Starlet: A Dark Retelling

by Cora Kenborn

  Lars hands me the keys to one of the cars in the garage because I’m done with servants and mansions and pretending to be people we aren’t.

  It’s over.

  It’s all fucking over.

  Halfway to Cedars-Sinai, it dawns on me I’m driving Alexandra Romanov to the hospital. It’s not like I can just walk her into the emergency room. So, thankfully, in one call, Angel and I are immediately taken through a secluded hallway, up an empty elevator, and into a private room without question.

  It isn’t until I place Angel onto the bed that life returns to her eyes, and she claws at my arms. “Don’t,” she rasps, her voice breaking. “Don’t leave me! Please!”

  “I won’t,” I promise, kissing her forehead. “I’ll never leave you again.” The words calm her down, and she gives a weak nod, settling back onto the pillow. It kills me when I notice the death grip she still has on my arm.

  She believes me, but she still doesn’t trust me.

  The doctor comes in and as Angel gives a replay of what happened in Rosten’s office, seething hatred like I’ve never known radiates through me. Old wounds rip open, digging new ones, and destroying every ounce of humanity left inside me.

  “I think he drugged me,” she finishes quietly, staring at her hands. They’re scratched, and my rage deepens imagining her small fists trying to fight him off.

  The doctor looks up from his clipboard. “And why do you think that, Miss Romanov?”

  “I don’t actually remember when he…” Her breath hitches. “When he raped me. I felt dizzy and really confused. There were black spots everywhere, and I kept screaming no, but my mouth felt like it was full of rocks.”

  “Did Mr. Rosten give you anything to drink?”

  Angel shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Everything’s so fuzzy.”

  After scribbling a few more notes, he pats her arm. “It’s fine, Miss Romanov. We’ll do a rape kit as well as take a blood sample. That should tell us all we need to know.”

  Four agonizing hours later, Angel is back in her room, tear-stained and drained. It’s the first time I’ve breathed since they took her away. A painful river of silence runs between us as we wait for the doctor to come back. There’s so much I want to say, so much truth I want to tell, but after the violence she’s suffered, I can’t be the one who drags her into more darkness.

  It’s not cowardice—it’s sacrifice. Things aren’t always as they seem. Sometimes you have to look behind the smile to see the fangs. And sometimes a lie can be the greatest act of love.

  “Dominic…” My name stalls on her lips, so I take her hand. She squeezes it, her eyes pooling with tears. “I’m so sorry about your mother. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me.”

  I can’t think about this right now. I’ve made as much peace with my mother’s death as I can. Twisting my anger over that with my anger over what happened to Angel is a dangerous cocktail. “Rook, don’t…”

  “No,” she argues, swiping a hand at the tears scattered along her long dark lashes. “You needed me, and I shut you out. I didn’t answer your calls. I didn’t answer anyone’s calls until…” Her head snaps up, as if a record skipped in her head. “Oh my God, I almost forgot.”

  Shit. I’m out of my chair before she can say another word. “Do I need to call the doctor back in? I’ll go get him right now.”

  “No,” she says, tugging me back into my seat. “It’s nothing like that. I forgot to tell you I have something that belongs to you. I haven’t opened it yet. I thought you should—”

  “Am I interrupting something?” We both turn to find a familiar face leaning against the doorway in his three-piece suit and his stupid haircut.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I groan, throwing my head back. “Can you get off my dick for one day, Rubio?”

  His gaze settles on me, that arrogant smirk smeared on his face. “Always a pleasure to see you too, McCallum. Fortunately, I’m not here to see you.” He turns his attention toward Angel. “I’m here to speak to Miss Romanov.”

  Angel blinks. “Me?”

  “Why?” I demand.

  “Standard procedure,” he says, strolling into the room without an invitation. “With high-profile situations, there’s always a protocol. Since this is my case, I’m the one they called to investigate Miss Romanov’s alleged claim against Greg Rosten.”

  Angel stiffens. “It’s not alleged.”

  “Innocent until proven guilty, ma’am. It’s in the Constitution.”

  “So is free speech,” I growl because I’m done dicking around with this guy. Leaping from my chair, I rush forward until we’re nose to nose. “How about we step outside so I can exercise my rights.”

  “Miss Romanov?” This time, all three of us turn to see the doctor hovering just inside the doorway, a solemn expression worrying his face. “May I speak with you privately?”

  “Hell no.” Forgetting about Rubio, I push past him, my anger finding a new outlet. “You’re not kicking me out this time.” The doctor glances toward Angel, which pisses me off because I don’t like being questioned. But, apparently, she nods because he nods back. I wait for whatever the hell is so important, but then his gaze slides toward Rubio.

  This time Angel speaks up. “He can stay too. Then he can see how alleged this is.”

  The doctor sighs. “Miss Romanov, the rape kit was negative.”

  The room goes completely silent because like everyone else, I know I didn’t just hear what I think I heard. “What does that mean?”

  Rubio clears his throat. “It means alleged just turned into false.”

  Angel recoils as if he slapped her. “What? No that’s impossible.”

  The doctor gives her a cold look, and that’s when I see it. The distance he’s keeping. The clipped words and monotone voice. He thinks she’s lying.

