Stepping onto the red carpet, the world around her rippled like the surface of a disturbed pond. The flashing paparazzi lights created a dizzying dance of color, warping with every burst. To her left, her boyfriend Tae-Yang wore a maroon-red blouse too feminine for her liking, paired with smooth silk Fleur du Mal slacks. Beside her, Darrick stood guard in a simple black outfit. His watchful gaze locked onto the scene of shouts and blinding flashes.
"Kay, over here! Smile for the cameras, baby!"
Suddenly, the lights pulled her into their rhythmic tide, each flash dragging her deeper, until she felt like she was drowning in the strobe. She hadn't even made it fully out of the car before the barrage of catcalls hit. It was supposed to be something she was used to by now, but no matter how many times she looked into her thirty-thousand-dollar vanity mirror and gave herself a pep talk, she was never quite prepared for the ambush.
She found herself overthinking everything tonight, acutely aware that she hadn't been seen in public for a year. The need to smile tugged at her, an instinctive reflex that came easily—a mask she wore effortlessly. A flicker of memory danced in her mind, a lesson from a past person who had once told her that being a good poker player meant knowing how to play the hand you were dealt.
As she scanned the sea of gleaming white teeth and gossiping journalists, their faces melded together like some hellish beast, each smile morphing into a gaping maw that amplified her unease. She smiled at them, and they smiled back, but the exchange felt hollow, a façade masking the tension swirling around her. The voices blurred into a cacophony, drowning her in a sea of sound. It was as if the vibrant world of Hollywood had become a surreal painting, distorted and swirling, leaving her feeling like a ghost floating on the periphery.
She felt a strange detachment from her own body as she moved through the throngs of people. There was something unsettling about the way certain eyes followed her, like they knew something she didn't. It reminded her too much of a game she didn't know she was playing. Their smiles were hollow, stretching across their faces like thin, fragile masks. It wasn't just the eyes watching her—it was the whispers that followed her steps, murmurs of speculation and judgment. She felt the weight of their stares more than she heard their voices. Every glance seemed to question her, like they already had an answer she wasn't privy to, as if the rules of her own life were being rewritten without her consent.
"Kay Olivia! Tell us about that new album!" They pounced, as if they knew more about her future than she did. An album that didn't even exist. Now she wanted to know who told them that she was in the works for writing and releasing an album. They continued their march through the crowd of celebrities, journalists, and executives. Darrick had the palm of his hand resting on the smalls of her back guiding her steps, attempting to soothe her anxiety.
As the flashing lights of the paparazzi cameras relentlessly assaulted her senses, she felt a searing intensity that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of her being. Each burst of white light was like a dagger, stabbing into her eyes with relentless precision. The brightness was blinding and overwhelming, and she could feel her vision becoming obscured by a cascade of stars dancing in her line of sight.
Now she wished she hadn't listened to Tae-Yang and brought her gold Chanel clutch along with her so she could have at least worn her Chanel glasses. She wished she had worn her soft white chinchilla coat so she could haphazardly hide her face so her eyes would stop burning. She wanted to hide behind Darrick and stay in his shadow of protection.
"I can't see," she muttered under her breath, the paralyzing brightness triggering a surge of anxiety. It was her first time on the red carpet in a year, and the flashing lights only reminded her of the reasons why she didn't enjoy red carpet walks.
Blinking rapidly, she struggled to maintain her composure, but the attack was unrelenting. It was as if the paparazzi were determined to capture every moment of her existence, to immortalize her in the annals of celebrity lore. Darrick was like a reassuring presence grounding her amidst the storm.
'Thank God for Darrick,' she thought with a pang of sorrow and appreciation. He had been someone she'd seek solace in during the darkest era of her career. Darrick was the Siegfried to her Kriemhild, fighting against the onslaught of paparazzi and anyone who opposed her. He kept her somewhat stable during her 'sophomore slump' and somewhat steered her away from drinking herself into an alcoholic stupor.
"Are you okay?" Darrick whispered urgently in her ear, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of voices and camera clicks. He gestured impatiently for her boyfriend Tae-Yang to move faster, his eyes scanning the crowd.
"Get me the fuck away from these animals," she whispered back. He stood before her, his protective stance a shield against the onslaught of cameras and shouting voices.
"Hey!" His voice boomed above the din, commanding attention as he engaged in a tense standoff with the paparazzi. His words were firm, commanding them to back off and give her space. Caught amid the commotion, she felt overwhelmed, her senses assaulted from all sides. She felt like the walls were slowly closing around her.
