Billionaire's Placeholder: Now Watch Me Shine

The taxi smelled of stale pine air freshener and old vinyl. Cara sat in the back, watching the blurred lights of the tunnel whip by. Her hands were shaking in her lap. Not from cold, but from adrenaline.

They pulled up to a screening room in Tribeca. It wasn't the main theater. It was a side venue, small and intimate. The marquee simply read: White Poplar - Private Screening.

She paid the driver with cash. Every bill she handed over was money she had earned, not money Brittain had given her.

Inside, the air was thick with the smell of popcorn and expensive perfume. The final scene of the rough cut faded to black. As she slipped into the back of the room, silence hung heavy for a heartbeat. Then, applause broke out. It started scattered, then grew into a wave.

She saw people wiping their eyes. She saw a critic from the Times nodding his head.

Zack appeared at her elbow. His face was flushed.

"Did you hear that?" he hissed, gripping her arm. "They love it. You're not just a pretty face anymore, Cara. You're an asset."

She pulled her arm away. "I need air."

They walked to the green room. Zack was scrolling through his phone.

"Twitter is talking," he said. "They are calling your performance 'haunting.' We need to capitalize on this. Brady Roy is game."

"Brady?" she asked. Her co-star.

Zack nodded. "A showmance. You two look good together. The press loves a co-star romance. It sells tickets."

"I can't," she said. "The NDA. Brittain will sue me if I date publicly."

Zack rolled his eyes. "It's a PR stunt, Cara. Brittain is in London. He doesn't care what you do as long as you're quiet about him. Besides, don't you want to be famous for something other than being Austin's shadow?" The NDA was ironclad, but a public lawsuit would expose the very reason he hired her: as a stand-in for Caryn Newman. The press would have a field day with that. It was a risk, but it was a calculated one.

The question landed like a punch. She didn't answer. She needed to do some ADR work in the studio down the hall.

She walked toward the sound booth. The corridor was narrow. A group of people was coming the other way, laughing loudly. In the center was Hali Moody.

Hali stopped when she saw Cara. She was wearing a dress that cost more than Cara's father's house. Her eyes raked over Cara's outfit-a simple black dress Cara bought on sale.

"Well, look who it is," Hali said. Her voice was like syrup laced with arsenic. "The Muse. Did Brittain let you off the leash for the night?"

Cara tightened her jaw. She tried to step around Hali.

Hali moved to block her. She held a latte in her hand. With a flick of her wrist that looked accidental but definitely wasn't, the cup tilted. Brown liquid splashed over Cara's shoes. The heat seeped through the leather, burning her skin.

"Oops," Hali said. She didn't look sorry. She looked delighted.

Cara's hands curled into fists at her sides. She wanted to scream. She wanted to grab Hali by her extensions and drag her through the coffee. But she couldn't. Not yet.

"I'm sorry," Cara said. The words tasted like ash.

Hali laughed. It was a sharp, grating sound. "I heard Caryn is back in town," she whispered, leaning close. "Better pack your bags, sweetie. The lease is up."

She walked away, her entourage trailing behind her like ducklings. Cara stood there, staring at the brown stain on her shoe. Her toes were sticky. Her pride was stinging.

She walked into the sound booth. The director, Mark, was waiting.

"We need the scream," Mark said. "The scene where she finds out he's gone. Give me everything you have."

Cara put on the headphones. She closed her eyes. She didn't think about the movie. She thought about Hali's laugh. She thought about Brittain's cold eyes. She thought about the two years she spent erasing herself to fit into his world.

"Action."

She opened her mouth and let it out. It wasn't acting. It was a primal, guttural roar that tore through her throat. It was the sound of a woman breaking out of a cage.

When she stopped, the room was dead silent. Her chest was heaving. Her throat felt raw.

Mark stared at her through the glass. Holy shit, he mouthed.

Cara took off the headphones. She wiped a single tear from her cheek. It was hot and real.

Her phone buzzed. It was Brady.

We crushed it, partner.

She looked at the message. She looked at the coffee stain on her shoe. If she played by the rules, she got stepped on. If she broke the rules, maybe she could win.

She texted Zack.

Tell me more about the plan with Brady.

Then another text came in. It was Burrel, Brittain's assistant.

Mr. Austin wants to know if you are behaving this week.

She stared at the screen. She didn't reply. She stepped over the coffee stain on the floor and walked out the door.