Chapter 2 2

My phone buzzed almost immediately.

A reply from Liam Sterling.

"Sarah. This is unexpected. Intriguing. Yes, I'm in New York. What kind of proposition?"

His words were cautious, measured.

I took a deep breath, the air in the room still feeling thick with Ethan's deceit.

"My best work," I typed back. "A script Ethan Cole plans to steal and give to Olivia Monroe without credit or proper compensation. I'm leaving him. I want to make this film with someone who respects writers."

There was a pause before his next message.

"That's a serious accusation, Sarah. And a bold move. Leaving Ethan, coming to me... his rival."

He wasn't wrong. It was bold. It was desperate.

"I have no other choice, Liam," I replied. "He's betrayed me in ways you can't imagine. This script is all I have left. I'm offering it to you. My talent, your resources. A clean break."

I remembered the photo on his shelf. It had to mean something.

Another pause, longer this time.

Then: "I've always admired your talent, Sarah. From that first story I read. If what you're saying about Ethan is true... then he's a fool. But this is Hollywood. Alliances shift. Loyalties are... flexible. What's your commitment to this? To me?"

He was testing me. Fair enough.

"My commitment is total," I wrote. "I want to build something real, something lasting. Away from him. I remember you have an office in New York. I can be there tomorrow."

I added, "And Liam? I saw that photo on your bookshelf years ago. The one of me from the WGA mixer."

His reply came faster this time.

"You have a good memory. Alright, Sarah. Come to New York. My office, 10 a.m. tomorrow. We'll talk. But be sure about this. Once you walk through that door, there's no going back to your old life."

A shiver went down my spine. Not of fear, but of... anticipation.

"I'm sure," I typed. "I've never been more sure of anything."

I immediately opened a travel app and booked the first flight to JFK in the morning. A one-way ticket.

Ethan didn't come home that night.

No surprise. He was probably with Olivia, celebrating their future success built on my stolen dreams.

His assistant, a nervous young woman named Chloe, called around midnight.

"Sarah? Mr. Cole asked me to check on you. He said he's caught up with Ms. Monroe, finalizing some details for their new project. He'll see you in the morning."

"Their" new project. The words were like a slap.

"Thanks, Chloe," I said, my voice carefully neutral. "I'm fine. Just resting."

Ethan finally strolled in around 9 a.m. the next morning, looking pleased with himself.

He was humming.

"Morning, sunshine," he said, kissing the top of my head. I didn't lean into it. "Feeling better?"

"Much," I said, my voice flat. I was already dressed, my small overnight bag packed and hidden in the closet.

"Good, good." He beamed. "Because I have a huge surprise for you tonight. Huge."

He was practically vibrating with excitement. The premiere of his new film – the one before he planned to steal mine – was tonight.

"Oh?" I kept my face blank.

"Just you wait," he said, winking. "It's going to be a night you'll never forget."

He had no idea how right he was.

That evening, at the premiere, the air crackled with flashbulbs and fake smiles.

Ethan, preening in his custom tux, held my hand tightly. Too tightly.

I felt like a prop. A well-dressed accessory.

He led me down the red carpet, posing, waving.

"Smile, baby," he hissed under his breath when my expression faltered. "Everyone's watching."

Inside the packed theater, after the film (which was mediocre, lacking the heart I knew my script possessed), Ethan dragged me onto the stage during the applause.

The spotlight found us. My heart hammered against my ribs.

This was it. The "surprise."

"Ladies and gentlemen," Ethan announced, his voice booming. "Tonight is about new beginnings. About celebrating success. And about love."

He turned to me, his eyes shining with a triumph that made me sick.

He got down on one knee.

A collective gasp went through the audience.

"Sarah Jenkins," he said, pulling out a velvet box. "My muse, my rock, the love of my life. Will you marry me?"

The diamond was enormous. Obscene.

It felt like a payment. A bribe.

This was his plan. Public proposal, trap me with a ring, then steal my work.

My past self, the naive girl who loved him, would have wept with joy.

The current me felt nothing but cold, hard anger.

Before I could answer, a commotion started near the front row.

Olivia Monroe, draped in a glittering gown, let out a theatrical gasp and clutched her chest.

"Oh! My heart!" she cried, swaying dramatically. "I... I can't breathe!"

Ethan's head snapped towards her. His proposal, my answer, forgotten.

"Olivia!" he yelled, scrambling to his feet.

He didn't even glance back at me. He shoved past the astonished onlookers and rushed to Olivia's side.

She sagged against him, looking pale and fragile under the stage lights.

"Ethan, darling," she whispered, loud enough for the nearest microphones to pick up. "Take me home. I feel so faint."

Ethan, all concern, scooped her into his arms.

"Don't worry, Olivia, I've got you," he said, striding towards the exit, leaving me alone on the stage, the open ring box still in his abandoned spot on the floor.

The humiliation was a burning wave.

The whispers started almost immediately.

"Did you see that? He just left her!"

"Poor girl. Upstaged by Olivia Monroe, of all people."

"Guess we know who he really cares about."

I watched Olivia over Ethan's shoulder. As they neared the exit, she opened one eye and shot me a tiny, triumphant smirk.

She wasn't sick. She was a performer. And she had just won.

But the game wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

I calmly walked off the stage, picked up my purse, and headed for the exit, ignoring the pitying stares.

My flight to New York was in three hours.