The Pop Queen's Ruthless Billionaire Fan

Eleanor woke up to the violent buzzing of her phone against the nightstand. She groaned, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. A massive headache throbbed at her temples.

Before she could sit up, the front door of her penthouse slammed open. Brenda didn't bother ringing the bell; she used her emergency key. Brenda sprinted into the bedroom, her face the color of chalk, waving her iPad in the air.

"TMZ just dropped a nuclear bomb," Brenda gasped, her chest heaving.

Eleanor snatched the iPad. Her stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. TMZ had published an exclusive video. It was the footage from the Beverly Hills Hotel corridor. But it was maliciously edited.

The video cut out Mitch's sexual harassment entirely. It only showed Eleanor grabbing his arm, snapping his wrist, and violently kicking the bodyguard. The headline screamed in bold red letters: POP PRINCESS OR VIOLENT PSYCHO? ELEANOR VANCE'S BRUTAL ATTACK.

Eleanor's blood ran cold. She opened Twitter. The hashtag CancelEleanorVance was trending at number one worldwide. The comments were a sea of absolute hatred.

Eleanor forced her breathing to steady. She watched the video again, her eyes narrowing. "Look at the camera angle, Brenda. This isn't from the ceiling security cameras. This is shot from the service stairwell door. Someone on the inside filmed this."

Brenda's phone started ringing frantically. "Three of our mid-tier sponsors just emailed. They're triggering the morality clause to drop you."

"Call Nina," Eleanor ordered, throwing the covers off and standing up. "Tell her to find out exactly who had keycard access to that stairwell last night."

Ten minutes later, Eleanor's laptop chimed with an encrypted email from her private investigator. He had traced the IP address of the burner account that leaked the video to TMZ.

Eleanor stared at the screen. The IP address belonged to the Wi-Fi router in Caleb Marsh's private recording studio.

A sickening wave of betrayal washed over her, quickly followed by a blinding, white-hot rage. Caleb wasn't just cheating on her. He was trying to destroy her career so he could dump her without public backlash and elevate Isla using Eleanor's stolen resources.

"I'm calling the lawyers. We sue him for defamation right now," Brenda yelled, her hands shaking as she dialed.

"No," Eleanor said. Her voice was terrifyingly calm. She reached out and pressed her finger down on Brenda's phone, ending the call. "A lawsuit takes months. I'm going to kill him today. In front of everyone."

The doorbell chimed. A courier stood in the hallway holding a small, unmarked black velvet box.

Eleanor took the box and opened it on the kitchen island. Inside sat a silver USB drive and a matte black business card. The card had no name. Just a single phone number.

Her heart skipped a beat. She carefully picked up the card, her thumb brushing over the matte texture. It was the exact same design and weight as the one the man backstage had handed her. The 'fan' who had caught her when she fell—Dominic.

She plugged the USB into her laptop. A folder popped up. Inside was the raw, unedited, high-definition security footage of the hotel corridor. The audio was crystal clear. Mitch's disgusting threats echoed in the kitchen.

But that wasn't all. There was a second folder. It contained high-resolution photos of Caleb and Isla walking into a motel, and a crystal-clear audio recording of Caleb discussing how to forge Eleanor's signature to steal her endorsement money.

Eleanor stared at the screen, her scalp tingling. Dominic Sterling's power was terrifying. But right now, he had handed her a loaded gun.

"Set up my phone on the tripod," Eleanor commanded. "Open Instagram Live."

"Are you insane? You need a PR statement!" Brenda panicked.

"Do it," Eleanor snapped.

Eleanor didn't put on makeup. She wore a simple gray cashmere sweater. She sat on the couch, her eyes burning with cold fury. Brenda hit the live button.

Within seconds, three million people flooded the stream. The chat scrolled so fast it was a blur of insults and snake emojis.

Eleanor didn't cry. She didn't apologize. She looked directly into the camera lens. "You want to see a violent psycho? Watch this."

She mirrored her laptop screen to the live feed. She played the unedited hotel footage. The millions of viewers heard Mitch's sexual harassment. They saw him lunge for her chest. They saw her defend herself.

The hate comments in the chat instantly froze.

"If defending my own body makes me a violent psycho, then I will wear that title with pride," Eleanor said, her voice slicing through the silence like a scalpel.

Then, she opened the second folder. She blasted the audio of Caleb plotting to steal her money, followed by the photos of him with Isla. "Caleb Marsh, you are officially fired. See you in court."

She ended the live stream. The internet exploded. QueenEleanor and JusticeForEleanor instantly obliterated the negative trends. Her follower count began climbing by the hundreds of thousands.

Eleanor let out a long, shaky breath. Her hands were sweating. She picked up the black business card from the counter. She dialed the number.

It rang exactly once.

"Brilliant performance, Miss Vance," Dominic's deep, gravelly voice echoed through the speaker, sending a shiver straight down her spine.