name now plastered across every headline, twisted into scandal?

What would I tell my agency? Whatever my reasons were, they would never justify a scandal with my name plastered across every internet headline.

"Ms. Izalea, please open the door." Belle's voice floated in from the hallway, soft but urgent. "You can't lock yourself in forever."

I can't face her, I can't face anyone. I need to pull myself together, but I don't know how.

My phone buzzed relentlessly, each buzz sent a fresh wave of panic through me. Ignoring it felt like plugging my ears underwater. The pressure building inside me was increasing with every unanswered call and unattended notification.

I crawled to my bed, I was too weak to stand on my feet. I reached for the phone, the familiar weight a cold comfort in my clammy hand.

The screen lit up; headlines, messages, notifications, every single one a dagger aimed straight at my heart.

My thumb hovered over the power button, ready to cut myself off from the digital storm when a single notification on the screen stopped me. This headline screamed at me.

"From a reliable source: Izalea Underwent Cosmetic Surgery After Stealing Identity?! How could she be so fake?"

My stomach lurched. Reliable source? What did that even mean? Who was their reliable source? Who was feeding them this shit about me?

I knew I should stop but I could not. I clicked on the article, knowing it would hurt, but the need to know consumed me. What was wrong if I had undergone cosmetic surgery? What was wrong with changing my name for my safety? Did that mean I had stolen someone else's identity?

"She is a Liar," Her movies are wack!" - the hate poured out.

Why are people quick to bring others down? These were the same people who once praised me, now turning on me like vultures. Were they my fans, or were they haters from the beginning?

My hands were shaking with my phone in my grasp.

Tears blurred my vision as I scrolled through the hateful comments. The weight of their accusations pressed down on me.

How could everything change so quickly? It wasn't fair. It wasn't true. Was this my end? How could everything change so fast?

The consistent rapping of the door brought me back to reality. Belle and Leonard were still at the door, knocking nonstop.

"Ms. Izalea, you shouldn't be alone. Please, open the door." Leonard voiced out insistently. I knew he was capable of bringing down the door if I didn't unlock it. But still, I didn't.

And then... I saw her name.

Jasmine. My best friend.

Relief flooded my veins. The sight of her name on my screen was like oxygen in the suffocating storm.

Finally, the only person I wanted to talk to, was the only person that understood the gravity of what had happened. She had a special power to calm me.

Without a second thought, I answered, "Jasmine". My voice trembling as I cried out her name. "It is over for me."

"No, it's not." Jasmine's voice boomed over the phone. "It is not over until you say it is over, Izalea."