I Ruined the Star I Made

Intimate photos of me and Chris, the industry's reigning golden boy, were plastered across every tabloid and social media platform.

Beneath the trending tags, his fans had already doxed my apartment.

Some called me a desperate, aging leech clinging to his coattails; others threatened to camp outside my office to "clean up Chris's trash." I called him.

His voice was a soothing, gentle balm, just as it had always been. "Don't be afraid, baby. I'm holding a press conference in an hour.

I'm going to make us public." "You've been by my side for ten years, building me from a nameless extra to who I am today.

It's about time I gave you the recognition you deserve." At the press conference venue, I stood in the wings, my heart in my throat, waiting for him to reach out and take my hand.

Instead, Chris walked onto the stage with Selena, the sparkling new ITgirl. "Selena and I have been together for three years." "As for the photos online, they were leaked by my former manager, Naomi.

She has been obsessively stalking and harassing me." The flashbulbs instantly pivoted toward me.

Someone lunged forward, ripping at my hair; a chair was flung in my direction, splintering near my feet.

When security finally dragged me out of the screaming mob, Chris didn't even glance my way. Half an hour later, he found me in the shadows of the subterranean garage.

He reached out, smoothing down the torn collar of my blouse.

His touch was still agonizingly gentle. "I'm so sorry, baby." "A scandal like this would destroy me, so I needed someone to take the fall.

It had to be you." I looked into his beautiful, hollow eyes. "You leaked those photos yourself, didn't you?" Chris hesitated for a fraction of a second, then let out a soft, mocking chuckle. "Otherwise, how would I convince the world that you're the one obsessed with me?" I looked down, my fingers quietly tapping the screen of the phone hidden in my pocket.

The voice recorder was running. He thought I was waiting for him to beg me to stay.

He had no idea that from this moment on, the only thing I was waiting for was his complete and utter ruin. 1 When Chris found me, I was tucked into the darkest corner of the underground garage.

He pulled down his mask, his first words completely devoid of any concern for my bruised temple. "I'll handle the press, but you need to play along." "Resign from the agency and walk away from the industry.

I'll wire you two million dollars as compensation." I leaned against the cold metal of my car, staring at him. "And us?" Chris frowned, genuinely surprised I’d even ask. "Nothing changes between us." "Selena is just for the public.

I'll still see you once a month. You pick the hotel." He said it so casually, as if handing me a generous promotion.

Ten years ago, he was a nobody in LA, living off cheap ramen and fiftydollar extra gigs. When it rained and he had no place to sleep, I took him into my cramped studio apartment.

I paid for his acting classes. I held him when directors spat in his face, and I ran lines with him until our throats were raw.

I quit my residency at the hospital to become his fulltime manager.

Now, his grand finale for us was one day a month in a nameless hotel. "You want me to be your mistress?" "Naomi, don't make it sound so ugly." Chris checked his Rolex. "Selena just signed a TierA contract.

She has major backing from the network and big capital. Binding my name to hers for six months gets us more resources than we could claw our way to in a decade." "It's business.

It benefits both of us." "You’re the only one I love, Naomi. A title is just for show." I wanted to laugh, but my throat was too tight. "You promised you'd marry me." "Ten years.

Does that promise still count?" His silence was my answer. I let out a soft breath. "Fine.

Two million to buy out ten years of my life." "Wire it tomorrow, and we're done." He visibly relaxed. "Naomi, I knew you'd understand." He said my name with that old, familiar warmth.

I didn't bother correcting him. His phone buzzes. "Selena" lit up the screen. When he answered, his entire demeanor softened instantly.

Selena's voice floated through the speaker. "I want a home that's truly ours." "You'll have it," he murmured. "And what about the rest of your life?" He smiled. "It's yours too." There was a brief pause on the other end. "Is she handled?" "Yes.

Go back to the penthouse and wait for me." He hung up and looked back at me. "The two million will have to be paid in installments." "I need to buy Selena a penthouse first.

I can wire you two hundred thousand tomorrow. Your brother is still in treatment, right?

That should cover your emergencies." I stared at him. "Give me the full amount first." His face darkened slightly. "I said I'd pay you." "If you're that desperate, you can always go to Beckett.

He's thrown enough offers your way. You know exactly what he wants." "Make use of your options while you still have them." He knew exactly where to twist the knife.

When we were young, his father ran off with a mistress, and his mother abandoned him. He used to hold me tight, whispering that he despised homewreckers more than anything.

Now, he was begging me to become one.

I opened the car door. "Fine." Chris blinks, caught off guard. "What?" I just smiled and got into the car. 2 Chris had no idea that my brother didn't need that money anymore.

Months ago, Declan was diagnosed with terminal bone cancer. As a cardiothoracic surgeon, he knew the prognosis better than anyone.

At the time, Chris claimed he had no cash on hand and begged me to secure a highpaying reality TV contract for him. "The cash flow is fast.

Once the network pays out, we'll get Declan the best care." I believed him. To land that deal, I drank myself into stomach bleeding with the network executives.

The night the contract was signed, my father called. His voice sounded like he had aged a decade overnight. "Naomi... Declan is gone." Declan didn't want to be a burden.

He pulled his own ventilator. Before he died, he left me a final voicemail. "I won't make it to your wedding with Chris." "But when you have a moment, bring him to my grave.

Pour a drink for me, so I know my little sister is being taken care of." I ran to the funeral so fast I broke the heel of my shoe.

Someone snapped a photo of my tearstreaked face, and it went viral. Chris complained that my disheveled appearance ruined his brand image, and he didn't speak to me for three days.