  “I’m afraid the detective is right, Miss Romanov. There’s no evidence of trauma, no evidence of penetration, nothing to remotely suggest sexual activity of any nature. Not only that, the tox screen came back negative. You weren’t drugged.”

  “No!” Angel screams. “Do it again. You did it wrong!”

  I hold his stare. “There has to be some mistake.”

  “I’m sorry, but there’s not. The tests are accurate. Even if the alleged assailant wore a condom, there would still be internal abrasions.”

  “But my hands, my throat. I have bruises!” Shoving her arms forward, she twists them in the air. I can feel her panic. “And I can’t remember!”

  The doctor shrugs, and I have to curl my fists by my side to stop from choking him with his own stethoscope. “Sometimes our minds play tricks on us. There might have been assault, Miss Romanov, but it wasn’t sexual.”

  The doctor says a few more words neither of us hear and then leaves. I don’t give a shit about him. My focus is too centered on Angel as her eyes widen, the hell of the last few hours drawing her into a vortex of hopeless despair. Her chest rises and falls at an uneven pace. There’s a confusion splitting her beautiful face, imprisoning half in this world while the other half drifts away to a distant reality. One I’ve fought like hell to keep her from seeing.

  “It was. It was. It was.” She keeps repeating those two words in a hushed cadence.

  I’m guilty. I’ll burn in hell for the things I’ve done, but I won’t be alone.

  And I won’t go first.

  I kiss Angel’s cheek, but I don’t even think she notices. Which is probably for the best. I don’t think I could leave hearing her scream for me, knowing I may never come back.

  Halfway across the room, I stop in front of Rubio. “You don’t like me, and I don’t like you. But this isn’t about us,” I tell him, steel lacing my tone. “I’m asking as a man trying to protect a woman. Will you stay with her?” Gritting my teeth, I add, “Please?”

  He narrows his eyes. “Where are you going?”

  I’m already out the door by the time I answer. “To stop a clock.”
>
  Chapter Forty-Three

  Angel

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” I quietly repeat Dominic’s words again. Even though hours have passed, and it’s the dark, early hours of the morning, I still say them in the vain hope they’ll gain more strength. That they’ll break through this captivity before the sun breaks above the horizon.

  Before a new day comes and proves him wrong.

  A shudder tears through me, causing Dominic to stir, his arm tightening around me from behind. Even in his sleep, his instinct is to protect me, which both comforts my soul and chills me to the bone. I fight the urge to pull away, repeating his promise as the last few hours speed through my mind.

  “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Romanov, the rape kit was inconclusive.”

  “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “I’m sorry Miss Romanov, the tox screen came back negative.”

  “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “I went to Silverline to confront Rosten, rook. He wasn’t there. The night guard said he hasn’t been there for two days.”

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” I whisper, but this time, my voice breaks. If I can’t make those words true, then I’ve lost. The spark that’s kept me alive through my darkest days flickers out. There’s no fight left. I always survived by believing you don’t drown by standing in the rain as long as you run from the storm. What I failed to realize is that some people are just meant to drown.

  Six is coming.

  It starts out as a whisper—a soft breath blowing across my hair. But it turns into an echo, bouncing off all four walls and beckoning me to follow. I lift my head off the pillow just as Dominic mumbles in his sleep, his arm braced protectively across my chest. Glancing over my shoulder, I remain perfectly still, and when his erratic breathing returns to an even pace, I slowly slip out from under his embrace and tiptoe out of the room.

  The halls are dark, and I have no destination. I simply walk, blindly following the whispers until I find myself in a familiar room, standing on a familiar floor, facing a familiar piece of furniture.

  I’m in the room that smells like pennies. The room with a magic door that blocks out screams and shouts. The room where an angel appears if you count long enough.

  But none of it is real.

  This house has a weighted energy that preys on the spirit. The history and tragedy that paints the walls and stains the floors is enough to trick the mind into believing things. Seeing things. I’m Angel Smith. I left a group home in Phoenix, Arizona at sixteen and moved to Hollywood to be an actress. That’s who I am. I’ve never been anyone else.

  Yes, you have. Look around. Remember.

  I have no control. My body turns on its own to face the dresser I know so well. The one I’ve woken up crouched beside screaming more times than I can count. But this time, accompanied by the glare of the full moon spilling through the window, I gaze at my reflection in the mirror above it.

  My long dark hair hangs in tangled strings around my white nightgown. My body is now frail and thin with arms that hang by my side like brittle sticks. My once smiling face is riddled with shadows and marred with a permanent frown.

  What have I become?

  Six.

  I clench my jaw, glaring at my reflection as the words blow across my cheek. Slowly, my lips part in a knowing smile. With my heart pounding, I raise a hand to my lip, my fingers tracing the rough ridges and tight seam.

  I’m not smiling.

  My hand shakes, swiping hard against my closed mouth as my reflection continues to smile, watching me with rapt fascination.

  You will hear us.

  “No, no, no,” I chant behind my fingers, but the girl in the mirror doesn’t speak and she’s no longer smiling. I’m scared. I’m confused. I want to know what all this means, but before I can ask, she presses her index finger against her lips as if to silence me.

