Chapter 7 Blood and Mirrors

The veil over Valenhall thickened, a city clinging to its secrets like a courtesan clutching silk sheets at midnight. Power shifted. Alliances frayed. Those who survived learned how to bleed without showing it.

Silicone City - Aether Entertainment Studios

Ixora learned fast: fame was a double-edged dagger. After Phantom Garden, in Black Swan, all eyes were on her - envy, opportunity, and the vultures. The set became a warzone of egos, staged smiles, and backhanded compliments.

Every step she took now dragged rumors behind it. Whispers of an A-list actress plotting sabotage. Costumes mysteriously slashed. A stage rigged to collapse. And a message in blood-red lipstick across her mirror:

"Pretty dolls crack too."

Even with filming near completion, Ixora lived off the birthday gift her friends sent and medical fees. The contract promised payment after wrap. Madam Lin asked if she'd sign under Aether.

"Your feeding, drinking, clothing - we'll cover everything," Madam Lin promised. "Actors here build personal wealth, not just for the company."

Diana and Rita said it was a good deal - but would she give up stage dancing for it?

Madam Lin's Office

Aether Employees Contract

Aether's contract wasn't suffocating, but strict enough to bite.

Move into high-society villas where nobles and old wealth lived.

Bring your own PA or take the one assigned - half-paid from your cut.

50% of every deal to you. 30% to the company. 10% for personal upkeep and investments. The rest for taxes, PA wages, and charity in your name.

You could back causes, sponsor events, refuse dinners, galas, and interviews - unless absolutely necessary.

Privacy respected.

Your home and car deducted from your first contract fee.

No scandals. No side deals without consent.

Manager assigned by the company.

No relationships for two years after signing - image came first.

No seducing investors.

Company chose some scripts if you matched the role.

All endorsements vetted first.

Violations came with harsh penalties, especially after investigations. Refunds on deals. Termination. Blacklisting.

"Anything else?" Madam Lin asked.

"I want to sign up for this year's Swanlake ballet performance tomorrow," Ixora said. "It's my dream to be seen on that stage."

"Ballet, huh?" Madam Lin smirked. "Caroline!"

Caroline Basset entered. An agent. Former star dancer. Rumor was she never got along with anyone - too strict, too sharp.

"She'll test you." Madam Lin ordered. "If she says you're worth it, I'll place my bet."

The Glass Room

Caroline had her change into a leotard and ballet slippers. Elliot and Madam Lin watched from behind glass.

"Start." Caroline's voice cracked the air.

Minutes passed. Sweat. Pain. Music. Silent judges.

"Well?" Madam Lin asked.

"She's more than qualified," Caroline said. "I threw mistakes at her, sudden tempo changes. She caught every one."

"I ran her background, too," Caroline added. "Star Academy. Top of her class. Only left three weeks ago. Circumstances explained."

Madam Lin grinned. "Wendy sent me a good one."

Ixora stepped forward, eyes bright.

"I accept you." Madam Lin said. "But no studying abroad. Caroline will train you. She's a former judge, wrist injury, 27. Look her up."

"More than enough," Ixora thought.

"Win tomorrow and your face goes up on every billboard. Prize money split 70:30. I'll deduct what I spent getting you in, of course."

Ixora teared up, hugged Caroline.

"I'll record your registration video myself." Caroline promised.

"Assistant?" Caroline asked after Madam Lin left.

"I have someone in mind." Ixora pulled out her old phone.

"Good. Once she's here, we shop, move you into your apartment, and start fresh. You'll talk to me through her. Understand?"

"Yes, Sister Caroline."

"Let's shoot your clips."

The Final Scenes

The film crawled toward completion. Elliot Zhoa grew distant. Paranoid. Muttering about accidents. Producers breathing down his neck.

The final cathedral and ballroom scenes would make or break her.

Ixora rehearsed through bruised feet, sleepless nights, and cameras eager to see her fall.

One voice in a world full of wolves.

Ravencourt Estate - Alessia & Alessandro

The west wing still stank of scorched silk and old sins. Moonlight slid over marble, painting sinuous shapes.

Alessia waited in ivory silk, dark hair loose. Scandal painted her a liar. But under threads of silk and shame, she was still lethal.

A midnight knock.

Alessandro De Santos entered - obsidian suit, eyes sharp as blades.

"So this is what fallen queens wear," he said, voice silk and venom.

"Careful," Alessia purred, rising. "Kings bleed too."

Silence stretched. The air thick with broken engagements, old obsession, and glimmering spite.

She stepped closer, scent of jasmine and iron.

"I didn't call you for forgiveness," she murmured. "You owe me."

He grabbed her throat, thumb brushing her pulse.

"I owe you nothing."

But his grip softened.

"We could burn this city together," Alessia whispered. "Or bury each other in its ashes."

When he kissed her, it was brutal.

When she dragged him to silk sheets, it was war.

Casino Lume - Domenico & The Siren

Casino Lume glittered like sin - chandeliers throwing light over gamblers and courtesans. Fortunes traded in whispers and diamonds.

Domenico Marchese sat in a rooftop pool, bourbon near, city spread behind.

She came like a serpent.

Dusky skin. Crimson swimsuit. Eyes too calculating to be harmless.

"Don Marchese."

"You have one audience."

"I'm Mira. Heard about your empire."

He let her talk.

"I could be useful." A finger trailed water. "A woman with secrets."

"Valenhall's full of secrets. What makes yours worth tasting?"

"Mine lead to the one who ordered Harper Reed's last move... and maybe to why Ravencourt burned."

Domenico's eyes narrowed. He played along.

Hand up her spine. Lips at her ear.

"Names."

She smirked.

"After I'm properly persuaded."

Heat. Water. Tangled limbs. Scratched skin.

But he read her moves - too rehearsed. Too precise. Someone sent her.

And before dawn, she whispered a name that froze his blood:

"Celeste Voss."

A ghost thought dead.

A Hidden Apartment - Burned Woman & The Butler

In a crumbling apartment, shadows hid a scarred woman tending a comatose figure.

Sophia Patel. Ravencourt's old butler. Keeper of a secret buried seventeen years.

The machines hummed.

A violet wilted in a glass jar.

Maera stroked his hand.

"Soon. They'll pay for what they did to you... to her."

Her daughter, Maera Patel, a doctor, whispered:

"When will she wake up, Mom?"

On a cracked table, faded photographs.

A child with wine-dark hair. A woman in livery. A scorched page.

A plan years in the making.

And as Valenhall devoured itself - they waited.