The sun hadn't even fully cleared the horizon when Zethra stepped into Rehearsal Studio 3, her sneakers squeaking against the polished hardwood floor. The scent of floor wax and stale coffee hung in the air, but her heart was hammering against her ribs with pure, intoxicating excitement. Coach Vane was already waiting, tapping a stack of fresh schedule sheets against his palm. "You're early, Zethra," Vane said, a sharp, approving grin spreading across his face. "Good. Because the producers just fast-tracked the cross-continental showcase. Last night’s response from the tourists and international press was off the charts." Zethra adjusted her dark choker, her golden eyes sparkling with an intensity she hadn't felt in years. "They moved your placement," Vane continued, turning the red leather clipboard toward her. "You aren't just in the front line anymore—you're set up directly beside the male lead as the co-center." A breathless gasp escaped her lips as her chest swelled with wild, uncontrollable hope. This was it. Standing directly beside the biggest star in the agency wasn't just a promo spot—it was the weapon she needed to break free from the agency's grip, to claim her own life, and to build a future where she and Julian could finally be free. "I'll be ready, Coach," she whispered, her voice trembling with fierce, tearful gratitude. "I won't let anyone down." The second Vane left, Zethra pulled out her phone, her thumb trembling as she typed to Julian. ‘Julian, they put me right beside the male lead. This is the main stage! Everything we talked about—it’s happening. Everything changes now!’ She stared at the glowing screen, waiting for his usual warm reply, her heart pounding with eager anticipation. But no response came. A tiny, cold thread of anxiety tugged at her stomach, but she quickly brushed it away, tucking the phone into her white jacket pocket. He was probably just sleeping in. By the time night fell over Parklands, hours of relentless, frantic choreography had left her physically broken, but emotionally soaring. Her body ached, and her dark hair—streaked with pale blonde highlights—clung damply to her forehead, but every step home felt light. She reached her apartment building and climbed the narrow stairwell, her chest tight with an unbearable urge to throw her arms around Julian and cry tears of relief. She unlocked the front door and pushed it open. The apartment was unnervingly quiet. Usually, Julian would be waiting up in their spotless living room, wrapping her in his sweater, or gently hand-feeding her warm tea while coaxing the day’s stress out of her shoulders. Today, the pristine counters were clear, and the rich, savory scent of simmering broth drifted from the kitchen. She stepped into the doorway, her breath catching as a wave of overwhelming tenderness washed over her. Julian was standing by the counter, quietly stirring a deep stainless-steel pot. The soft yellow light of the stove framed his familiar, comforting silhouette. He turned around and offered her a soft, gentle smile—that same sweet, devoted look that had saved her from the dark so many times before. "You're home late," he murmured softly, his voice a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. A tear slipped down her cheek as a breathless laugh escaped her lips. God, she loved him. After such a soul-crushing journey in the spotlight, this room—this man—was her only real home. "Julian..." she breathed, stepping forward as he opened his arms. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, pulling her into a deep, heavy embrace. Zethra buried her face into the crook of his neck, closing her eyes tightly. She let out a long, ragged exhale—letting go of all the exhaustion, the fear, the isolation of being the world's "Rising Star." In his arms, she was just Zethra. Then, a cold, agonizing horror shredded the quiet. A blinding, sickening thrust of steel punched straight through her abdomen. Zethra’s eyes snapped wide in absolute, shattered disbelief. Her breath violently locked in her throat as a wave of hot, unbearable agony flooded her belly. "J-Julian...?" she choked out, a wet, terrified sound tearing from her chest. He didn't pull back. Instead, he leaned closer, his embrace tightening so hard it bruised her ribs, keeping her pinned against him as he twisted the cold metal deeper into her flesh. She felt the horrific tearing inside her, the heat of her own blood instantly soaking through her clothes, pooling warm and sticky between their pressed bodies. "Julian... please..." she sobbed, her hands clutching weakly at his shoulders. The pain was excruciating, but the sheer, agonizing betrayal of looking at him ripped her soul apart far worse than the blade. Why? Why him? Why her sanctuary? His breath was warm against her ear as he whispered, his voice dripping with an unnerving, giddy lightness that made her stomach turn. His eyes were wide, glossy, and entirely hollow—staring right through her, fixated on the steam rising from the stove. "I told you..." he whispered, a terrifyingly sweet rhythm to his words. "...I told you I'd take care of dinner tonight." "No... no, no, no..." Zethra whimpered, blood bubbling up in the back of her throat. Her legs gave out completely. Her sight fractured into a terrifying swarm of black spots as the world tilted violently sideways. Julian let go, letting her body hit the spotless linoleum floor with a heavy, lifeless thud. Paralyzed by sheer shock and rapid blood loss, she lay on her side, staring up through blurring eyes. She reached out one trembling, pale hand toward him, her golden eyes overflowing with silent, desperate pleas—begging for a sign that this was a nightmare, begging for the boy who loved her to come back. He didn't even look down. Slowly, her vision began to collapse into an icy, suffocating dark. Her hand trembled, fell heavy against the cold floorboards, and went completely still. The kitchen light hummed softly in the dead silence of the apartment. On the table near the stove, a single plate sat under the harsh bulb. Julian pulled out his chair, sat down calmly, and picked up his fork. He chewed slowly on a tender, cooked piece of meat, swallowing with a soft, satisfied sigh. Beside the kitchen counter, a thick, dark pool of crimson glistened against the spotless tile—creeping slowly until it touched the lifeless fingertips of the girl who had promised to be his star.

PROMOTIONS