Chapter 301
Chapter 301:
“It smells like success, Dominic,” she said softly. “Something you haven’t smelled in a while. How are those stock prices p>
She pushed her sunglasses back up and walked into the dressing room, shutting the door firmly.
Dominic’s smirk vanished. He pushed off the wall, furious.
Liam stood there, staring at the closed door. The scent of sandalwood lingered in the hallway—the same scent Alistair Thorne always wore.
Inside the prop area, ten feet away, Crystal watched the dressing room door close. She gripped the box cutter in her pocket tighter.
“Success,” Crystal whispered, mimicking Skye’s tone. “I’ll show you success p>
The stage manager’s voice boomed over the intercom. “Skye Sterling to stage! Three minutes to live segment p>
The dressing room door opened. Skye stepped out. She had touched up her lipstick—bold, blood-red. She looked ready for war.
She walked toward the stage entrance, the lights blindingly bright beyond the curtain.
She didn’t see the hooded figure stepping out from behind the costume rack.
She didn’t see the glint of metal.
Liam, still standing in the hallway, saw the movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned.
He saw the hoodie.
He saw the raised hand.
“Skye!” Liam screamed.
But the applause from the audience drowned him out.
Skye stepped onto the stage, smiling, walking straight into the trap.
The studio lights were a physical force—a wall of heat and brightness that washed out the rest of the world. Skye stepped onto the stage, her smile practiced and perfect. The audience roared, a wave of sound vibrating in her chest. She raised a hand to wave, the oversized cuff of Alistair’s shirt sliding down her wrist.
She moved toward the plush interview couch where the host sat waiting.
“And here she is!” the host announced. “The woman everyone is talking about p>
A scream from the front row cut him off.
S𝗵𝗮r𝖾 𝘺𝘰u𝗋 𝖿а𝘷𝗈𝗿𝘪𝘵𝗲ѕ 𝖿𝗋𝘰𝗆 𝖻e𝘭ոо𝗏𝗲𝗹𝘴.𝘤o𝗆
It wasn’t a cheer. It was pure terror.
Skye stopped. Her instincts, honed by two lives of trauma, screamed danger. She began to turn.
A blur of dark fabric rushed her from the side of the stage.
Crystal didn’t look human. Her face was twisted into a mask of sobbing rage, teeth bared. She moved with frantic, desperate speed. In her right hand, a yellow box cutter gleamed under the stage lights, the blade fully extended.
“You ruined me!” Crystal shrieked.
The security guards near the cameras froze, caught off guard by the speed of the attack. Crystal slammed into Skye.
Skye didn’t scream. She threw her hands up instinctively to protect her neck. Crystal grabbed Skye’s hair with her free hand, yanking her head back, and pressed the blade against the soft skin of Skye’s throat.
The audience went silent. A collective gasp sucked the air out of the room.
“Don’t move!” Crystal screamed at the approaching security. “I’ll cut her! I swear to God I’ll cut her p>
Skye went rigid. She could feel the cold metal biting into her skin. She could smell Crystal—stale sweat, unwashed hair, cheap energy drinks. Crystal’s hand shook violently, making the blade even more dangerous.
“Crystal,” Skye said. Her voice was low, remarkably steady. “Put it down p>
“Shut up!” Crystal sobbed, tightening her grip. A thin line of red appeared on Skye’s neck. “You think you’re better than me? You took everything! My job! My reputation p>