Signed In Deception

Chapter 7: Shadows Before the Spotlight

First-person POV — Kim

The message haunted me long after the alley had emptied.

"If you perform tomorrow, your career ends. Just like hers."

I didn’t sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw red paint and heard phantom footsteps.

I paced my apartment, phone in hand, waiting for something. A call from George, a response from my sister, a knock on the door. Nothing came. Just silence and the steady tick of the kitchen clock.

By dawn, I had made a decision. I would perform.

Because I had nothing left to lose.

Because maybe, just maybe, shining a light on the stage might burn away the shadows.

---

At the venue, the West Coast Artist Gala glittered with gold chandeliers and velvet drapes. Celebrities buzzed like moths around champagne and secrets. Everyone smiled, but their eyes held daggers.

Backstage, I saw Jessa.

She didn’t speak. She just handed me a USB drive.

"What’s this?" I whispered.

"Insurance," she said. "If he tries anything, use it. Plug it into the board. It’ll interrupt the feed."

I stared at her. "What’s on it?"

"Proof."

Before I could ask more, someone called her away.

---

Phil arrived twenty minutes later, trailed by a slick assistant and a film crew. He was wearing a navy suit that screamed money and malice.

"Ready to shine, starlet?" he said, his grin razor-sharp.

I nodded, refusing to flinch.

The show started. Acts before me dazzled with lights and thumping bass. I sat in the wings, palms slick with sweat, eyes on the USB drive now tucked inside my dress.

Just before I went on, Phil leaned close.

"Remember," he whispered, "this is your big moment. One wrong note, and they’ll remember you for all the wrong reasons."

I didn’t respond. I walked onto the stage.

The spotlight blinded me. The room hushed. The mic was warm in my hand. The first beat dropped, and I sang.

My voice carried.

I was halfway through the set when the first sign hit.

Static. In my earpiece.

Then the lights flickered.

Then blackout.

Gasps. Screams. A crashing sound from backstage.

Emergency lights kicked in, red and eerie.

I stood frozen, heart pounding.

Then someone screamed, "Fire!"

Panic exploded.

Stagehands ran. Security scrambled.

I jumped from the stage and followed the chaos toward the exit, but someone grabbed my arm.

Jessa.

"We have to go," she said. "Now."

She pulled me down a corridor, away from the mob.

"What the hell is happening?" I shouted.

"Phil tried to cut the feed. But the USB worked. It triggered something in his system. Emails, documents—everything started auto-streaming.

"To where?"

She smiled grimly. "To everyone."

---

We reached the parking lot. Sirens wailed in the distance. Smoke curled from the venue’s back wall.

"You leaked everything?" I gasped.

"Not me. You. Your performance was rigged to broadcast it all. The second you started singing, the files went live."

I stared at her. "What did I just do?"

"Exposed him."

My phone buzzed.

It was George.

I answered. "George, you won’t believe—"

"Kim," he cut in. "Get somewhere safe. I just saw the footage. Phil’s whole operation—it’s unraveling. But it won’t be quiet."

"Where do I go?"

"I’m sending someone. Don’t trust anyone else."

---

Jessa and I hid in a motel off Sunset. Curtains drawn. TV muted.

Every channel was on fire with news: "Producer Phil Caught in Scandal," "Rising Star Triggers Data Leak," "Ex-Clients Speak Out."

My face was everywhere.

Jessa paced. "This was bigger than I thought."

"He’ll come for us," I whispered.

As if summoned, my phone lit up.

Unknown number.

Message: "This isn't over. Signed in deception, remember?" —P.

I stared, hands trembling.

Then a knock on the motel door.

One.

Two.

Three slow taps.

Jessa and I looked at each other.

I crept to the door and peeked through the eyehole.

It was George.

But something felt... wrong.

He was alone. No car in sight. No backup.

He smiled, but there was tension in his jaw.

I opened the door.

"George?"

He stepped in fast.

Too fast.

And then I saw a black phone in his hand with a silver snake emblem.

Phil's emblem.

"Sorry, Kim," he said softly, "but you weren’t supposed to win."