Chapter 3: Fire and forgery
1375 Words
For two days, Mariana avoided Jerome’s calls and messages. Celine noticed the tension but said nothing, choosing instead to watch over little Mateo and give her best friend space.
Mariana threw herself into work, training, press interviews, choreography planning — anything to drown out the memory of Jerome’s stunned face when she’d slipped about her son.
But peace was short-lived.
That Friday morning, her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. At first, she ignored it, thinking it was more journalists. Then Celine barged into her apartment, her face pale.
“Mariana,” she gasped, holding up her phone. “You need to see this.”
Mariana frowned, taking the device. The screen played a grainy video, her younger self in a hotel room, dressed in revealing dancewear, appearing to flirt with a man whose face was blurred.
The caption read:
“Brazil’s Golden Dancer Exposed: Mariana Gusta’s Dark Past with Sponsors”
Exclusive footage provided by Hilliard Productions.
Her blood ran cold.
“That’s not—” She stopped, voice trembling. “That’s not what it looks like.”
Celine bit her lip. “It’s everywhere. Social media, gossip sites, even international tabloids. Sponsors are panicking. They think you… sold yourself early in your career.”
Mariana’s hands shook as she tossed the phone aside. Her mind whirled back to those early days under Mandrin Hilliard, when she’d been desperate for a chance, the long nights of overwork, the manipulation, the control. He’d always hinted he had “material” to destroy her if she ever left.
And now, he's done it.
At Ansel Enterprises, Rio Branch
Jerome sat behind his desk, his laptop screen playing the same video in a loop. His face was unreadable, but his fingers drummed rhythmically on the desk.
His assistant, Tiffany, hovered uncertainly. “Sir, the board is… concerned. The media’s painting her as a scandalous figure. Investors are asking if we should reconsider our partnership with her production.”
Jerome’s eyes flickered with restrained anger. “And what do you think, Tiffany?”
She hesitated. “It’s bad press. You’re being associated with a public scandal.”
He stood abruptly, cutting her off. “I don’t make decisions based on gossip.”
“But the investors—”
“I’ll handle the investors.”
Tiffany stepped back, recognizing the steel in his tone.
When she left, Jerome stared at the paused frame, Mariana’s terrified eyes, frozen in a lie she didn’t deserve. He’d seen those eyes up close, full of fire and defiance. He knew her strength, her dignity.
She wasn’t the kind of woman to sell her body for fame.
He clenched his jaw. Mandrin’s handprints were all over this.
At Mariana’s Apartment
“Don’t cry,” Celine murmured, pacing the room. “He wants you to break. That’s what this is.”
“I’m not crying,” Mariana said, her voice low but steady. Her eyes were dry, blazing instead of broken. “I’m furious.”
Celine blinked. “What are you going to do?”
Mariana picked up her phone, scrolling through contacts until she found her lawyer’s number. “Fight. If Mandrin wants a war, he’ll get one.”
The following morning, Rio’s largest press conference venue filled with journalists from across the country. Flashing cameras, murmuring voices, and a hundred curious eyes waited for the fallen star to show her face.
But when Mariana Gusta walked in, the room fell silent.
She wore an elegant white suit, clean, poised, and radiant under the stage lights. Her hair was slicked back, her gaze unwavering. Celine and her lawyer flanked her as she took her seat.
“Miss Gusta,” a reporter shouted before the conference even began. “Is the video real?”
She leaned forward into the microphone. “No. It is not.” Her voice cut through the noise like glass. “The footage circulating online is manipulated, a fabrication meant to defame me and discredit my career.”
Cameras clicked rapidly.
Another reporter stood. “Then who would do this?”
Mariana’s jaw tightened. “The source of the leak is Hilliard Productions, owned by Mandrin Hilliard, my former manager. The same man who has tried to sabotage my career for years.”
Gasps filled the hall.
She held up a printed document — timestamps, pixel analysis, metadata from her technical team. “Here is proof that the video’s audio and visuals were digitally altered. The supposed ‘scene’ took place in a rehearsal room, not a hotel. The original footage has been twisted.”
“Why would he target you?” another journalist asked.
“Because I left his company,” she replied coldly. “And because I refused to sleep my way to success.”
A ripple of shock coursed through the room.
Celine’s heart pounded, but she smiled discreetly. This was the Mariana she knew,fierce, brave, unbreakable.
Mariana continued, her voice steady: “I’ve worked tirelessly for every accolade I’ve earned. I will not allow anyone — not a jealous ex-manager, not the media — to destroy what I’ve built. The truth will always outshine lies.”
The applause started small, then grew until the hall thundered with support.
By the time the press conference ended, #StandWithMariana was trending across Brazil.
Later that day, at the Ansel Enterprises hotel suite, Jerome watched the live broadcast from his laptop. Each word Mariana spoke only tightened the pull in his chest.
Tiffany entered cautiously. “The board called again. They want your official stance.”
Jerome didn’t look away from the screen. “Tell them Ansel Enterprises stands by Mariana Gusta.”
“Sir, that’s risky—”
“Then it’s a risk I’ll take.”
His tone was final. Tiffany nodded silently and left.
Jerome paused the video at Mariana’s final words — The truth will always outshine lies.
He couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re incredible,” he murmured to himself.
Celine was walking beside Mariana when a sea of reporters swarmed the carpark. Cameras flashed wildly.
“Mariana! How do you feel after the press conference?”
“Do you have any response to Hilliard Productions’ denial?”
“Is it true Mr. Ansel has backed you publicly?”
Mariana froze. “What?”
The reporter held up a tablet screen showing Jerome’s statement:
‘Ansel Enterprises expresses full confidence in Miss Mariana Gusta. Integrity and authenticity define both art and business.’
Her heart skipped a beat.
Celine nudged her with a grin. “Guess your billionaire just risked his empire for you.”
Mandrin Hilliard threw his glass of whiskey against the wall. “She’s turning the public against me!” he roared.
His assistant flinched. “Sir, maybe we should issue a counter statement—”
“Shut up!” Mandrin snapped. “This isn’t over. If she wants a fight, I’ll bury her and Ansel both.”
He stormed toward his desk, eyes dark with vengeance. “Let’s see how long Jerome’s investors tolerate scandal before they choke.”
That night,Mariana stood alone on her balcony, overlooking Rio’s glittering skyline. The night air was thick with the hum of the city and the faint echoes of music drifting from nearby clubs.
She exhaled, her heart still pounding from the day’s chaos. It had taken every ounce of strength to stand in front of those cameras and speak her truth.
But she’d done it. She hadn’t crumbled.
For the first time in years, she felt in control.
Her phone buzzed. A message.
Jerome: “You were magnificent today.”
She hesitated before replying.
Mariana: “I did what I had to.”
A moment later, his response came.
Jerome: “You didn’t have to stand alone.”
She stared at the screen, a small, conflicted smile tugging at her lips.
Mariana: “I’ve been standing alone for a long time, Jerome. I’m used to it.”
Jerome: “Not anymore.”
Her breath caught. She typed nothing back.
Down below, a black car pulled up to the curb. Jerome stepped out, looking up at her balcony. Their eyes met across the distance, silent, charged, and unspoken.
The city’s noise faded until all she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat.
- Writer
