Premiere Night Betrayal

I woke up from a car accident, my head pounding, to Ethan's hushed voice on the phone.

Not sweet nothings to me, his injured fiancée, but a deal with his agent to steal my screenplay, "City of Echoes," and give it to A-lister Olivia Monroe.

He planned to propose at the premiere, trap me with a ring, and erase me from the narrative of my own success, all for Olivia's comeback and his own glory.

The agent, surprisingly, spilled the tea: my early career sacrifice to cover Ethan's plagiarism, and Olivia's involvement in the stress that led to my miscarriage, our baby now gone.

Was my entire relationship a carefully woven web of lies, orchestrated by an ambitious man and a manipulative starlet?

Then I saw that framed photo of me in Liam Sterling's office: a gesture of respect towards my writing.

This realization made me start a new life plan: run, collaborate with Ethan's nemesis, and rewrite my history.

1

The scrape on my knee throbbed under the bandage.

My head felt fuzzy from the painkiller the ER doctor gave me after the fender bender.

Just a mild concussion, they said. And a few bruises.

Ethan was supposed to pick me up, but he was late.

Always late when it involved me.

I lay on our sofa, the one I picked out, the one he said was "fine."

The painkiller was stronger than I thought. My eyelids felt heavy.

I drifted, not quite asleep, but not fully awake.

Then I heard Ethan's voice from the hallway, low and urgent.

He was on the phone. With Noah, his agent.

"It's perfect, Noah. Her script, 'City of Echoes.' It's gold."

My script. My passion project. The one I'd poured my soul into for three years.

"We give it to Olivia," Ethan continued, his voice smooth. "A star vehicle. It'll put her back on top. And me with her."

A cold knot formed in my stomach.

"What about Sarah?" Noah asked. His voice was tight. "It's her script, Ethan. Her best work."

"She won't care once we're married," Ethan said, a dismissive laugh in his tone. "I'll propose after the movie's a hit. Big premiere, all the press. She'll be so happy, she'll forget all about credit."

My breath caught. Marriage? He'd never mentioned marriage.

Noah sounded furious. "Are you insane? Steal her script? After everything she's done for you? She supported you for years when no one would touch you. She took the fall for that plagiarism crap with your student film, nearly wrecked her own chances before she even started!"

Tears pricked my eyes. He remembered. Ethan never mentioned that.

My own early writing career almost ended because I said I wrote the scene Ethan copied. To protect him.

"That was ages ago," Ethan scoffed. "Ancient history."

"And the baby, Ethan?" Noah's voice dropped, heavy with something dark. "You remember the baby? When Olivia freaked out that Sarah being pregnant would tie you down, ruin your 'comeback'?"

My heart stopped. The baby. Our baby.

The miscarriage I'd blamed myself for. The stress, the doctor said. Too much stress.

"Olivia had nothing to do with that," Ethan snapped, but his voice lacked conviction. "It was just... a terrible accident."

"Accident?" Noah's voice was laced with disbelief. "The way you suddenly ramped up the pressure on her? The fights? The constant undermining? You engineered that stress, Ethan. Olivia was whispering in your ear the whole time."

I felt a wave of nausea. The room started to spin. Olivia. It was always Olivia.

Ethan's voice hardened. "Olivia is my future, Noah. Sarah... Sarah's convenient. She's good, she's loyal. But Olivia is fire. This script will make Olivia a legend. And me alongside her."

He was talking about my life's work as if it were a commodity.

My body, my baby, my script. All just tools for him. For Olivia.

"She'll get a co-writer credit if she pushes," Ethan conceded, as if bestowing a great favor. "A small one. And a producer credit. She'll be fine."

He didn't love me. He never loved me.

He loved Olivia. He was obsessed.

"I'm doing this, Noah," Ethan said, his voice final. "With or without your help. The script is already on Olivia's agent's desk."

My script. My words. My story. Given to another woman.

The betrayal was a physical thing, clawing at my insides.

The fuzziness in my head sharpened into a piercing ache.

It wasn't just the script. It was everything.

Years of propping him up. Working two jobs when his first film bombed so he could still go to his precious "networking" lunches.

Putting my own writing on hold.

The endless emotional labor.

The baby. Oh god, the baby.

He let me believe it was my fault. My weakness.

I must have blacked out for a moment.

When my eyes focused again, the room felt cold. Sterile.

Like a hospital, but it was our living room. Our shared space. Now it felt alien.

Ethan was kneeling beside the sofa, his face a mask of concern.

"Sarah? You okay, baby? You look pale."

His hand reached for my forehead. I flinched.

"The doctor said you should rest," he murmured, his voice soft, caring. The voice he used when he wanted something. "Just a minor bump, but you scared me."

He didn't know I'd heard. He thought I was just dazed from the accident, from the medication.

"Noah called," he said casually. "Just some industry stuff. You know how it is."

Liar.

The word screamed in my head.

Every sacrifice, every loving gesture I'd ever made for him, felt like ash in my mouth.

He was going to steal my soul and offer me a wedding ring as a consolation prize.

A cold calm settled over me. The pain in my head was still there, but it was distant.

He thought I was naive. Devoted. Easily manipulated.

He was wrong.

I had been those things. For him.

Not anymore.

This was the end.

He had taken everything. He wouldn't get another chance.

I needed a plan. I needed to get away.

Liam Sterling.

The name surfaced from the depths of my memory.

A rival producer. Ethan's nemesis. Ethical. Respected.

Years ago, at an industry mixer, he'd complimented a short story I'd published. He'd remembered my name.

Later, a brief meeting in his office for a general. I'd seen a small, framed photo on his bookshelf. A candid shot of me, laughing, at that same mixer. Tucked away, almost hidden. It had seemed odd then. Now, it felt like a lifeline.

He was in New York.

I closed my eyes, feigning drowsiness.

"Just tired," I mumbled.

Ethan smoothed my hair. "Rest, baby. I'll take care of everything."

Yes, you will, I thought. You'll take care of destroying me, if I let you.

When he left the room, I reached for my phone, hidden under a cushion.

My fingers trembled as I found Liam Sterling's contact information. I still had it from that old meeting.

I typed out a short, direct message.

"Liam, it's Sarah Jenkins. I have a proposition. It involves my new screenplay and a way to rebuild my career. Are you in New York? Can we meet?"

I hit send before I could lose my nerve.