Orla.

“Officers, I think there’s a mix-up somewhere. He would never do that!” I argued, chasing closely as Mateo was being escorted away.
But no one cared to listen to me!
“Mateo!” I hailed vehemently, jumping in before him with arms splayed to stop them from going any further.
“A moment please,” he civilly requested of the officers.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?!” I whispered, saucer-eyed when they walked ahead, giving us privacy. “You didn’t do this. You could just tell them he’d also told you to watch your back. I think it’d untangle you from this mess.”
“No need, Orla. This isn’t enough to graze me.”
“And my statement from earlier?” I could not stop thinking about that and the effects it could pose.
“Relax. That’s nothing. Just listen to what I’m about to tell you.
“For now, I’m just being taken in for questioning. If no solid evidence turns up against me in twenty-four hours, they’ll have no choice but to let me go. But I do not have the grace to wait that long as it is ample time for Sebastian to manipulate things in his favor and get me behind bars for real.”
“I should probably get going to your attorney then,” I suggested.
“That’ll take forever.”
‘What then do we do?’ I let my eyes ask, remaining attentive.
“You could just go to him.”
I flinched, narrowing my gaze into a leery one. “By ‘him’ you mean …” I stressed expectantly.
He took two steps closer before leaning in to whisper, “Waylyn.”
My brows relaxed into a ‘yeah, right’ expression before morphing into a suspicious look in seconds when my eyes united with his again. Involving Waylyn was illegal.
“We have to leave now,” one of the officers announced, materializing beside him.
“Trust me on this one,” he peeped, nodding reassuringly, about to be escorted away.
“Hold up,” I asked mildly, stopping them in their tracks.
“Here.” I took out a nose mask from my bag and hung it over his face. “Who knows? There may be rumor mongers outside.”
“Ah … thanks.” He chuckled. “Take care of yourself, Orla. Until I return, at least.”
“Until tonight, that is,” I assured.
Nodding with his eyelids, he peeped, “I know.”
“You can still have my bacon.” He winked teasingly, eliciting a huff from me.
The officer nearest to me then bowed as the trio inclined their bodies to face the exit again.
I liked to call the reporters “rumor mongers.” Because they could interpret any image however they deemed fit. A story juicy enough to whet their readers’ appetites would suffice, making “facts” the least of their worries.
We lived behind their camera lenses now. And so public image was very crucial, as it could either bolster or shred our careers. My career.
One scandal. Just one and a career that had only begun could go up in smoke. Well, I had no intention of letting that happen, especially not under Sebastian’s influence. I was going to handle it seamlessly.
But first things first …
“Why are you doing this?” I asked, shrouding my peeve with a stoic expression as I strolled back into Sebastian’s room.
“Because I’m curious,” he replied, shrugging in apathy.
“Curious?” I reechoed, wrinkling my face in wonder laced with disgust.
He nodded, a somber expression shading his features as he continued, “How dare you show up in my face as an actress? How long can you last in our world, in the movie industry without Mat? How well will you survive without your helper?” Then he relaxed his clenched muscles, loosening his expression before adding, “Those are the things I’m curious about.”
“You’re doing this just to spite me?” I deduced low-pitched, smirking slightly and scoffing silently in disbelief.
“Call it whatever you want, Orla,” he dismissed, briefly rolling his eyes away, his gesture drenched with disregard. “I just want to see how far you can climb – without your ladder.”
An uptight silence ensued, the slight tilt on his lips smugly waiting for me to snap or “beg,” to deepen further. But what I did next stuffed the airy look in his eyes with amazement, multiple lines materializing between his brows all at once.
I jammed my hands three times, each sound deepening the fulfilling writhes settled on his features. “Congratulations,” I said, complimenting my impassive look with a quirked brow.
‘Huh?’ the confusion dancing on his features spelled out.
He needed to be congratulated for his efforts at least. Because he was going to be a piece of cake to handle in the end.
Leaving the silence pending, I turned around and left.
. . .
Waylyn Smith – the brawn of the Shadows of N.Y.C., the crew founded solely by Mateo. I’d only been a part of them for the past few months. However, for the past few years, they’d been operating by being accessible to high-end politicians with the sole aim of crushing each other and using the carcasses to reach the zenith.
