Chapter Five: The Girl on the Screen
991 Words
They don’t show the worst part.
Not the sob.
Not the plea.
Not the moment her voice breaks as she says, “I’ll be good, I swear.”
But Stacy hears it anyway.
It echoes through her bones every time someone in the room gasps, every time a notification lights up her phone, every time her name trends on Twitter with words like slut and psychopath and cautionary tale.
The world doesn’t care that the video was leaked without consent.
They only care that it’s her.
Rich. Beautiful. Dangerous.
And utterly wrecked on her knees for the Maddox heir.
⸻
The footage is everywhere now.
They blurred her face at first.
But not her voice.
And the people who know her?
They know it’s her.
Even worse?
John knows too.
She hasn’t spoken to him since the night Selene dropped the bomb.
He hasn’t answered her calls.
He hasn’t returned her texts.
And now, tonight, she’s expected to show up at the annual Maddox Foundation Gala arm in arm with her ex-fiancé like nothing happened.
Like the world didn’t just watch her unravel in high definition.
⸻
Her stylist zips the final seam of the red velvet gown she’s chosen.
Tight. Backless. Slit high up her thigh like an open threat.
The color of blood and sin.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” the stylist asks softly.
Stacy doesn’t blink.
“I’m not going to hide, Megan.”
“You don’t have to hide to survive, you know.”
She stands.
“I’m not trying to survive.”
Her reflection stares back at her. Flawless. Untouchable. Hollow.
“I’m trying to remind them who I am.”
⸻
The flashbulbs start before she even steps out of the car.
The paparazzi scream her name like it’s a curse word. Like it’s prophecy.
“STACY! STACY, LOOK THIS WAY!”
“ARE YOU AND JOHN STILL TOGETHER?”
“WHO RECORDED THE VIDEO?”
“DID YOU CONSENT?”
“DID YOU LIKE IT?”
“WAS IT A PUBLICITY STUNT?”
She doesn’t flinch.
She walks the carpet like she’s a goddess on the eve of execution.
The world throws stones.
She lets them hit.
Because deep down, Stacy Caldwell doesn’t break.
She waits.
She absorbs.
And when she’s ready?
She destroys.
⸻
Inside, the gala is a polished circus of the elite.
Politicians, celebrities, billionaires sipping champagne while pretending they’re not staring at her.
John arrives late.
On purpose.
He’s in a three-piece charcoal suit, sharp enough to cut. His eyes don’t meet hers until they’re center stage for the photo op.
His jaw is tight. His hand wraps around her waist like a warning.
He leans in, camera lights flashing like gunshots.
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs. “Shame no one will remember the dress.”
She smiles for the cameras. “Let them watch.”
“They are.”
He turns to face forward.
“They’re watching us burn.”
⸻
They make it halfway through the charity dinner before someone makes a joke.
Some finance CEO with a god complex and a too-white smile.
He raises his glass, smirking.
“To the Maddox Foundation… and to keeping your private moments off the internet.”
Laughter follows.
Nervous. Cruel.
John’s face darkens.
Stacy doesn’t even blink.
She picks up her champagne, taps her spoon to the crystal rim.
The room quiets.
She stands.
“Since we’re all feeling so open tonight,” she says smoothly, “let me just say: If being caught on video loving someone makes me a slut… then every man in this room should be trembling.”
Gasps.
Silence.
She drains her glass.
“And to the man who leaked it?” She smiles. “You’re not a threat. You’re just jealous.”
⸻
The applause that follows isn’t real.
But it’s loud.
And it buys her time.
Until she gets backstage.
Until the cameras are off.
And John slams her into a hallway wall.
“What the f**k was that?” he hisses.
“My line in the sand.”
“You’re provoking him.”
“Good. Let him show his face.”
He leans in, eyes wild. “You think this is about revenge?”
“I think this is about power,” she whispers. “And I’ve taken mine back.”
“You don’t even know who sent the video.”
She smiles.
“No. But I know who might.”
⸻
Behind them, a door creaks open.
Selene steps out, dressed in all black like a widow who came to seduce the corpse.
“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” she says, voice dripping with venom. “I love watching you two self-destruct.”
Stacy glares. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to make sure you didn’t lie your way through another crisis.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of playing martyr?”
Selene walks closer.
“I’m not a martyr,” she purrs. “I’m the one who actually cared what happened to you.”
Her hand reaches out brushes Stacy’s jaw.
“She’s shaking,” she tells John. “Even if she pretends she isn’t.”
“I’m fine,” Stacy lies.
Selene smirks. “Tell that to the person who just sent me another message.”
⸻
John’s head snaps up. “What message?”
Selene shows them her phone.
A picture.
Stacy. At fifteen. Crying.
A scar on her cheek from a fight no one knew about. A bruised lip. A white silk dress the night her father beat her behind closed doors and told her to smile for the family photo.
Stacy gasps. “Where the hell did they get that?”
Selene’s face hardens.
“I think whoever’s sending these… isn’t just trying to destroy you.”
She looks between them.
“I think they’re trying to erase you.”
- Writer