  So, I nod.

  Because I’m supposed to.

  Then she starts the countdown. Holding up one finger, she waits until I obey the command.

  “One,” I whisper.

  A serene smile ghosts her lips as she adds another finger.

  My voice becomes stronger. “Two.”

  A third finger.

  “Three.” Now, there’s no hesitation. No question. No fear.

  A fourth.

  “Four,” I announce, stepping closer, balling my fist by my side.

  She flashes her thumb, her fingers spread wide.

  “Five.”

  There’s a pause as she looks down at her other hand, curling all but one finger into her palm. I know what comes next. It’s chased me all my life. Haunted me. Scratched at the back of my mind just waiting to be heard. I feel it like the distant rumble of thunder.

  But, I’m not ready for the rain.

  So, instead of waiting for the storm, I become the storm.

  As the girl raises a finger on her other hand, I raise my fist and without hesitation, slam it full force into the mirror. Glass shatters, branching out like a spider’s web as the girl’s face splinters.

  Splintered. But not gone.

  She’s still there and her finger has become dozens of slivered fingers.

  But it’s still there.

  It’s always been there.

  Six.

  With Dominic running an errand, I’m alone in what’s left of the BTN office with only silence and my thoughts. Peaceful for some, I guess. Not me. After I wake up bloody with gashes all over my fist and no memory of how they got there, Dominic refuses to let me out of his sight. Even a half-hour of arguing did nothing to sway him from forcing me to come here with him.

  It took an office completely void of anything but chairs and desks for him to relent to leaving me alone here while he went to get another box. Still, I wouldn’t be surprised if Milly showed up with a pair of handcuffs and chloroform.

  I run my finger along the now bare desks where laptops and phones once sat. I can imagine the chaos that once rang through this space. Pausing, I let my eyes wander toward Dominic’s glass enclosed office. I wonder what he was like during his reign over this town.

  Wandering into his office, I sit down behind his desk, the soft leather chair hugging around me. It’s two days before Christmas. We should be buying presents and celebrating like normal people.

  But we’re not normal. We never have been.

  Because instead, we’re here, in an office building in West Hollywood, packing up what’s left of what was once both the most respected and feared celebrity news site. Beyond the News is officially bankrupt. After Dominic refused to take my money, the owner of the building evicted him, giving him twenty-four hours to evacuate.

  Dominic McCallum, former media mogul and name on every A-lister’s lips is now penniless, homeless, and shunned by the very town that empowered him. That’s why we’re here.

  Closing yet another chapter in the fucked-up love story of Angel and Dominic.

  And I do love him. I haven’t said it, and maybe I never will.

  I shouldn’t. If he’d left me in Chula Vista, none of this would’ve happened. But you can’t control who you love. Regardless of how wrong it is.

  Frowning, I run my finger along the bandage on my hand. Hilda found a shattered mirror in the east wing bedroom. Neither she nor Dominic said the words, but the look they shared this morning said it for them.

  They think I’ve lost it.

  Maybe I have.

  To be fair, the trail of blood led from the broken mirror to the bed I woke up in. The one I share with Dominic. I’m not stupid. I know facts when I see them. Nobody planted my blood or slashed my hand in the middle of the night.

  I did it. I just don’t know why. I don’t remember.

  More time lost. More static. Just more everything.

  My thoughts turn to Violet. There are still no leads. She’s a missing person no one cares is missing. My best friend. My family. Just anothe
r victim in this twisted story, I think as I spin around in the chair. A casualty of greed and lies. Lies and greed.

  Greedy little twisted lies.

  “Dominic?”

  My palms slam against the desk, stopping the constant rotation of the chair. It takes a few seconds for my brain to stop sloshing around in my head. Finally, it calms enough that I can see through the glass wall to the man standing at the office door. My defenses immediately go up. I’ve never seen him before. He’s muscular with bulging biceps that could crush me with one grip. I’m not sure what to do. I can lock myself in the office, but the damn thing is made of glass.

  “Miss?” He steps further into the office. “Is Dominic McCallum here?”

  I stand, hovering in front of the desk.

  Tell him he’s right outside.

  “He’s gone,” I blurt out.

  Dumbass.

  He takes another step, narrowing his eyes. “Are you Alexandra Romanov?”

  Tell him no.

  “Yes.”

  Seriously?

  Although his stare lingers, my answer seems to satisfy him. “Then you’ll do. This concerns you anyway.”

  My spine straightens. I forget his beady eyes and focus on the folder he has tucked under his massive arm. Okay, now he has my attention.

  Leaving the safety of Dominic’s glass box, I venture out into the open and stand awkwardly in the middle of the bullpen as this man stares at me, his eyes heated with what I now see as anger.

  He makes a tight fist, pointing a finger at me as he charges forward. “You can tell Dominic McCallum he’s a motherfucking cocksucker.”

  “Okay?”

  His nostrils flare, and his cheeks flame with rage. “Just because someone rerouted the goddamn test, doesn’t give him the right to call in an anonymous tip and fuck up my life!”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, confused at what he’s yelling about. “What test? What tip?”