Everly Zamora POV:
Karmen Barry stood on the stage, beaming, clutching the award with delicate fingers. The spotlight caught her blonde hair, making her glow. "This film," she said, her voice soft but clear, "is about the devastating impact of media scrutiny on mental health. It' s a deeply personal story." My story. My mother's story.
A cold, hard knot formed in my stomach. She was beautiful, fragile, and utterly captivating. The audience adored her, praising her "courage" and "talent." My film. My soul, laid bare for her to claim.
I found her backstage, my legs feeling like lead. "Karmen," I said, my voice barely a whisper. She spun around, her smile faltering when she saw me.
"Everly? What are you doing here?" Her eyes were wide, but there was a flicker of something else there too-panic.
"My film," I stated, the words flat. "You're accepting an award for my film."
She scoffed, a brittle sound. "Oh, that? Yes, it was a good starting point. But it needed finesse. My touch. You know, to truly make it shine." Her words were like a physical blow. "Without my performance, without my story, it would have been nothing."
"Your story?" My laugh was ragged. "It was about my mother. My trauma."
Her eyes narrowed. "Don't pretend you're some innocent victim. You stole Hayes from me. You made him abandon me when I needed him most." Her face twisted. She lunged, her hands grabbing my throat. "You ruined my life!"
My breath hitched. Her grip was tight, desperate. I remembered the friend' s words: Karmen had been targeted. Hayes' s rivals had hurt her. I also remembered the self-harm scars on her wrists that the friend had mentioned. Her nails dug into my skin.
"He was never yours to steal," I choked out, trying to push her away. "And how is my mother's tragedy your story?"
Just then, the door burst open. Hayes. He saw Karmen' s hands on my throat, her face scarlet with rage. He rushed to her side, pulling her away from me gently, as if I was the aggressor. "Karmen! What happened? Are you hurt?"
Her breath was coming in ragged gasps. She clutched her arm, a fresh cut appearing on her wrist as if from nowhere. Hayes' s eyes burned with fury. He barely glanced at me, standing there, fighting for air, my own throat bruised.
"She... she attacked me," Karmen sobbed, pointing a trembling finger at me. "She's jealous! She wants to ruin everything!"
Hayes turned on me, his face a thundercloud. "What did you do, Everly? Why would you hurt her?" He didn't even look at my neck, the red marks already blooming there. He didn't question Karmen's bleeding wrist.
"I didn't! She--" I tried to explain, but his voice cut me off, sharp and cold.
"Enough! You've upset her enough." He looked at Karmen, his voice softening. "Let's get you out of here."
I couldn't believe it. He just blamed me. Again.
"My film, Hayes," I said, my voice shaking now. "She stole my film. You knew, didn't you? You helped her, didn't you?" The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. He had access to my laptop, to my files.
He flinched. His eyes dropped for a second. "It's just a film, Everly. I paid her for it. A generous amount. I thought you needed the money." He said it so calmly, so rationally. As if money could erase the theft of my soul.
My body went numb. My head felt like it was spinning. My documentary. My mother. It was sacred. The only way I could tell her story, my story. I had poured my heart into it, every memory, every painful detail of her breakdown, of the stalker, of the accident. I had even told Hayes about it, about the raw, vulnerable parts of my past. He had listened, or so I thought. He had seen my pain, and then he had sold it.
"Money?" My voice was a choked gasp. "You think this was about money? Hayes, this was my mother's memory! This was my life! Did you think I was so shallow, so desperate for money that I would sell my deepest pain?"
He looked away, unable to meet my eyes. He mumbled something about Karmen needing a win, about wanting to help her recover from her own trauma.
Karmen, recovering quickly, called his name again, a soft, needy sound. "Hayes? Are you coming?"
He turned to her, his back to me. His hand was already on her arm, leading her away. I stood there, watching them disappear. I was nothing. A ghost.
When I got back to my dorm, my mind was racing. I had to expose them. I had to fight back. I opened my laptop, my fingers flying across the keys. A public statement. The truth. I hesitated, Karmen' s fragile mental state flashing through my mind. But what about my own?
Then, the door to my dorm room exploded inwards.
