Starlet: A Dark Retelling - Cora Kenborn Page 0,97

“Since the leak, she hasn’t left the estate.”

Milly chews on my admission for a few hesitant moments. “Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems. Maybe after everything blows over, this could be a good thing.” She holds up her hand as I roll my eyes. “I’m serious! Actresses launch successful careers off sex tapes all the time.”

Dragging a hand over my face, I let out a heavy sigh. “Not when said actress is already tits deep in a studio scandal and rumors about collusion with yours truly.”

Greg Rosten might be a sexual predator, a pathological liar, a narcissist, and an extortionist, but he doesn’t make idle threats. He promised I’d pay for putting my hands on him, and he delivered.

Five days ago, the picture of Angel and me uploaded to the dark web and immediately crossed over into mainstream. Within minutes, it went viral, and our lives irrevocably changed.

And not equally.

Hollywood is the double standard capital of the world, after all.

I’ve tried calling her, but there’s no answer. Not that I expected there to be. I got so caught up in making her feel what she refused to hear, I neglected to tell her the blackmail didn’t die with Freddy Wiseman.

She threw me out before I could tell her about Rosten’s threat. Maybe that makes me just as responsible as him.

“What about you?” Milly asks. I glance up to see her head cocked to the side and her eyes boring into me. “How are you doing?”

“Me?” I let out a dry laugh. “Oh, I’m great. You know, other than having to fire all the employees you just rehired, being days away from getting kicked out of this building, and having my house and car repossessed.”

She opens her mouth for what I have no doubt is another motivational speech when the main BTN line rings. It can ring until the end of time for all I care, but when I see Milly’s ass lift off the chair, I shove a finger across the desk.

“Don’t you dare!” I warn. Milly’s one of the only friends I have, but if she makes one more move toward that phone, I’ll wrestle her to the ground. “It’s either a bill collector or another reporter wanting an exclusive on...” I swipe my hand through the air, mocking their newest bullshit headline. “Alexandra Romanov’s Erotic Fall From Grace.”

She plops back down with a huff. “Wouldn’t they just call your cell phone?”

I smirk as the ringing stops only to immediately start again. “They would, if I didn’t toss it in the garbage outside my house.”

Good luck getting a quote now, fuckers.

Four rings later, Milly slams her palms against the armrests of the chair. “Well it’s driving me insane.” In a blur, she’s out of her seat and stomping out the door.

“Wait!” But before I even get the word out, she’s halfway across the bullpen.

Fuck it.

Sinking back into my chair, I spin back around and look out onto the darkened street again. Corralling Milly is like herding cats. Control the controllable, as my mom used to say.

Another one of Brenda McCallum’s nuggets of wisdom. Don’t spend your time flipping your shit over things out of your hands. Concentrate on taking hold of what’s in your grasp and manipulate it to your advantage. I’ve done it my whole life.

That’s what this whole damn thing has been about.

Controlling the controllable.

I didn’t start the hunt for a lost little girl, but I seized the opportunity to control it. Sure, I needed the money, but that was a fringe benefit. Two birds, one stone, no mess.

But when you build a labyrinth of deceit, you can get lost in your own maze.

Maybe in the beginning my reasons were a selfish attempt at protecting myself. As long as I found Alexandra Romanov first, people would stop looking. They’d stop questioning. And in case the little girl with green eyes broke her first pinkie promise, another queen would have already been crowned.

But that was before a down-on-her-luck cocktail waitress from Chula Vista, California stole twenty bucks from me and something I didn’t even know I had.

A heart.

She slowly brought me back to life, and in return what did I do? I turned her loose in her own labyrinth. The one that slowly chipped away at her sanity and soul, pushing her toward the edge.

Every day I watched more and more of Angel slip away as the truth bled through the fissures in her mind. I saw it coming and said nothing. Not out of fear