Chapter 2 Where It All Began

11 Months Ago

The Bentley came to a stop just behind the velvet ropes. For a moment, it looked quiet, but suddenly, the cameras came to life. Heads turned, and the reporters came forward. It was as if I had them under a spell.

They hoped to see me like they were anticipating the queen's arrival.

The driver then opened the door. I came out, carefully arranging the hem of my dress to avoid tripping. My dress, which was dripping in gold, followed my curves, shimmering under the lights like it had a life of its own.

I kept hearing my name come out of their mouths like sweet melodies that they couldn't stop singing.

"Izalea! Over here."

"Who are you wearing?"

"Izalea, you look iconic."

I had to smile from ear to ear despite the pressure. It's funny cause no matter how much I do this, I never get used to the noise, the cameras, and the attention.

Everyone was here, I noticed a few rival actresses glaring at me. The agency's staffs smiled proudly from the sidelines, I received loads of compliments and comments from colleagues, stylists, and producers.

My best friend, Jasmine, approached me. "Damn girl, that dress! Looks insane," she said, with this glow in her eyes.

"Jas, don't make me cry," I smiled and squeezed her hand. "I was about to say the same, look at you, gorgeous!"

Behind us, the grand event banner glowed in bold red letters: Movie Premiere - The Color of Love.

I was the lead actress for the movie, whilst Jasmine played a secondary lead.

They clicked, and we posed and walked the carpet as though we owned it.

Belle came to fix the trail of my dress and said something about how I was stealing the night. I nodded and smiled, "Thank you."

Then everything changed.

It started small and gradual, but then everything suddenly seized, and a harsh voice came out from the crowd.

"Is it true you're not who you claim to be?"

I paused. Confused. Searched through the crowd to find the voice.

Another voice, louder.

"Fake!"

Before I realized it, then came a shoe flew towards me and hit the ground near me. 'That's a shit throw,' I thought.

"What, am I being pranked?" I giggled, but I was the only one who thought this was a joke.

I looked at Jasmine who was standing next to me, but her expression was cold. I then turned to Belle for help, but her face was unreadable.

The lights that felt so warm now burned so fiercely, I had to cover my eyes with my hands. Blinded by the harsh rays, every face blurred into shadows. The carpet beneath my feet seemed to stretch out like an endless trail.

Then I felt like something was being flung right at my face, and when I turned to look, I was struck by a crumpled paper. Everyone started pointing and laughing, it felt humiliating, and this was the same crowd that just looked dead.

I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came.

Knock knock. A ring.

Reality knocked me awake. My heartbeat raced like I'd been running in my sleep. The room was dim, and the covers tangled around my legs. Immediately, I sat up and touched my face and body, hoping it was all a dream. I was still in my white robe from the night before. Even with the air conditioning, my skin felt moist. My mouth tasted like last night's champagne.

The premiere indeed happened, just not in the way the dream twisted it, it ended in celebration. Still, that nightmare pressed on me like a bad omen.

Ding dong. The doorbell again.

I slowly rose from the bed, feeling dizzy, I was hungover. I pulled the robe tighter.

Belle and Leonard were at the door. They scanned me up and down like I was a stranger. My hair was a mess, my makeup was smudged. To be honest, I was so tipsy that I had a hard time getting myself to bed.

They hesitated like something was wrong.

"You okay?" Leonard asked, avoiding my eyes.

"What time is it?" My voice was cracking from the morning stiffness.

Belle glanced at her phone and back to me. "Little past one," she said softly, hardly audible to hear.

"Noon?" I said, surprised.

She nodded. "We figured you'd need to sleep off all that champagne."

I nodded. "Someone tell me, The Color of Love has broken records or I might crawl back to bed." I tried to make a joke even though I knew it couldn't happen that quickly

This was the point where they should be laughing but they didn't. Silence was what I got.

Something felt off. Something was wrong.

They looked at each other.

"What's wrong?" I asked, but it felt as if my question met deaf ears.

Belle stepped forward and gave me her phone.

One headline showed up.

*Is Izalea Benson just a mask? Meet Jazlyn Gabby, her true identity.

Photos of my before and afters were already going viral.*

What the hell?! My stomach sank.

Jazlyn Gabby. That name felt so distant like I hadn't heard it in years. Like a ghost rising from the dead.

I scrolled through the articles, which went on and on. Speculations. Accusations. It felt unreal, if I could, I'd pause time or rewind it.

And worse, the comments were extremely hurtful, the same people who once backed me are now making fun of and mocking me, claiming I built my career on lies.

Then came this article that triggered painful memories.

*Remember the Gabbys? That dark, mysterious family everyone used to whisper about? People still wonder what became of them.

It turns out that Izalea Benson or should I say, Jazlyn Gabby is one of them.*

I could hardly breathe. My hands started to tremble and sweat. How do they know?

Then, through my thoughts, I heard Belle's voice. "Is any of this true?"

I handed her phone back without a word. "Please," I said, quieter than I intended. "Just go."

They both hesitated and then Belle said. "We came for you, Zee."

But I couldn't look them in the eyes. I felt this humiliation wash over me. I closed the door quietly.

My knees gave out and I sank to the floor, my back against the door. The tears were there, initially just hanging. Then it began to pour from somewhere deeper than shame. Everything I'd worked for, my career, my reputation, had been destroyed.

And there was nothing I could do about it, what could I say? What could I do?

When neither my past nor the public can be changed. And that's when it hit me, no matter how far you run, you can never erase where you come from, or who you are.