"Kay O, can we get a comment on why you slapped Kiza Tatiago?" The question pierced the air, grating on her nerves at the mention of the so-called Queen of Snakes. Irritation flared in her chest, but she swallowed it down, unwilling to let the memory resurface. She didn't want to relive that moment on Pop Vulture—how her heart had sunk when Kiza confronted her with accusations of betrayal and fraternization. Kiza Tatiago had deserved every bit of what she got that day. The only thing she regretted was the blowback her label had to endure, tarnished by the media frenzy that followed.
The response she wanted to give would only make things worse, spiraling her brand into deeper ruin. She'd already done enough damage. Even if she gave a carefully worded apology, the vultures would pick it apart, twisting it into another scandal. Red carpet questions were always the worst, a minefield she could never cross unscathed. She had to dance around every answer, sugar-coating her truth with politically correct bullshit or, more often, staying silent altogether.
'I should've slapped that stupid bitch harder,' she seethed inwardly, her bitterness bubbling beneath the surface. The only other thing she regretted—besides dragging her label into the mess—was ending up on the blacklist of every talk show and interviewer who mattered.
"Kay O, are you making your big comeback?!" someone else shouted. She flashed a quick, knowing smile.
"Comeback? What comeback?" The words rolled off her tongue with ease, and her laugh sounded just right, but inside, she cringed at how fake it felt.
"I never left." She said it with just the right amount of bite, her voice smooth and confident. But beneath the bravado, she was over it—over the spotlight, the eyes that clung to her every move. The endless prodding, the jealousy, the gossip. All she really wanted was to slip away and sleep, far from the chaos that always seemed to surround her.
Her mind drifted to her first time walking the carpet, wearing a custom white Gabbana dress. She had looked like a southern bride walking down a bloodstained aisle, her heart swelling with accomplishment. That moment was one of the only two times in her career when she felt truly happy. During that first year, everything seemed perfect, and her first walk felt like a dream come true. But in truth, she was trading something she could never get back.
"Kay O! Kay O!" She was feeling suffocated.
When she was new to the scene she would stand and have full-blown conversations with some of them. She genuinely wanted to know what life was like for them on the other side of her world. She regretted treating them like they were equal to her because they acted more like wild animals. She had made them feel too comfortable, and she had made herself too accessible.
"KAY OLIVIA LOOK OVER HERE!" The flash left biting stars in her eyes leaving marks in their wake and no matter how much she blinked she couldn't stop the blurry shadows from dancing.
"Olivia, is it true that you're leaving your current label and moving to Sony?!" Last year, Sony approached her, offering to buy out her contract with Hitcon for an undisclosed sum. The catch? They wanted her to pay back the money over a set number of years and take 55% of her merchandise, tour revenue, and streaming royalties. On top of that, they demanded she release the trademark of her name and everything associated with it—her entire brand. Most artists would have jumped at the opportunity; on the surface, it sounded like a good deal, a 360 that promised financial security. But to her, it felt more like a trap. She knew they wanted to own her in her entirety, leaving her with barely any control. That was a line she wouldn't cross.
snap snap snap
She tried to drown out the noise by recalling happier times, like the day her boss took her out for coffee after a long meeting with a fashion house. Everything with him felt easy and effortless, a refreshing escape from the chaos. But then, the warmth of Tae-Yang's hand on her back made her shudder in disgust, and their eyes met briefly. In that moment, she couldn't help but think how much she hated him, the reality of his presence crashing back in.
Tae-Yang…
Tae-Yang Huang, lightweight boxer…
Tae-Yang the agile, light on his feet, three-time winner of the IBF Lightweight championship.
She loathed him with every fiber of her being. He was supposed to be nothing more than a pawn in her grand master plan, a temporary distraction to stoke jealousy. Yet, despite her intentions to force him away, he had managed to entangle himself in her life, carve a lane for himself amidst her stardom, and bore himself right into her legacy.
Tae-Yang reveled in her spotlight, basking in the wakes of her fame and spent a large chunk of her fortune. He believed himself to be a superstar, only because she had paraded him around like some kind of trophy.
That was her fault for wanting to be spiteful...
snap snap snap
'Kay O can we get a comment about the current love of your life?!' Someone yelled from her far right. She hadn't meant for her and Tae-Yang to get as far as they did. Their love life was nonexistent. The only thing that kept her with Tae-Yang was her pride, ego and the fear she felt whenever she thought of leaving him.
snap snap snap
She watched Tae-Yang out of the corner of her eye as he looked at the red carpet with a child-like wonder. She could see the stars in his eyes as he took in the golden glow that radiated around them.
She'd convinced herself she could make this charade work. Tae-Yang looked the part, but the attraction never really took root. He was all show, a symbol for the cameras, and nothing more. That wasn't to say that he wasn't attractive and aesthetically pleasing to look at. Tae-Yang's body was a testament to power and agility, sculpted by years of boxing. His muscles rippled beneath his skin, each movement exuding strength. With broad shoulders and a narrow waist, he possessed the precision and intensity of a fighter.
