Day three.
And i'm still the headline.
Every news outlet has something to say.
Talk shows.
Online gossip pages.
Radio DJs.
Even celebrities who don't know me are giving their two cents on their podcasts.
You'd think someone died.
Or committed a crime.
But no.
They're just talking about a woman who laughed beside her best friend at a bar.
I haven't left my room in almost forty hours.
The curtains are still drawn.
I sleep with the lights off, the air conditioning too low. I haven't brushed my hair. I haven't eaten.
My phone's under my pillow.
I can hear it vibrating sometimes.
But i don't check it.
I already know what I'll see.
They're still calling me a homewrecker.
They still think i destroyed something.
They still believe that post from Ken's ex, the one where she said he ghosted her, that he never ended it, that she didn't know what went wrong.
They say I "stole" him.
They say i was waiting for her to be out of the picture.
They say i finally got what i wanted.
I didn't get anything.
I lost everything.
One reporter actually said on air,
"Margaux Imperial has always been talented, but her attitude? Her scandals? She's a fire you can't put out. Sooner or later, someone's going to get burned."
Guess i'm the one burning.
Ken sent a voice message.
I didn't open it.
He's probably sorry again.
Probably explaining.
Probably saying he'll go public and fix it.
But no one listens anymore.
I posted already.
I said we were just friends.
And people just laughed.
No matter what i do, I'm always the villain in the story.
It's like the world decided i was a punching bag years ago and now, every time something small happens, they all take turns throwing stones.
They don't care if i bleed.
They don't care if i break.
They don't even care if it's true.
They just want someone to hate.
My publicist texted:
"The studio's asking if you can still attend the awards night. You're nominated."
I didn't reply.
How do i walk a red carpet like this?
How do i smile when I can barely breathe?
—
But even after everything, I did it.
I forced myself to go.
Because it was the biggest night of the year.
Because the studio begged.
Because my manager said the
word contract like it was a threat.
Because my movie was nominated.
Because part of me was too damn stubborn to hide forever.
So I sat there, in the makeup chair, lights too bright, feeling like I was about to shatter.
My glam team was buzzing around me like bees.
Foundation. Concealer. Contour.
Brushes tapping. Powders swirling.
Someone fussing with my hair.
I stared at my own reflection.
God, I looked tired.
I could feel it even with the makeup—
the dark circles, the dull eyes, the tight mouth.
My lashes trembled.
I felt the sting in my nose, the welling in my eyes.
I bit down on my lip so hard it hurt.
Because if i let one tear fall, they'd all fall.
And i didn't have time to ruin the makeup.
You can do this.
I kept telling myself.
Over and over.
You can do this.
I pressed my palms onto my knees.
I straightened my spine.
I swallowed the sob trying to claw its way up my throat.
I blinked at my reflection and whispered, so quietly no one heard:
"You didn't steal anyone. You didn't do anything wrong."
My voice cracked on wrong.
One of the makeup artists paused, glancing at me in the mirror.
I cleared my throat and pretended to smile.
"Sorry. Allergies."
They kept working.
Inside, I was screaming.
Because no one believed me.
No one wanted my side.
No one wanted the truth.
They wanted a headline.
They wanted a scandal.
They wanted my blood.
And i wanted to go home.
I wanted to be a little girl again in my old room, safe with Lucas sleeping in the next bed because i used to be scared of the dark.
I wanted my mom to tell me it would be okay.
But i wasn't little anymore.
I was Margaux Imperial.
Controversial.
Scandalous.
Difficult.
Talented.
Despised.
I wiped under my eyes with my finger carefully.
"Don't ruin it," my stylist teased.
I gave a tiny laugh.
If only she knew how ruined i already felt.
—
Outside the dressing room, cameras were waiting.
Red carpet.
Press.
Flashes that would catch every twitch of my face.
And i had to smile.
Like i wasn't drowning.
Like my heart wasn't splintering.
Like my name wasn't being spit out like
poison in every corner of the internet.
But you can do this, I whispered to myself one last time.
I sat taller.
I angled my chin.
I let them finish the hair. The liner. The lips.
Then i stood.
My knees shook for half a second.
No one noticed but me.
I pressed my palms to my dress to smooth it down.
I let them open the door.
and i stepped out.
Because if they were going to keep calling me a villain—
At least i could look good doing it.
—
The hallway felt too long.
Every step in my heels echoed.
My stylist fussed behind me with the train of my gown.
My manager whispered last-minute instructions i didn't hear.
Because all i heard was my own blood in my ears.
You can do this.
You can do this.
When the doors opened onto the red carpet, the sound hit me like a wave.
Flashes.
Reporters shouting my name.
Fans screaming behind the barricades.
I blinked at the brightness, blinded for a second.
Then i did it.
I smiled.
Not too big.
Not too fake.
Just enough to say I'm here.
Just enough to say You don't get to kill me today.
"Margaux! Over here!"
"Margaux, who are you wearing?"
"Margaux, any comment on the controversy?"
That one.
Of course.
I paused.
Lashes lowered.
Lips curved, cool and practiced.
"No comment tonight," I said softly.
"I'm just here to celebrate film."
They pounced on it anyway.
Just here to celebrate film.
They'd make it sound like an admission.
They always did.
But i kept moving.
Posed at the step-and-repeat.
One hand on my hip.
One shoulder angled.
Eyes steady, even though they burned.
Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't let them see.
Inside the venue was worse.
Everyone dressed to kill.
Whispers everywhere.
I could feel them turning to look at me.
Feel the silence swell and shrink around me as i passed.
My manager squeezed my arm.
"You're okay," he mouthed.
I nodded.
But my fingers were shaking.
I sat down in my assigned seat.
Smiled politely at the other nominees.
Accepted the fake small talk.
Pretended i didn't see the side-eyes.
My heart beat so hard I could feel it in my temples.
Because this was it.
This was the moment.
Either everything fell apart completely—
Or i won.
When they called my category, I felt like o was going to throw up.
I heard the nominees.
Heard my name last.
The camera red light flickered on me.
I straightened.
Smiled.
Don't look scared. Don't look like prey.
Then they opened the envelope.
And called my name.
I didn't move at first.
Like i hadn't heard.
People clapped.
Some cheered.
Some stayed silent.
My manager nudged me, hard.
I blinked.
Got up.
Felt my legs go numb as i walked to the stage.
I took the trophy with both hands.
It felt heavy.
Colder than i expected.
The host smiled at me like nothing was wrong.
The crowd waited.
I stepped to the mic.
I saw the lights.
The cameras.
The faces.
And i felt my eyes sting.
Because this was supposed to be the best moment.
Because i had dreamed of this exact moment since i was a little girl.
And now all i wanted was to go home and crawl under my blanket.
I swallowed.
My voice cracked.
"Thank you," I said.
Silence.
Then polite applause.
I blinked fast to keep the tears in.
"This means a lot," I tried again, voice trembling.
My fingers dug into the trophy.
"I… I just want to say that making movies is all i've ever wanted. Even when it's hard. Even when… people think the worst of me."
I let out a shaky breath.
"But i'm not going to stop. Because i love this. Because i love telling stories."
A couple people clapped louder.
Most didn't.
My throat hurt.
"I hope… I hope people can remember that. Thank you."
I lowered my head.
And walked off stage.
—
Backstage, I pressed the trophy to my chest like a shield.
And let one tear fall.
Just one.
Because i wasn't going to let them take the rest of them tonight.