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Chapter 3 - 3. THEODORE

My face looks like I fought a brick wall and lost. Purple bruises bloom across my ribs where Valentinius's fists found their mark. Each breath sends sharp reminders of last night through my chest.

My phone buzzes against the nightstand. Seventeen missed calls. Three voicemails. None from Celeste.

The first email loads while I'm still trying to process the night before. Morrison Productions - my steady background work that pays half my rent.

Mr. Virelli, your position has been terminated effective immediately due to company restructuring. Please return any borrowed materials by end of business today.

That's it. Two lines. No explanation. No severance. No thank you for three years of reliable work.

I stare at the screen until the words blur. Company restructuring. Right. Because small production companies restructure on random Tuesday mornings.

The phone rings. Unknown number, but I answer anyway. Maybe it's Morrison with an explanation.

"Theodore? This is Janet from Goldstein Casting. I'm calling about your callback for the pharmaceutical commercial."

Hope flickers in my chest. The Vicodin commercial could pay my rent for two months. "Yes, I'm looking forward to it."

"I'm afraid we've had to cancel. The client decided to go in a different direction."

Different direction. "What kind of different direction?"

"They're... they're looking for a different type."

The line goes dead before I can ask what type that might be. I've been the right type for pharmaceutical commercials for two years. Clean-cut, trustworthy, the kind of face that makes people believe in pain relief.

Another email notification. Then another. My inbox fills with rejections like a slot machine paying out disappointment.

The role has been filled.

Production postponed indefinitely.

Casting direction has changed.

We've decided to go with internal talent.

Each one lands like a small punch to the gut. These aren't random. Three of them were callbacks I was confident about. The kind where the casting director practically tells you you've got it.

My phone buzzes with a text from my sister.

Hey, tried to pay tuition online but card was declined? Can you check with your bank?

Shit. I forgot about her payment. The money's there - barely - but seeing all these rejections makes my stomach clench. What if this is just the beginning?

I call her back, trying to sound normal. "Hey, Lily. Sorry, probably just a processing delay. I'll transfer money later today."

"Are you okay? You sound weird."

"Just tired. Long night shooting." The lie comes easily. Too easily. "How are classes going?"

"Good, but Theodore..." She uses my full name, always has since we were kids. "Are you sure everything's okay? Mom said you haven't called them back in four days."

Four days. Has it been that long? Time feels strange when your world is falling apart in slow motion.

"I'm fine. Just busy with work. You know how it is."

"Actually, I don't. That's kind of the problem. You never tell us anything anymore."

The concern in her voice makes my chest tighten. She's right. I've been keeping them at arm's length for over a year, ever since the affair with Celeste started. Harder to lie to people when you see them regularly.

"I'm working on something big," I tell her. Another lie. "Can't really talk about it yet, but it could change everything."

"Promise me you're not in trouble."

The words hit like she's reading my mind. "I promise. Everything's fine."

We hang up and I immediately hate myself. If everything falls apart, she'll know I lied. They all will.

I try calling my agent. Straight to voicemail. Try texting. No response.

The TV remote feels heavy in my hands. I need noise, distraction, something to fill the silence while I figure out what the hell is happening to my career.

The channel changes to Olandria Network 7. A commercial break is ending on "Riverside" - the teen mystery show where I play James Morrison, the brooding outsider with a dark past. It's not Shakespeare, but it pays well and the fans seem to like the character.

The episode starts and I don't recognize the scene. This isn't one I filmed. When did they shoot without me?

Then I see him. A guy who looks vaguely like me if you squint. Same height, similar hair color, but everything else is wrong. The jawline, the way he moves, even his voice.

He's playing James.

"What the fuck?" I say to my empty apartment.

On screen, James is in his car, crying over a text message from his ex-girlfriend Sarah. The actor is overplaying it, making James look weak instead of tortured. I spent months building this character's emotional core, and this guy is destroying it in thirty seconds.

James looks at his phone. Starts typing a response while driving.

The school bus comes out of nowhere.

I watch my character die. Watch the twisted metal and broken glass. Watch the EMTs cover James Morrison with a white sheet while Sarah screams in the background.

They killed me off. Without even telling me.

