The green room was plush, filled with fruit baskets and champagne. Cynthia Sharpe checked her reflection in the mirror. She looked powerful again–designer suit, sharp heels, the “Manager of the Year”.
On the monitor, the promo for *The Luna Search* was playing. It was tacky, emotional, and projected to make millions.
*Eight months ago.*
Cynthia had been sitting in a studio apartment the size of a closet, eating instant noodles. After the Season 3 finale, she was radioactive. No one would hire the woman who worked for Arthur Sterling.
Then she met Jaxson Vane at a tech mixer she had crashed. He was rich, bored, and looking for content.
“The public misses her,” Cynthia had pitched, her desperation masked by bravado. “Victoria Vance wasn’t just a singer; she was a tragedy. Tragedy sells, Jaxson. We don’t mourn her; we franchise her. We find the next Luna, and we own the rights to the grief.”
Jaxson had grinned, the shark recognizing the predator. “I like it. Ruthless.”
Now, standing in the green room, Cynthia smiled. She had clawed her way back from oblivion by standing on a dead woman’s grave. And she didn’t regret a thing.