Chapter 4

Jake took a step towards me, his hand outstretched, not in support, but as if to usher me offstage, to complete my public disgrace. His face was a study in feigned disappointment.

"Emily, please," he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

I didn't flinch. Instead, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small, sleek digital notepad. My new voice.

My fingers flew across the screen, the words appearing in large, clear type.

I held it up.

*JAKE. WHY SO EAGER TO CONDEMN ME?*

He stopped, his outstretched hand faltering. A confused murmur rippled through the audience. The cameras zoomed in on the notepad.

His eyes narrowed. "What is this, Emily? Are you refusing to acknowledge what you've done?"

I typed again, my movements precise, deliberate.

*PERHAPS YOU'RE DEFENDING BRITTANY SO FIERCELY...*

I paused, letting the anticipation build. Then, the next line.

*...BECAUSE YOU GAVE HER MY ORIGINAL DEMO TRACK?*

The silence in the auditorium was absolute. Then, a cacophony. Gasps. Shouts. The online chat log scrolled at lightning speed, a blur of question marks and shocked emojis.

"What did she say?"

"Did Jake LEAK the song?"

"No way!"

Jake's face went from feigned sorrow to a sickly pale. "That's... that's a preposterous accusation!" he stammered, his voice losing its smooth, authoritative edge.

Brittany, beside him, looked genuinely stunned for a moment, her mask of victimhood slipping.

The show's director, a shark smelling blood in the water and ratings soaring, made no move to cut the feed. His voice crackled in the stage manager's earpiece, audible even to me: "Keep those cameras on them! All of them!"

The spotlight, once a tool of my humiliation, now felt like a weapon in my hand.

The first crack in their facade. It was a start.