This crew specialized in digging up dirt and trading it for money. Over the years, they’d acquired influential figures in their palms, using the information gotten as a leash.
They were called “shadows” because their activities were highly done in secret but the results were globally known. They comprised a mastermind, a brawn, and an ever-sly spy we called the “ultimate infiltrator.”
Waylyn was a very skilled hacker, responsible for obtaining dark secrets about these politicians, and in charge of getting the technical duties done. Using dirty means.
I stepped into our “office” – a secret room in Mateo’s – where we held our meetings, and of course did evil deeds.
Elias’ hands – initially holding up his phone – descended slowly the moment our eyes met while Waylyn was rather preoccupied, clacking the keyboard with headphones on, sitting before the computer by the wall.
“Um…,” he stressed, unsure of what to say. Pretty sure the news had spread like wildfire already. “You… you good?” he finally asked. Awkwardly. Then his eyes stretched to the doorway.
“Yeah,” I breathed, nodding. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I added, approaching them.
“Hey. Hey, Dork,” He called, extending his hand to rock Waylyn’s chair for his attention.
‘Hmmm?’ answered his expression when he wheeled his chair to face Elias as he raised both hands to slightly pull up the headphones, staring cluelessly at him with raised brows.
“Cease whatever you’re doing. They’re back now.”
Instinctively, Waylyn’s eyes shifted in my direction. Acknowledging me with a “Lost. But. Found,” his shoulders fell instantly as he was now moping like I just returned from the dead.
He then slid down his headphones to rest around his neck and wheeled his chair over to sit near Elias instead. “Did you get blood on your dress?” he asked eagerly.
I flinched, the strange question throwing me off momentarily.
“We saw the news,” Elias cut in, drawing my attention back to him. “What happened?”
“We –”
“Orla?!” An extra feminine voice hailed through the room vibrantly, automatically hauling our attention to Armelle standing near the door with eyelids stretched apart in shock.
“You’re here!” she breathed, her expression drooping to a relieved one. “Are you okay? Did something happen to you? We tried calling all day! What happened to your phone?!” she bombarded almost at once, rushing to sit beside me.
“What happened to you? We tried calling all through after seeing the news!” she went on and on, perusing my body.
I gave her a reassuring smile to let her know I was fine and she didn’t need to worry anymore.
“Is Sebastian really dead?”
“DEAD”?! My appalled eyes swung back to Elias.
“Here,” he said, holding up his phone with a pretty grotesque image on display. It was Sebastian lying lifeless on the floor and bathed in blood, beneath a bold heading that read: THE KING OF ACTORS DROPS DEAD. Nothing particularly feigned just twitched to exaggerate the story a little.
“No, he didn’t die,” I corrected. “He wasn’t even grazed,” I added in disbelief at how much a particular story can be twisted to be appealing. Rumor mongers indeed.
“Was this photoshopped then?” Waylyn asked.
“Not really. The bullet only hit the glass in his hand, causing the red wine in it to spill on his shirt,” I explained.
“HOLD UP!” he cut in almost at once, splaying out both hands to gesture. “This glass – ” He held up his hand, circling his fingers to assume the shape of a cup. “Was probably held up close when it was shut,” he analyzed.
“Yeah?” I stressed, showing a little bit of restraint in my tone as I was somehow stuck between trying to figure out the essence of the analysis and giving him a reply.
“But he wasn’t.”
I nodded.
“Not even a scratch.”
I nodded. Much slowly.
“Woaah …,” he muttered audibly with eyes going distant in thoughts. “I could use such aim,” he concluded, thinking aloud.
Waylyn was an addicted gamer. No stories.
“And Mat?” Armelle inquired, scanning the doorway for the umpteenth time. “Isn’t he coming?”
I heaved a deep sigh, tussling to keep pity away from my eyes when they found hers again. Her eyes were as guileless, and peaceful as spilling waves because she inquired out of sheer concern. She’d freak out if I broke the news to her.
If anything though, I was grateful the news hadn’t leaked to the public yet. Because it would not LIVE to see the light of the day.
“That’s right. I’ve been staring at the doorway, waiting for when he’d burst through,” Elias added.
“About that, I’ll need you to do something for me,” I directed to Waylyn.
Then steeling my gaze, I added, “Because things are about to get ugly.”
Involving Waylyn was illegal but we could only deal with legal madness illegally.