The after-party was a war zone.
Champagne flowed like water. Bodies pressed together in a sweaty, expensive crush.
But Allison Harper stood in the eye of the storm.
She held court in the VIP section of the club. Lucas Black leaned against the wall beside her, a silent sentinel in a tuxedo.
Men wanted her. Women wanted to be her.
But Allison only had eyes for her prey.
She scanned the room. Sipping her drink. Waiting.
Then, she saw them.
Jack and Lena. They had slipped into the party, hoping to network. Hoping to ride Allison's coattails.
Jack's tie was loose. His eyes were frantic.
Lena was clutching his arm, her smile brittle. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for threats.
They looked like scavengers at a lion's feast.
Allison's lips curled into a smirk.
"Target acquired," she murmured to Lucas.
Lucas followed her gaze. He swirled his whiskey. "The ex and the backstabber. Charming."
"They look thirsty," Allison said. "Let's buy them a drink."
She didn't walk over to them.
She didn't need to.
She pulled out her phone. She typed a single message.
Check your phone.
Across the room, Jack's pocket buzzed. He froze. He fumbled for the device.
He read the screen. His head snapped up. He locked eyes with Allison.
Panic. Raw, unadulterated panic.
Allison raised her glass in a mock toast. Then, she swiped her screen.
Click.
It wasn't a text message sent to Jack. It was a command.
On the massive screens above the DJ booth, the music cut out.
The crowd groaned. Then, they looked up.
A video began to play. High quality. Crisp audio.
It was a recording of a meeting.
Richard Sterling's office. Two months ago.
There was Jack. Sitting in the chair across from the producer.
"So," Jack's voice boomed through the speakers. "You give me the part. And I make sure Allison doesn't show up for the shoot."
"And the girl?" Richard's voice asked. "The Martinez girl?"
"I'll handle her," Jack said, laughing. "She's stupid. She'll do whatever I say if I promise her a cameo. Once we steal the contract, we dump them both."
The club went silent.
Dead silent.
Then, the video cut to a second clip.
Lena. In a bathroom stall. Talking on her phone.
"Jack is an idiot," Lena's voice sneered. "But he's useful. I'm sleeping with him to get the audition, obviously. Did you see Allison's face today? God, she's such a pathetic loser. I'm doing her a favor by putting her out of her misery."
The crowd gasped.
It wasn't just betrayal. It was a conspiracy.
The video cut back to Jack. "We sabotage her. We take her money. We ruin her credit. By the time she realizes what happened, she'll be waiting tables in Jersey."
Boom.
The club erupted.
People were shouting. Phones were out, recording the screen.
"No! No!" Jack screamed. He knocked over a table. Glasses smashed.
He looked at Allison. His face was a mask of horror.
"You!" he yelled, pointing a shaking finger. "You did this!"
Allison didn't speak. She just watched him die.
It was better than Christmas.
Security guards surrounded Jack and Lena.
"Get them out of here!" the club manager shouted.
"I didn't do anything! It's fake! Deep fakes!" Jack cried as they grabbed his arms.
"It's not fake, you idiot!" a random actress yelled, throwing her drink in his face. "I was in that meeting! You're trash!"
Lena was sobbing, mascara running down her face in black rivers. "Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Allison!"
She looked at Allison, begging.
Allison took a slow sip of her champagne.
"Sorry?" Allison mouthed silently.
She shook her head.
Too little. Too late.
They were dragged out the back exit. The door slammed shut.
The music kicked back in. Heavy bass. Dark techno.
The party resumed. But the vibe had shifted.
The fear was palpable. The respect for Allison was absolute.
Lucas pushed off the wall. He moved closer to her. His body heat radiated against her arm.
"That was... savage," he said. There was admiration in his tone. "Where did you get the footage?"
"I have my sources," Allison said, her eyes still on the door where Jack had disappeared. "A little birdy told me Jack was trying to sell me out from day one. I just had to wait for the right moment to spring the trap."
"You ruined them," Lucas said. "In five minutes. They will never work in this town again."
"They shouldn't have played the game if they didn't know how to win," Allison replied coldly.
She turned to Lucas. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by a different kind of tension.
Lucas looked at her mouth. Then her eyes. The air between them crackled.
"Remind me never to get on your bad side," he whispered.
"You're already on it, Lucas," Allison teased. "That's the only place worth being."
He laughed. A low, dark sound.
