"You stole my story, Adrian. And you know it."
The words burst out of Ethan before he could stop them. His throat burned, his palms slick with sweat under the harsh studio lights. He could hear his own voice replaying in his head — thin, shaky, too desperate — but it was too late to take them back. Every microphone in the room caught it.
Adrian Gray didn't flinch. He leaned back in his chair, calm as stone, his tailored suit crisp under the spotlight. Then, after a beat, he smiled — the kind of smile that made Ethan feel like a child throwing a tantrum in front of adults.
"Ethan," Adrian said slowly, each syllable smooth and practiced, "you've convinced yourself of a lie. That's the saddest part of all."
The host's voice cut in, syrupy and eager for drama. "Let's clarify for our listeners. Ethan Cole, a relatively new writer, claims Adrian Gray plagiarized his work. Ethan, are you saying your manuscript existed before Adrian's release?"
"Yes!" Ethan snapped, his voice cracking with emotion. He leaned forward, his fists pressed into the table, knuckles bone-white. "Every line, every chapter — it's mine. It came from me. I lived it. And he—" he jabbed a trembling finger toward Adrian, "—he took it."
A hush fell over the room, broken only by Adrian's quiet laugh.
"You see?" Adrian said, his tone dripping with pity. "This is what happens when dreams outweigh reality. Passion doesn't equal ownership. Drafts can be written yesterday and backdated today. Notebooks can be filled in after the fact. I don't blame him, really — he's struggling, he wants recognition. But this…" He gestured toward Ethan with a small wave of his hand, as though dismissing him entirely. "This is delusion."
The studio audience chuckled, low at first, then louder. It wasn't cruel laughter, not yet, but it was enough to pierce Ethan's chest like glass.
"You're lying!" Ethan's voice trembled. He turned his body toward the cameras, desperate for someone out there — anyone — to see the truth in his eyes. "He's lying! I've got proof — drafts, emails, notes, recordings. Everything to show this is mine!"
"And yet," Adrian interrupted smoothly, his calmness suffocating in its control, "here we are. A respected author with decades of recognition… and a man the public only heard of this week. Who do you believe?"
The host tilted his head, lips curving into a smile that wasn't neutral at all. "Well, the public reaction so far does lean in Adrian's favor…"
The words sliced through Ethan. The audience chuckled again. A few people even shook their heads, pitying him the way you pity someone who's lost their grip on reality.
Ethan's pulse thundered in his ears. He wanted to scream, to pound the table until they listened, but when he looked at Adrian — that cool, practiced mask of empathy stretched over his face — Ethan froze.
Adrian leaned in slightly, lowering his voice in a way that made it sound intimate, fatherly, though every syllable was meant to cut. "Ethan, stop this before you destroy yourself. You're not branding me a thief anymore. You're branding yourself as unstable. And the world is already starting to believe it."
The silence that followed was unbearable. Ethan opened his mouth, searching for words, but nothing came. His throat locked up, dry and useless. He could feel the cameras zooming in, capturing the crack in his composure. The quiet stretched, heavy, humiliating.
Finally, the host cleared his throat, shifting to another topic, but it was too late. Ethan wasn't the victim anymore. He was the spectacle.
---
The studio doors burst open as he stormed into the night, cold air slamming into his face. He staggered past the swarm of reporters, microphones shoved at him like weapons.
"Ethan, do you have concrete proof?"
"Is it true you're unstable, as Adrian suggested?"
"Will you retract your accusation?"
The flashes blinded him. He shoved past them, his chest heaving, his name already being dragged through the mud in real time.
By the time he reached his apartment, the headlines were everywhere:
"Promising Young Writer Melts Down in Public."
"Adrian Gray Graceful Amid Baseless Accusations."
"The Jealous Nobody vs. The Literary Giant."
Ethan sat in the dark, his phone buzzing endlessly on the table. Tweets. Emails. Texts. His editor's messages grew harsher with every notification. "You've ruined your reputation." "We're pulling away from this mess." "Don't contact me again."
He didn't move. He just sat there, staring at his reflection in the black screen of his phone. His face looked pale, sunken, like someone he no longer recognized.
The world hadn't just dismissed him. It had branded him. Forever.