Chapter 2: Lying in Wait

The buzz from the finale night was like a brief meteor shower beyond Solaria's dome—brilliant, but fleeting. Without the company's backing and resources, the hashtag GiveEllaHerCrown quickly sank in the torrential flood of information, soon forgotten by all.

Ella's situation became precarious. She possessed a fleeting fame but had no branch to cling to, like a rootless water lily adrift on the surface.

It was then that Producer Lee contacted her.

His voice oozed an oily concern through the communicator. "Little Xia, I feel terrible about what happened at the finale. Everyone saw your talent. I'm a genuine admirer of your work."

He then changed his tune. "As it happens, the company is preparing a new project, and I think you're a perfect fit. There's a dinner tonight with some industry seniors and investors. Come along, expand your network. It can't hurt."

After the call ended, Ella looked at the address displayed on her Personal Terminal: The Apex Club, one of the most exclusive private clubs in Solaria's upper district. She knew this so-called "networking opportunity" was a test laid out on the table. The right answer would be a path to the heavens; the wrong one, a plunge into the abyss.

She gazed at her reflection, gently tracing the outline of her face. On that innocent, harmless visage, her amber eyes were as still as water, without a single ripple. She chose a white dress, conservative in its cut but fashioned from exquisite fabric that made her skin look like snow under the light. Then, from her jewelry box, she selected a seemingly inconspicuous ring set with tiny diamonds for her index finger, and a low-key necklace with an unadorned gemstone.

Night fell upon The Apex Club, where the light from crystal chandeliers was absorbed by the thick carpets, leaving only an opulent, gilded haze. The door to the private room was pushed open, and a thick wave of liquor and cigar smoke washed over her.

Seated at the head of the table was a corpulent, middle-aged man—the very investor she had seen on the finale night, Director Zhang. When he saw Ella, a greedy light ignited in his murky eyes.

Producer Lee enthusiastically pulled Ella to the empty seat beside Director Zhang. "Director Zhang, this is Ella, the very promising newcomer I told you about."

"Oh?" Director Zhang's gaze slithered over her like a slimy tentacle. "The promise is certainly there. Sit, sit here next to me."

Ella obediently sat down, her face a perfect picture of shyness and unease. She kept her head lowered, her voice barely a whisper. "Good evening, Director Zhang, Producer Lee."

The dinner began. It felt less like a banquet and more like a hunt. Producer Lee and Director Zhang worked in tandem, constantly trying to force alcohol on her.

"Little Xia, in our line of work, you have to be able to hold your liquor. Come, toast Director Zhang first. This is a great honor for you," Producer Lee said, holding up a glass with the smile of a broker.

Ella picked up her glass, a troubled look on her face. "Producer Lee, I... I'm not much of a drinker. One glass and I'm out."

"It's fine for a girl to have some fruit wine," Director Zhang said, pouring a pink liquid into her glass himself, using the opportunity to rest his fleshy hand on the back of her chair. "This one won't go to your head. It's sweet, just like your voice."

Ella's body stiffened for a fraction of a second. She then nonchalantly raised the glass, took a small sip, and smiled, her eyes curving. "Thank you, Director Zhang. It really is sweet."

Producer Lee, forty years old, was a mid-level producer at Starshine Entertainment whose ambition outstripped his talent. The limited-edition 'Epoch' brand Personal Terminal on his wrist was clearly beyond what his official salary could afford. Whenever a message came in from a contact named Sister Hong, he would glance at it subconsciously, a flicker of panic crossing his face.

Director Zhang, fifty-two, had made his fortune in traditional energy and had only squeezed into Solaria's high society through marriage. He wore a wedding ring on his finger but spoke unabashedly about other female celebrities at the table. While boasting to others, he mentioned his rarely seen wife. "What does she know about business? All she does is play with that damn charity foundation of hers. The money it burns through each year could support a small company." His tone was thick with contempt.

So that's how it is. One has a secret to be leveraged, and the other has a soft spot.

Throughout the dinner, Ella played the part of a girl new to the world. She used naive excuses like "Oops, my hand slipped," "I need to use the restroom," and "Wow, this dish is delicious!" to fend off wave after wave of their advances. Every forced smile, every moment of forbearance, was like sharpening the blade for the moment it would be unsheathed.

As the night wore on, the atmosphere in the room grew more sordid. Director Zhang's patience seemed to wear thin. Emboldened by the alcohol, he placed his hand directly on Ella's shoulder. The revolting touch of his greasy fingertips seeped through the thin fabric.

"Little Xia, you look tired," his voice slurred. "I have a private suite here. Why don't we go up, sober up, and have a little chat about your future, hmm?"

Producer Lee chimed in. "Ella, Director Zhang thinks so highly of you. Aren't you going to thank him?"

The endgame was revealed.

An almost imperceptible glint of cold light flashed in Ella's eyes. She didn't jump up in panic or cry out. She rose obediently, her face flushed with a hint of intoxication and bewilderment.

"O-okay, Director Zhang," she answered softly.

As she rounded the corner of the table and passed by him, her foot suddenly stumbled, and her body fell "uncontrollably" toward Director Zhang.

"Ah!"

With a cry of alarm, the full glass of red wine in her hand was precisely and entirely spilled onto his expensive, custom-tailored suit.

Time seemed to freeze.

"I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry, Director Zhang!" Ella's voice was on the verge of tears, a portrait of utter panic. Before anyone could react, she pulled a handkerchief from her purse, bent over, and began dabbing at the wine stain on his chest with an attitude of extreme guilt. "I-I didn't mean to, I really didn't!"

It was a superb, suggestive angle. Her body bent, his head lowered, and his hand was "supporting" her at the waist.

In that brief moment, while everyone's attention was on the sudden mishap, the ring on Ella's index finger glinted. From beneath the faceted diamonds, a faint blue light flashed, aimed at Director Zhang's Personal Terminal lying on the table, its screen still unlocked from a recent message. A stream of data flowed silently.

Simultaneously, the miniature camera disguised as her necklace noiselessly captured the scene.

The entire process took less than three seconds.

"I... I'll go to the washroom and get a wet towel for you!" She looked up, her eyes red-rimmed like a startled fawn's, then turned and fled the room.

At the end of the hallway, the cool air cleared her head in an instant. All traces of panic and guilt vanished from her face. She stepped into an empty restroom and sent an encrypted message.

"Got what I needed. Smoother than expected."

Her fingers paused as a small laugh escaped her lips. She continued typing.

"Contact Director Zhang's wife for me. Tell her I have a detailed account of some 'unexpected expenditures' from her charity foundation. I imagine she'll be very interested in reviewing it personally."