Spotlight
Abigail strode through the lecture building's entrance, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor, echoing with a quiet confidence that drew every pair of eyes in her direction. The room's quiet murmur fell silent as the students, faculty, and a few lurking paparazzi turned to look at her, some openly staring. Cameras flashed as the photographers scrambled to capture this new, radiant version of the Abigail they thought they knew.
Abigail's newly styled, wavy hair flowed around her shoulders, catching the light and giving her an almost ethereal glow. Her makeup was minimal yet striking; bold eyeliner framed her fierce gaze, and her lips were painted a glossy pink that seemed to shine with her every step. Dressed in a fitted, emerald green dress that hugged her figure, she looked nothing short of a vision. There was a sharpness in her eyes, a dangerous allure that whispered of resilience and a silent warning to anyone who dared cross her path.
Gia was there too, standing across the hall with a small group of models. She wore the look of someone who had long since grown comfortable in her own fame, leaning casually against a column as she laughed with her friends. Gia, a known face in the modeling industry, had no particular reason to be here—other than to remind everyone of her success. In her world, there was little need for formal education when she could carve her own path with her face and name alone.
As Abigail made her way further inside, the subtle hum of admiration around her grew louder. She could feel the weight of their gazes, the murmur of her name passing through the crowd, the flash of cameras documenting her every move. But she didn't flinch. Today, she was here to stand tall, to show everyone—and perhaps a certain someone—that she had emerged from the ashes stronger and bolder than ever.
Gia, engrossed in conversation, hadn't noticed her yet, but it was only a matter of time. The lecture hall buzzed with murmurs as one of the models standing with Gia nudged her, signaling towards the center of the room. "Who's that?" the model whispered, her eyes wide with awe.
Gia turned casually, expecting nothing more than another student, but when her gaze landed on Abigail, her heart skipped a beat. It wasn't just the shock of seeing her again, but the way she stood—composed, confident, like she owned the entire hall. The air around her was thick with a dangerous aura, her piercing eyes scanning the room with a look so sharp it made Gia's pulse quicken. For the first time, Gia felt something close to fear.
Abigail hadn't just returned—she had transformed.
One of the paparazzi, a tall man with a camera slung around his neck, hurried towards Abigail, his excitement barely contained. He could smell a story, and this was his chance. "Ms. Abigail!" he called out, almost breathless. The murmur of the crowd intensified as all eyes fell on them. "It's good to see you... and I must say, you look different... if I'm allowed to say that," he trailed off awkwardly, swallowing nervously as he caught the deadly gleam in her eyes. His fingers fumbled with the microphone before he managed to blurt out, "Is it true that you cheated on Ace?"
A hush fell over the room, everyone hanging onto the tension that crackled in the air.
Abigail didn't flinch. Instead, a slow smirk crept across her lips as she lifted her head proudly, meeting the gaze of the crowd head-on. "I didn't cheat," she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
The paparazzi, visibly unnerved, took a step back. The murmur in the room grew louder, and whispers of disbelief and curiosity spread like wildfire.
Gia, sensing the spotlight slipping from her, squared her shoulders and walked boldly towards Abigail. She had always loved being the center of attention, and this moment was no different. She forced a smile, trying to mask the unease curling in her stomach. "Hi, Abigail," she said smoothly, her voice oozing false cheer. "Long time no see."
Abigail turned her gaze to Gia, her eyes gleaming with something Gia couldn't quite place—something lethal. "How can you say that, Gia? Haven't we just seen each other?" Abigail's voice was calm, almost playful, but there was an edge to it that made Gia's skin prickle.
Gia blinked, caught off guard. "Wh-When was that?" she stammered, trying to save face as the paparazzi's cameras continued to flash, recording every second of the exchange.
Abigail stepped closer, her lips curving into a dangerous smile as she leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. "On the bed of my ex," she murmured, her words dripping with venom.
Gia froze, her heart hammering in her chest. She felt the blood drain from her face. The weight of Abigail's words was suffocating, not because they weren't true—they were—but because the paparazzi were everywhere, cameras poised, mics ready to catch any slip of the tongue. For the first time, Gia had no comeback.
Forcing a shaky smile, Gia stepped back, desperately trying to regain her composure. "Oh... I see. Well, I think I should be going," she said quickly, her voice faltering. She turned on her heel, excusing herself as gracefully as she could manage, though her entire body trembled with humiliation.
Abigail chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver through the few people close enough to hear it. She watched Gia retreat, then casually beckoned one of the paparazzi to follow her to a quiet corner of the hall. This particular journalist wasn't just anyone. He was one of the top celebrity reporters in the city—his platform notorious for making or breaking stars. He approached with a mischievous grin, already sensing that whatever Abigail had to say was going to be good. "Ms. Abigail," he greeted her, eyes gleaming. "You got something to share? A secret, perhaps?"
Abigail studied him for a moment, her gaze unwavering. "How big is your platform?" she asked, her voice cool, detached.
The man chuckled, amused by her question. "It seems you don't know who I am. I'm one of the most sought-after journalists here," he said with a cocky grin. "A 'hi' from me hits a million likes per second."
Abigail's expression remained unchanged as she leaned in, whispering something in his ear, her tone so low that not even the cameras could pick it up. The man's face paled, his confident smirk disappearing as her words sank in. She handed him an envelope, her fingers brushing lightly against his as she smiled—a smile that was anything but friendly.
The journalist's posture stiffened, his grin long gone. There was fear in his eyes now, something Abigail had expected, and she reveled in it. "Be careful, man," she whispered, her voice barely a breath as she turned and walked away, her heels clicking confidently against the floor.
He stood frozen in place, gripping the envelope as if it were a bomb. He swallowed hard, realizing that whatever just happened was far more dangerous than he'd bargained for.