Chapter 3

The interview clip trended that same night.

The headline read: Sophie Coleman Breaks Silence on Fall Injury; Tearful Silence Sparks Controversy.

The caption said she'd dodged every question, that her attitude was evasive, that she looked guilty of something.

The comments blew up.

"She's the one who loosened her own harness and she still has the nerve to cry?"

"Back when she was stealing Freya's roles she was plenty arrogant. Who's the pity act for now?"

"Serves her right. Honestly. It's just karma."

"Freya even went to visit her. Look how big of a person she is. And this one?"

Someone dug up an old interview and clipped it out of context, splicing together a bit where she'd once given notes on a script, calling it "proof she's a diva."

The scrolling comments were all "get out of the industry" and "getting crippled is what she deserves."

I kept scrolling, and every line was uglier than the last.

Sophie couldn't take the online pressure, so she had a nurse help record a short reply. Just three sentences. She said the fall was an accident and asked people to stop spreading it.

The video was up for less than ten minutes before it vanished. The company scrubbed the comments clean, quick and efficient.

Freya, on the other hand, posted that same night, with a photo of herself from behind in a hospital corridor:

"Some things are better left in the past. Roles are never something you steal. Whether you act well or not, the audience knows in their hearts. Please stop the hate. It hurts my heart."

Underneath, her fans were all posting "our girl is so kind" and "her role got stolen and she's still defending the person."

Others piled on Sophie: "did wrong and still plays the victim," "can't accept being replaced so she stirs up trouble."

On the third day, a crowd gathered downstairs.

Some shouted her name. Some held up phones, live-streaming.

I pulled the curtains tight and pushed Sophie to the far corner of the room.

The door rattled under the pounding, and someone yelled, "Come out and explain yourself!"

I stood in front of Sophie's wheelchair and didn't move.

The door slammed open and a few people surged in.

A man rushed to the front and reached straight for the wheelchair handles.

"What do you think you're doing!"

I threw myself in to stop him.

"None of your business!"

He flung me against the wall, and my shoulder blade hit hard enough to burn.

Sophie wrenched the wheelchair around desperately to shield me. "Don't touch her!"

Before she finished, the man snatched the phone charger base off the table and brought it down.

A dull thud, and her head snapped to the side, and her whole body slid out of the chair.

By the time the ambulance came, her eyes were already shut, and the back of her head came away thick with blood when I touched it.

The operating room lights stayed on into the small hours before Bernard finally showed.

He leaned against the doorway of the room, coat still on. "What did I tell you? If your sister had listened to me sooner and settled this, it never would've gotten this bad."

"She just had to fight me. And now look. Chased down and beaten in her own home."

I crouched by the bed and ignored him.

He added, "It's just a signature. She had to turn it into this ugly mess. Take a good look at your sister. Feel good about it?"

Sophie lay on the bed, her head wrapped in gauze, eyes closed, saying nothing.

Bernard stood there a while, then seemed to decide there was no point.

"Fine. I'm leaving. Anything comes up, call my assistant."

His soles scraped against the corridor tiles, a grating sound that faded further and further away.