Chapter 19 – Shattered Glass
1477 Words
The sound of silence was the loudest thing Cezy had ever heard.
The silence of betrayal. The silence that followed the storm of notifications flooding her phone, every screen in the penthouse glowing with one cursed word: VIDEO.
Her hands trembled as she stared at her reflection in the dark glass wall. The city glittered below like a thousand watching eyes, cruel and unblinking. She wanted to scream, to tear herself out of her own skin. Instead, she whispered the question that burned through her lungs.
“What did they do?”
Dalia didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes flickered between Cezy and Nathan, unsure how to deliver the final blow.
Nathan ripped the phone from her hand and pressed play. The penthouse filled with the distorted, poisoned version of Cezy.
It was her face. Her voice. Her body. Except it wasn’t.
The video was doctored, edited with surgical precision, splicing stolen audition clips, paparazzi shots, stolen backstage footage into something monstrous. In the twisted narrative, Cezy appeared in compromising scenes, whispering confessions of manipulation, laughing at the idea of using Nathan for fame, even hinting at sleeping with other powerful men to climb her way up.
Every second was a knife slicing her reputation into pieces.
“No…” Cezy gasped, stumbling backward until her knees hit the edge of the sofa. “No, that’s not me. That’s not me!”
Her voice cracked, raw with terror.
Nathan’s jaw was clenched so tightly veins bulged against his temples. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the phone until it nearly cracked. “They went this far,” he growled, low and lethal. “They really want to bury you alive.”
Dalia’s voice trembled. “It’s already everywhere. Millions of views in less than ten minutes. Every outlet’s picking it up. And the comments—”
“Don’t,” Cezy cut her off, her chest heaving. “Don’t tell me what they’re saying.”
But she didn’t need Dalia’s words. She could already hear them echoing in her head — the voices of strangers who had once called themselves fans. Slut. Fake. Manipulator. Gold-digger. w***e.
Her hands clawed at her chest as though she could rip the words out of her skin. “It’s over. It’s all over. They’ll never believe me now.”
Nathan dropped the phone onto the glass table with a slam that made Dalia flinch. He crouched in front of Cezy, gripping her face in his hands. His blue eyes were blazing, unyielding.
“Listen to me,” he said, each word sharp, demanding. “This is not you. It doesn’t matter how real it looks — I know it isn’t. And if I know it, then I’ll make the world know it.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “How, Nathan? How? They believe what they see. And what they see is—”
“A lie,” he snapped, his voice breaking through her panic. “A carefully crafted lie. And whoever made it will burn for it.”
But Cezy couldn’t breathe. She ripped herself from his hands and stumbled toward the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.
She pressed her back against the wood, sliding down until she was curled on the floor. Her sobs tore through the silence, ragged and desperate. The girl in the video wasn’t her, but the world wouldn’t care. To them, she was already guilty.
And guilt in the court of fame was a death sentence.
---
The next 24 hours were hell.
The video dominated every platform, every channel. Clips were replayed on news broadcasts, dissected by gossip bloggers, analyzed frame by frame by so-called “experts” claiming it was real.
Online, the hate was relentless. Death threats filled her inbox. Strangers flooded her comments, calling for her to disappear. Former fans posted videos of themselves burning her posters, ripping apart albums she hadn’t even released yet.
Brands that had just begun to notice her pulled away instantly, terminating contracts she hadn’t even signed yet. Casting directors blacklisted her name. Her dream of being an actress, of being an idol, shattered overnight.
And worst of all—her own family turned on her.
Her phone buzzed with a call from her stepmother. Against her better judgment, Cezy answered, her voice fragile.
“Cezy,” her stepmother hissed before she could speak. “What have you done? You’ve disgraced us. You’ve embarrassed Mira. Do you know what people are saying about this family?”
“It’s not true!” Cezy cried, her voice breaking. “You know me, you know I would never—”
But the woman cut her off with venom. “All I know is that Mira never brought shame like this. You’re a curse, Cezy. A stain we never should have taken in.”
The line went dead.
Cezy dropped the phone, her whole body shaking.
Nathan found her minutes later, curled in a ball on the couch. His face softened when he saw her, but his eyes still burned with fury.
“They’re cutting off every limb to isolate you,” he said quietly. “First your reputation, then your family. It’s a calculated strategy. And I know exactly who’s pulling the strings.”
“Who?” she whispered.
“COD,” Nathan said, his tone like steel. “This isn’t just Mira and Veronica anymore. They’re pawns. COD wants me — and they’re using you to break me.”
Cezy’s tears blurred her vision. “So I’m just collateral damage.”
“No.” Nathan crouched again, taking her hands in his. “You are the reason I won’t break.”
Her breath hitched. His words pierced through the darkness, fragile hope flickering in her chest.
But hope was quickly drowned by fear when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and cursed under his breath. “They’ve scheduled another press hearing tomorrow. They want blood.”
“Whose?” Cezy asked weakly.
“Yours,” Nathan said grimly. “But they’ll have to go through me first.”
---
The next day, the storm broke in full.
Hundreds of reporters gathered outside Nathan’s headquarters, their voices a roar, their cameras like guns waiting to fire. Fans shouted, holding signs — some defending Cezy, others demanding her downfall.
Inside, Cezy stood in front of the mirror, her reflection pale, her eyes swollen from sleepless tears. Dalia tried to fix her makeup, but nothing could hide the exhaustion carved into her face.
“You don’t have to do this,” Dalia whispered. “Let Nathan handle it alone.”
Cezy shook her head. “No. If I don’t face them, I’ll always be their victim. I have to fight.”
Her voice trembled, but her resolve held.
Nathan entered, adjusting his cufflinks. His gaze swept over her, and for a moment, the CEO façade cracked. He touched her arm softly. “Stay behind me when we walk in. No matter what they ask, no matter what they scream, don’t answer unless I tell you to.”
Cezy nodded, swallowing her fear.
When they stepped onto the stage, the room erupted. Shouts, accusations, questions — a tidal wave of chaos.
Nathan lifted a hand, and the room fell into an uneasy silence. His voice, cold and commanding, cut through the air.
“The video you’ve all seen is a fabrication,” he said. “It is a weapon designed to destroy a young woman’s life for the sake of power. We have proof — timestamps, doctored metadata, source tracing. And we will reveal the individuals responsible in due time.”
Reporters shouted. One woman raised her voice: “Mr. Cross, are you admitting you doctored the proof to protect her?”
Nathan’s blue eyes turned to ice. “I don’t need to doctor anything. Unlike your sources, I deal in truth.”
Another voice shouted: “Cezy, do you have anything to say for yourself? Were you Nathan’s mistress?”
The room waited, hungry.
Cezy’s chest rose and fell. She felt Nathan’s warning gaze on her, but something inside her snapped. She stepped forward, her voice trembling but clear.
“I’m not a mistress. I’m not a liar. I’m not a w***e,” she said, the words sharp with pain. “I am a person. I am a dreamer. And I won’t let anyone steal that from me. Not a video, not lies, not hate. You don’t have to like me. But you will not break me.”
The room erupted again, but this time, the noise was split. Some shouted in anger. Others clapped. Online, her words spread like wildfire.
Nathan’s hand slipped around hers under the table, hidden from the cameras. A silent promise.
And as the storm raged, Cezy realized something: she wasn’t just fighting for her name anymore. She was fighting for her life.
- Writer