"Let's get out of here," he said. "Before you destroy anyone else."
"I might not be done," she warned.
"Oh, you're done for tonight," Lucas commanded. He took her hand. His grip was firm. Demanding.
But Allison didn't pull away.
She liked the fire.
The drive to Lucas's penthouse was a blur.
Los Angeles lights streaked past the windows like neon rain.
They didn't speak in the car. The silence was heavy. Charged.
The elevator ride up was agonizingly slow.
56... 57... 58...
Lucas stood with his hands in his pockets. Allison leaned against the brass rail.
She watched the numbers change.
Ding.
The doors opened.
The penthouse was stunning. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A view of the entire city.
But Allison didn't care about the view.
Lucas walked to the bar. He poured two glasses of bourbon. He handed one to her.
"To victory," he said.
"To revenge," she corrected.
They clinked glasses. The crystal rang like a bell.
Lucas took a sip, his eyes never leaving hers. He set the glass down on the piano.
He stepped closer.
"You know," he said softly. "I watched your movie today. Twice."
"And?" Allison challenged.
"The scene in the rain," Lucas said. "When you kill the husband. I've never seen anything like it. It was terrifying. It was... erotic."
He reached out. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers grazed her neck.
Goosebumps erupted on her skin.
"You're dangerous, Allison," he murmured.
"I thought you liked dangerous," she whispered.
"I do."
He closed the distance between them.
He didn't kiss her immediately. He hovered. Teasing.
His breath mingled with hers. She smelled the whiskey. The scent of his skin.
Then, his lips were on hers.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a collision.
It was hungry. Desperate.
Allison dropped her glass. It shattered on the marble floor, but neither of them noticed.
She grabbed his jacket. She pulled him closer. She wanted to crawl inside him.
He lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist.
He carried her to the massive bedroom.
The city lights spread out below them, a sea of diamonds.
He laid her down on the silk sheets.
For a moment, he just looked at her. His eyes were dark. Serious.
"This changes everything," he said.
"I know," Allison replied. Her heart was hammering against her ribs. "Good."
He lowered his head. He kissed her neck. Her collarbone. Her shoulder.
Allison closed her eyes.
She had won.
Jack was gone. Lena was ruined. Her career was on fire.
And now, she had the most powerful man in Hollywood in her bed.
She should have been happy.
But as Lucas touched her, a dark thought flickered in the back of her mind.
Is he using me? Like Jack did?
She pushed the thought away. She buried it under the sensation of his skin.
She would deal with the consequences tomorrow.
Tonight, she was the Queen.
The next morning, the sun was brutal.
Allison woke up to an empty bed.
The sheets were cold.
She sat up, clutching the silk cover to her chest.
"Lucas?"
Silence.
She looked around the room. His tuxedo was gone.
Panic flared in her chest. Had it been a mistake? Had he used her?
She grabbed her robe and ran to the living room.
It was empty.
But on the dining table, there was a single envelope.
And a black credit card.
Allison picked up the envelope. Her hands shook slightly.
She opened it.
It was a contract.
A standard Hollywood "dating" contract.
Publicity Stipulations:
Parties shall attend 4 public events per month.
PDA is mandatory.
Non-disclosure agreement binding for 5 years.
Allison stared at the paper. Her blood turned to ice.
It wasn't love. It was business.
Lucas Black didn't want a girlfriend. He wanted a prop.
He wanted the "It Girl" on his arm to boost his box office numbers.
Just like Jack wanted the role.
Just like Lena wanted the fame.
Allison laughed.
It started as a chuckle. Then it grew into a roar.
She threw the contract onto the table.
Did they really think they could cage her? Did they think she went through the Olympus Initiative just to become a trophy?
She picked up the black credit card.
She walked to the balcony. The morning wind whipped her hair.
She looked at the Hollywood sign in the distance.
"Game on, Lucas," she whispered.
She ripped the contract in half.
Then she pulled out her phone. She dialed a number.
"Vivienne? Yeah. It's Allison. I need a favor. Find me a script. Something big. Something that requires a partner. A man."
She paused.
"Make sure it's a role Lucas Black can't turn down. But I get top billing."
She hung up.
She took the black credit card.
And snapped it in two.
The pieces fell forty stories to the street below.
Allison Harper wasn't anyone's prop.
She was the director now.
And she was going to rewrite the ending.