Only later did I find out that the reality show wasn't for Declan's treatment. It was the launchpad for Selena's career.

He made me destroy my body to secure resources, not for my dying brother, but to elevate his new lover.

Back in the garage, Chris was still pressuring me to sign the NDA and exit agreement. "Those photos," I said, keeping my voice steady. "You leaked them to the tabloids, didn't you?" He froze. "Who told you?" "The camera angle.

It could only have come from the old security camera in our living room." "You're the only one who has the login." He dropped the act. "So what if I did?" "How else was I supposed to explain why you're always around?" "How else do I make the public believe you're a stalker and Selena is my true love?" My fingers gripped the steering wheel, but I was entirely calm. "You were terrified that if you broke up with me publicly, you'd be branded an ungrateful bastard." "So you painted me as the villain first, to pave a golden path for Selena." He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Even if you figured it out, what can you do?" "You have no proof." "The agency’s social media accounts, the contracts, the PR narrative—they're all mine.

If I deny it, you're just a crazy exmanager." "Take the money and run, Naomi." "Push me, and I'll make sure you can't even find a job in this city, let alone get a dime of that two million." He didn't know my phone was recording every word.

He didn't know that after ten years of managing him, I was the one who cleaned up every single piece of his dirt. "Selena is innocent, so I have to be sacrificed?" I asked.

Chris didn't hesitate. "You've had ten years of my life. It's only fair you step aside for my future." I pressed save. File length: Fortyseven minutes, eighteen seconds.

This time, he handed me the knife himself. 3 I didn't release the recording immediately.

Chris was right about one thing: a simple recording of a bad breakup wasn't enough to destroy him. I wanted him ruined.

That night, the agency released an official statement under Chris's name, claiming I used my position as his manager to control his life, even using surreptitiously filmed videos to blackmail him into a relationship.

Selena immediately reposted it: "I have never come between anyone. I've let go of the pain of the past, and I only hope Ms.

Naomi can move on." Several tabloid blogs concurrently posted "sources" claiming I bullied rival actors, stole resources, and slept around with younger talent.

The "evidence" consisted of photos of college students helping me into a car after an exhausting press event.

Two hours later, the video of me running hysterically to my brother's funeral was leaked.

The caption read: "How many years did this emotionally unstable manager hold Chris hostage?" I watched the video on a loop, then closed my laptop. Keira arrived with antiseptic.

She gently cleaned the gash on my forehead from the thrown chair. "What's the plan?" "We wait." "Still?" "He only wants me out of the industry right now." I turned my screen toward her.

On it was a backedup ledger of Chris's agency over the last five years—tax evasion, paid internet mobs, predatory pricing, and the original metadata of the leaked photos sent to the tabloids. "I kept these to protect him.

Now, they're going to save me." Keira asked, "Why not post it now?" "He just announced his relationship.

The spotlight isn't bright enough." "I want him at the absolute peak before I pull the rug." My phone rang. It was Beckett.

He had just got back from Europe, and he was the primary sponsor for this year’s Screen Guild Gala.

Three years ago, he asked me to leave Chris and join his firm as the Director of Talent. I refused.

He told me the offer would stand until the day I regretted it. "I hear you've been thrown out on the street," his voice was as dry as ever. "Are you calling to gloat, Beckett?" "No." He paused. "I'm calling to ask if you need a lawyer, a media blitz, and a stage big enough to burn it all down." I looked at the files on my laptop. "Save the stage for me." 4 The next day, Chris showed up at my door with Selena and his mother.

Three paparazzi were already positioned in the hallway. Selena was wearing a simple, softcolored dress, her eyes red.

The moment the door opened, she slapped me across the face. "Why won't you just let Chris go?" Then, right where the cameras could see her, she dropped to her knees. "We've been together for three years.

Please, give him back to me." Chris’s mother lunges forward, grabbing my hair. This was the woman who abandoned him when he was ten.

She only returned once he started making millions.

Back then, Chris's only comment about her was, "She's not my mother." Now, to paint me as the monster, she was the mother he must protect. I wrenched myself free.

Chris "coincidentally" appeared around the corner just as his mother and Selena were on the floor, and I was standing over them. "Naomi!

What are you doing?" He rushed forward, shielding them. "I respect what you did for my career, but that doesn't give you the right to abuse my family." I looked toward the end of the hall where the paparazzi were hiding. "Are you done acting?" Chris's eyes narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?" "I upgraded the security cameras outside my door last week.

The audio is incredibly clear." "Selena's slap, your mother pulling my hair, and your prearranged paparazzi—it's all recorded." Selena’s face went pale.

But Chris quickly recovered. "Footage can be edited.

The public believes what they see." "Do they?" I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. "Let's let the police look at the raw footage first." They were taken to the station to file reports.

That night, another round of articles dropped: "Naomi Forces Chris’s Pregnant Fiancée and Elderly Mother to Kneel; Police Intervene." Chris thinks he still controls the board.

On the same day, the Screen Guild Gala announced its nominations. Chris was nominated for Best Lead Actor for the very show I nearly killed myself to get him.

In his red carpet interview, he said: "On the night of the awards, Selena and I will be sharing some very special news." Beckett called. "He's planning to propose on stage.

Are you still going?" I opened the evidence folder and hit send to Beckett and my legal team. At the bottom of the email, I wrote: "Special segment for the awards ceremony.

Run time: Seven minutes, fortythree seconds." "Of course I'm going." "He wants the crown and the girl. I'm going to make sure he gets exactly what he deserves."