He came from a rich, well-respected Korean-Taiwanese family. His mother, Li-Na Kim, was the heiress of a prominent tech company and belonged to one of the four wealthiest families in South Korea. His father, Ivan Huang, was a first-generation multi-millionaire with humble beginnings, owning a finance company in Taiwan.
Despite the status that came with being associated with Tae-Yang, she felt little attraction to him. He hailed from a wealthy family on both sides, yet he always seemed broke. Any earnings from his career either disappeared into a haze of drugs and alcohol or went to fuel his disastrous gambling habit. He'd come home angry and empty-handed, often leaving half his money in the hands of shady characters. She tolerated it all because he was skilled at spinning convincing excuses after convincing excuses. But, after a few months of dating, she began to see through the facade, but by then, she was already trapped.
On top of the bad spending habits, the alcohol and cocaine binges, and the gambling he was still lacking in one place every girl truly needed in her life.
She would never forget the disappointing sinking feeling she had the first night they slept together.
They laid intertwined in her silk sheets; she was halfway out her underwear as Tae-Yang enclosed her in his muscular arms. His hands explored her body, fingers teasing sensitive spots while he kissed up her neck. Everything about the moment was perfect, from the way he pulled off his shirt to the way he unbuckled the notch on his belt and looked at her. All she could think about in that moment was how bad she wanted him.
As the garment slid down his legs, revealing the very thing she thought about for so many nights, all she could do was inwardly laugh. His endowment paled in comparison to his impressive physique and rugged good looks. She could still remember that warm fluttering feeling in her stomach as she looked at him.
They still had sex that night because she had heard once that it was more about the motion than it was about the boat. Despite his best efforts, she could hardly feel him inside her, his thrusts lacking the depth and power she was used to. She could do nothing that night but lay there and take it and think about how badly she had fucked up. She had ran from her previous relationship to be with him. And all he had to offer her was good looks and a small dick.
Tae-Yang was like a taut string on the verge of snapping. He was a manipulative, controlling narcissist with an obsessive need to micromanage every corner of her life. He insisted on being there for everything—every meeting, every interview, every casual sit-down. Wherever she went, his shadow followed, his eyes always on her. But what set him off the most was her boss. Tae-Yang hated how close they were, hated the way they understood each other. His jealousy festered, and with it, his grip on her life only tightened.
Beneath his perfect skin, chiseled features, and narrowing dark eyes hid something sinister.
He had punched her so hard in the stomach during a heated argument that she threw up all over the marble floor. The fight had started over old text messages between her and her boss—messages from months ago that Tae-Yang had obsessively fixated on. His jealousy spiraled out of control, turning something innocent into fuel for his rage. The more she tried to explain, the angrier he got, until his fury finally exploded into violence, leaving her gasping on the floor, feeling both sick and utterly trapped.
'If only you people knew…' she thought mournfully as she looked at the faces of the paparazzi smiling and jeering at them.
As they navigated the bustling crowd dodging and ducking past celebrities, she overheard two models chatting excitedly about their latest Louis Vuitton purchases.
"I just got the new bag, you know, with the golden accessories?" one model gushed.
"Oh, I saw that one! They only made like six of them. I'm on backorder." the other replied with equal enthusiasm.
"Did you see Brenda with that knock-off…" the first model trailed before they both cackled. She shuttered in disgust as she thought back to herself. She once chased designer labels for validation.
She had once been that girl—the ghetto little black girl from the harshest part of Georgia—who didn't know anything outside of the Four Seasons. Her first advancement had opened up a world of excess and indulgence. Birkin bags, luxury cars, lavish vacations, none of which she cared about until she realized how the world treated those who didn't flaunt their status.
The Instagram posts, the "likes," and the comments praising her "glow-up" had fed her ego, made her believe she was finally someone. But the high had faded, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste. Now, she couldn't help but cringe at the hollowness of it all. Every Birkin bag, every diamond-studded watch felt like a chain tying her to a version of herself she no longer wanted to be.
And yet, it wasn't that simple to escape. The industry never let you walk away easily. She could hear it in the laughter of the models, see it in the eyes of the photographers—she was still trapped in the gilded cage she'd built. No amount of designer bags could fill the void, no amount of likes could restore her sense of self. She longed for a different life, but this was the one she had crafted with her own hands. The price of her success was more than money—it was her soul.
The flashing cameras continued to snap away, each flash pulling her further into a life she wasn't sure she wanted anymore. She could feel the weight of every decision she'd made press down on her like a heavy, suffocating blanket, reminding her that, in this world, there were no easy escapes.