The credits roll while I sit frozen on my couch. There it is, in black letters: "Executive Producer: Valentinius Carradine."

The room tilts sideways. Everything connects in a rush that makes me dizzy.

The job losses. The cancelled callbacks. The systematic destruction of everything I've worked for.

He kept his promise. He said he'd be back for me.

I try calling the "Riverside" production office. Get transferred four times before reaching someone who sounds human.

"Oh, you didn't know?" The assistant director sounds genuinely surprised. "James was written out last week. New executive producer wanted to streamline the cast. Make room for fresh storylines."

"What's the executive producer's name?"

Long pause. "Valentinius Carradine. He bought into the production company two months ago. Really nice guy, actually. Has some great ideas for the show's direction."

Two months ago. Right around when Celeste started coming to my apartment more frequently.

"Didn't your agent tell you?"

"No," I manage. "She didn't."

"That's weird. We sent official notice to all representation. Maybe check your spam folder?"

I hang up and immediately call my agent again. This time she answers.

"Theodore, hi. I was just about to call you."

"Were you? About what?"

Another pause. "I'm afraid we're going to have to end our professional relationship. It's just... the market is really tough right now, and we need to focus our energy on clients who are booking more regularly."

Clients who are booking. I was booking regularly until this morning.

"Is this about Valentinius Carradine?"

The silence stretches so long I think the call dropped.

"I can't really discuss—"

"He's blacklisting me, isn't he?"

"Theodore, I think it would be best if we—"

The line goes dead. My agent of three years just hung up on me.

I spend the next hour on the internet, researching. Typing "actor career destroyed" and "entertainment industry blacklist" into search engines. The stories I find make my blood cold.

Careers ended overnight. Talented people suddenly unable to get work. All of them had one thing in common - they crossed someone with serious money and connections.

By evening, my inbox is full of more rejections. Callbacks cancelled. Roles filled. Representation terminated. It's like watching a building collapse in slow motion.

My parents call during dinner. I let it go to voicemail, then immediately feel guilty.

"Hi honey, just checking in. Haven't heard from you in a few days. Dad wants to know if you'll be home for his birthday next month. We'd love to see you. Love you."

Dad's birthday. I'd completely forgotten. How do I explain that I can't afford the plane ticket when last week I was telling them about my successful career?

My sister texts again: Seriously, what's going on with the tuition thing?

I stare at the message until my eyes water. She needs that money tomorrow. Pre-med isn't cheap, and she's counting on me to help. She's the smart one, the one who's going to do something important with her life. I'm just the dreamer who chased acting to Los Angeles and somehow stumbled into moderate success.

Was. Past tense.

I type back: Bank issue, sending tomorrow morning. Sorry for the delay.

Another lie. I'm getting good at them.

The news comes on at eleven. Local entertainment segment about "Riverside" killing off a popular character. They show the death scene again, and I have to watch myself die a second time.

"Fans are devastated by James Morrison's shocking death," the anchor says. "The character's portrayal by Theodore Virelli had gained a strong following among viewers."

Had. Past tense again.

My phone buzzes with notifications. Social media mentions. Fans asking what happened, why James died so suddenly, if there was drama behind the scenes.

I can't answer them. Can't explain that my entire career is being systematically dismantled by a man I used to call my best friend.

The apartment feels smaller tonight. Like the walls are closing in. I try Celeste's number one more time, knowing it's pointless.

"The number you have dialed is no longer in service."

Of course it's not.

I pour myself a glass of wine - the cheap stuff I buy at the corner store. It tastes like regret and poor decisions.

Tomorrow I have to figure out how to send Lily money I don't have. How to pay rent that's due in three days. How to explain to my parents that their successful son is suddenly unemployed.

But tonight, I sit in my darkening apartment and watch my character die on repeat. The school bus hits James Morrison over and over, and each time I flinch like it's happening to me.

Maybe it is.

I'm not just losing my career. I'm losing my ability to protect the people I love. My family depends on me, and I'm failing them because I couldn't keep my hands off my best friend's wife.

The wine glass trembles in my hand. Everything that's happening now started with that first kiss in Celeste's car over a year ago. One moment of weakness that's destroying everything I've built.

Valentinius isn't just coming for me. He's coming for everything I care about.

And I have no idea how to stop him.

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