Where It All Began
1088 Words
Chapter 2: Where It All Began
11 Months Ago
The Bentley pulled up to the velvet ropes, and in that instant, the energy on the red carpet shifted.
Cameras that had been flashing idly suddenly snapped back to life. Reporters straightened their backs. Heads turned.
They’d been waiting… for me.
The carpet stretched out like a royal path, lined with lenses, eager voices, and a hundred eyes locked in attention. Then the lights burst to life as I stepped down.
Draped in a gown of liquid gold that clung like it had been poured onto my body, I stepped into the spotlight. The fabric shimmered under the lights, floor-length with a high thigh slit that teased with every step. The hem trailed behind me like stardust.
My hair fell in soft waves down my back. The red-carpet glow kissed every highlight on my skin. A simple diamond set added the right touch of elegance. Bold red lipstick painted my lips, striking against my skin like a signature.
Then the crowd erupted.
“There she is, Izalea Benson!”
“Iconic! That’s the dress of the year!”
“Izalea! Over here!”
“Who are you wearing?”
I smiled. I posed. I owned every angle like it was mine by birthright.
Behind me, the grand event banner glowed in bold red letters:
World Premiere - The Color of Love
I walked on the carpet like it had been made just for me. Jasmine, my best friend, found me halfway through, her eyes glassy with excitement.
“You look unreal,” she whispered, barely holding back tears.
I laughed and squeezed her hand. This was the night we used to dream about, back when we were nobodies.
The agency reps stood on the sidelines, beaming like proud parents. Colleagues waved. Interviewers lined up like worshipers at an altar. Compliments poured in; stylists, producers, even a few grudging nods from rival actresses.
Belle, my PA, adjusted the train of my dress and leaned in close. “You’re stealing the whole night.”
I believed her.
The questions started flowing, soft, flattering ones.
Until they weren’t.
“Is it true you’re not who you say you are?”
“Liar!”
“Care to comment on the plastic surgery rumors?”
The voices were twisted, harsh, and sharp. I blinked, confused.
The carpet stretched endlessly before me. The lights burned my eyes instead of flattering me. A shoe flew past me, missing by inches, followed by a crumpled script. Laughter turned mocking. Faces twisted into sneers. I looked at Belle, but her expression was stone-cold, empty.
The backdrop with my name was being ripped down.
Izalea Benson peeled away like paper.
I opened my mouth to scream.
But no sound came.
Knock knock. A chime. A ring. A buzz.
Reality bled through the dream.
My eyes shot open.
The room was dim, and the sheets tangled around me. Sweat clung to my skin. I was still wearing the white robe from the night before. My heartbeat felt like it was trying to punch through my ribs.
I stumbled out of bed and rushed to the mirror, desperate to prove it hadn’t been real. But my reflection stared back, wild hair, smudged eyes.
Last night happened. The premiere was real, just not as the dream twisted it. The night had ended in celebration. Yet, the nightmare still clung to my skin.
Ding dong. The doorbell again.
I pulled my robe tighter and went to the door, still dazed. It opened to Belle and Leonard.
They hovered in the doorway like they didn’t want to come in. Belle clutched her phone like it might explode. Leonard’s smile tried to be casual but fell flat halfway to his mouth.
They stared, eyes scanning me like I was a stranger. My hair was a mess. My makeup smudged like a tragedy.
“Well?” I said, my voice hoarse. “This is what you came to see?”
Leonard shifted, avoiding my eyes. “You… okay?” His voice was barely a murmur.
“What time is it?” I asked, rubbing my temples.
Belle glanced at her phone, then back at me. “It’s… past one,” she said, almost too softly to hear.
“Noon?” I blinked in disbelief. “I slept that long?”
She nodded slowly, her voice even lower. “You were drinking last night… we thought you’d… need the rest.”
I forced a dry laugh, trying to mask the unease in my chest. "Alright, someone tell me The Color of Love is breaking records. I could use some good news right about now."
Silence.
They exchanged a glance.
Something was off. Heavy. Quiet.
Belle had always been my anchor, anticipating what I needed before I even knew.
If she looked like this, it wasn’t small.
Leonard finally spoke. “You haven’t seen the news?”
“What news?” I asked, but they didn’t answer, as if my question met deaf ears.
The silence dragged, and irritation started to rise as they continued to withhold answers.
Belle's face tightened. She stepped forward and held out her phone.
The headlines screamed at me.
Is Izalea Benson just a mask? Meet Jazlyn Gabby, her real identity.
Jazlyn Gabby.
The name rang out like a punch, a name I had buried so deeply it felt like a distant ghost, like hearing your eulogy while still alive.
How could they know? Who could have dug up a past I’d buried so carefully?
My fingers trembled as I scrolled. Every line was an arrow.
Hollywood’s Rising Star: A Career Built on Lies.
Cosmetic Surgery Exposed.
Before-and-after photos flood social media.
Then one headline made me freeze.
Does the name James Gabby sound familiar?
Something inside me cracked. A name I hadn’t spoken aloud in years stirred up a memory:
My father.
His voice. His threats.
His fists.
"Is any of this true?" Belle asked quietly.
I handed the phone back without a word, avoiding her eyes.
"Please… just go," I said, barely above a whisper.
"Izalea, we came to be with you," Belle pleaded gently.
I didn’t answer. I just closed the door, slowly, quietly, like that might keep everything else out.
Then my legs gave out.
I sank to the floor. Back pressed against the door, arms around my knees, tears flowing down in silence.
Not just from fear.
From knowing, no matter how far I'd climbed, someone had been digging beneath me.
And now, everything was starting to collapse.
- Writer
