The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting long stripes across the floor. Layla sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the cold metal frame of her phone as if it held the answers she needed but refused to give them.
Another message had come through overnight.
"You can't hide forever. We see everything."
The words, stark and jagged, sliced through the silence of the room.
Her breath caught in her chest.
For a moment, she thought about turning off the phone. Deleting the app. Pretending none of it existed.
But reality didn't disappear with a swipe.
Instead, she stared at the message until it blurred, a dull ache pulsing behind her eyes.
The door opened quietly, and Cole stepped inside.
His eyes instantly locked onto the phone in her hand.
He didn't speak.
Instead, he walked over, sat beside her, and gently placed his hand over hers.
Layla's fingers trembled.
"You didn't sleep," he said softly.
"I couldn't," she whispered.
His thumb brushed the back of her hand.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
The question hung between them like an invitation into something deeper than fear.
For the first time in days, she let the words spill out.
"They're everywhere," she admitted, voice breaking. "Everywhere I turn, every shadow, every glance… it's like I can't escape. I don't know who to trust anymore. Even the people I… I thought I could…"
Her eyes welled up.
Cole's jaw tightened, but his eyes remained steady.
"Look at me," he said softly.
She did.
His gaze was calm, unwavering.
"We'll figure this out," he whispered.
She wanted to believe him.
She needed to believe him.
By noon, the headlines had multiplied like wildfire.
"Scandal-ridden actress under new threat."
"Insider sabotage? Studio security compromised."
"Romance or manipulation? Fans weigh in."
Reporters hovered like sharks around the studio entrance.
Cameras zoomed in relentlessly whenever Layla or Cole stepped out.
Some fans sent supportive messages online, flooding her social media with heart emojis and hashtags like #StayStrongLayla.
Others tore her apart.
"She deserves this."
"Fake scandals for attention."
"Another publicity stunt."
Layla felt each comment like a cold slap.
Her manager Damien paced outside her dressing room, phone glued to his ear, fielding questions and dodging reporters with practiced ease.
Wallace, the studio head, gave curt instructions but avoided eye contact.
Even familiar faces seemed to turn away from her.
That evening, as Layla walked through the parking garage toward her car, she caught sight of a figure leaning against the wall.
Tall. Slim. Wearing a dark hoodie with the hood pulled low.
For a split second, her eyes locked with his.
He didn't move.
The air thickened.
Her pulse raced.
Then, just as quickly, the figure turned and disappeared down the stairwell.
Layla's heart hammered against her ribs.
She reached for her phone to call security.
But before she could, a new message arrived.
"Watch your steps."
Her fingers froze.
She didn't call anyone.
Instead, she stood rooted to the spot, every nerve vibrating with tension.
When Cole's call came through, she hesitated.
"Where are you?" he asked.
"In the garage…" she whispered.
"Don't move," he ordered. "I'm coming."
Within minutes, Cole arrived, eyes blazing with concern.
"What happened?" he asked as soon as he saw the fear etched into her face.
Layla quickly explained.
He didn't hesitate.
"Stay here," he commanded.
Without waiting for approval, he strode toward the stairwell, moving with purpose.
Security guards followed at a distance.
For several agonizing minutes, Layla stood by her car, hands clenched into fists, breathing shallow.
Then Cole reappeared, his expression unreadable.
"She's gone," he muttered, his jaw clenched.
"She?"
"The stranger… I lost him," he said.
His fists curled.
"She's," he repeated.
Layla's eyes widened.
"She's?"
Cole's eyes softened for a brief second.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But someone's watching us."
That night, Layla sat by her window again, phone still clutched in her hand.
But this time, something had shifted.
Fear no longer paralyzed her.
It fueled her.
She scrolled through the messages she'd received over the past week.
The threats.
The insults.
The warnings.
Her thumb hovered over the delete button.
Instead of deleting them, she opened a blank note and began typing.
"I see you. You think hiding will save me, but it won't. I'll stand. I'll fight."
Her eyes burned with newfound intensity.
She didn't need to be liked.
She needed to be real.
The next morning, Layla stormed into Wallace's office without an appointment.
He looked up, startled.
"Ms. Hart, what—"
"I want to know what's happening," she snapped, cutting him off.
Wallace's eyes narrowed.
"This is a matter for security and PR—"
"I don't care!" she hissed.
"I'm not here to play the victim anymore."
Wallace stiffened.
"I'm responsible for this production, and I cannot have you jeopardizing—"
She leaned forward, eyes blazing.
"I'm not jeopardizing anything. Someone inside is leaking information. I want access to the reports. I want to know who's coming and going. I want full transparency."
The room fell silent.
Wallace's face hardened, but he studied her carefully.
"She's not playing," he muttered under his breath.
After a long pause, he nodded slowly.
"Fine," he said curtly. "But one wrong move and you'll regret it."
Layla's lips curled into the faintest smile.
"I've already lost everything worth losing," she whispered.
Later that afternoon, Cole sat with her in the lounge, reviewing access logs and security footage.
"Whatever it is, it's someone with access," he mused aloud.
"Someone close," she added quietly.
He nodded grimly.
His eyes, usually guarded, softened.
"Whatever happens, I'm not going anywhere," he said.
Layla's eyes filled with gratitude.
"I… I'm scared."
He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
"Good," he smiled slightly. "Fear means you care. It means you're alive."
For the first time in days, she laughed—short and shaky, but genuine.
The sound felt like sunlight breaking through a storm.
That evening, Layla received an encrypted message from an unknown source.
"If you want answers, meet me tonight. Same place as before. Come alone."
She stared at it for a long moment.
For a fleeting second, she thought about ignoring it.
But deep down, she knew this might be the only lead.
Cole noticed the tension in her jaw.
"Are you going?"
She hesitated.
Then, with a steadying breath, she nodded.
"I need to know."
His eyes searched hers.
"I'll be nearby," he said quietly.
"I trust you."
She smiled softly.
"Thank you."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Layla stood at the threshold of a decision that could either destroy her or free her.
Fear still lurked.
Doubt still gnawed.
But beneath it all, something new stirred.
Courage.
For the first time in a long while, she wasn't running.
She was ready to face whatever waited in the shadows.