Chapter 1
They said in showbiz, capital always won until me, Olivia Quinn, a talent manager dumped by her A-list star.
One night, I lost everything, stuck with a mountain of debt.
I tried to sign a promising talent to turn my luck around, and he even tried to hit on me?
Please, I had been around this block long enough. Did they really think I was a pushover?
*****
Alex Mason's intercontinental tour afterparty took over the hotel's top floor.
Every big name in the industry showed up, each greeting me with a grin and a "congrats."
"Olivia, another A-lister you've groomed from scratch!"
"Save me a spot if you find any other rising stars, yeah?"
Well-wishers and drinkers rotated in and out, but I kept my smile tight, scanning the crowd for the night's main attraction.
Where was Alex? He should be here, schmoozing with these bigwigs.
My assistant, Jenny Shaw, rushed over, her voice frazzled. "Olivia, Alex..."
"Spit it out." I cut her off.
"Alex is on the terrace with Ms. Wynn... surrounded by reporters," Jenny said.
I set down my champagne flute and headed for the terrace.
The door was ajar, flashbulbs spilling through the crack.
It was harsher, brighter than the lights inside the banquet hall.
Pushing it open, I found Alex with his arm around Mia Wynn's waist, leaning against the railing.
Reporters jostled for position, cameras clicking nonstop.
"Alex, are you and Ms. Wynn dating?"
"Is tonight the big reveal?"
Alex turned, his eyes locking on mine.
He smirked, raising his voice to carry over the chaos, microphone in hand. "Speak of the devil. There's my boss. I've got something important to announce tonight!"
He let go of Mia and strode toward me, the spotlight following his every step until all eyes were on me.
Alex loomed over me, a habit he'd picked up lately, as if towering over me made him feel more in control.
In his hand was a folder.
"Olivia, thank you for the past five years," he said, holding it out to me.
To my shock, it was a termination agreement.
*****
It all clicked. Before the tour, he'd turned down dozens of contracts, claiming he wanted to focus on the shows.
Now it made sense: he'd just been signing them elsewhere, behind my back.
"I'm tired, I..." he began, sounding worn out.
I cut him off cold. "Tired?"
Five years ago, backstage at the trainee audition, he was in a cheap T-shirt, with messy hair, and acne scars left from his teenage years.
But his eyes? They were on fire, the kind that burnt bright enough to take over the world.
I signed him then, even when everyone called me crazy.
Alex was a nobody with no connections, no experience, just a pretty face and a killer voice.
I took him from one gig to the next, drank with him at every sleazy industry party, endured insults like "Olivia, are you pimping him out or selling his body?"
Competitors tried to poach him. "Alex, come with me. I'll make you a star by next year."
We got stood up by investors at midnight, huddled outside the TV station, eating convenience store sandwiches.
He never complained when times were tough, never said he was tired. But now, at the top of his game, adored by millions, he suddenly felt worn out?
Alex said, his voice rising, "Olivia, you know how hard I've worked these five years, how much I've given.
"I'm done being your puppet, done living a life controlled 24/7."
The terrace went silent, save for the relentless click of cameras, like a silent execution.
He turned back to Mia, taking her hand in his, gentle as if they were filming a rom-com. "I love Mia, I want to live my own life."
Mia leaned into his chest, her voice soft and syrupy. "Olivia, I'm so sorry, but we're really in love."
Murmurs spread through the crowd.
"Is Ms. Quinn's love coercive? Couldn't win him, so she essentially drove him to escape?"
"Looks like the A-lister had a lot to put up with."
"Alex has finally had enough and is fighting back..."
I said nothing, just stared at Alex.
A bird was ready to fly the nest the second it spread its wings. Fame and fortune really did turn people into strangers.
To leave me, he'd painted me as a clingy, jealous villain, choosing the most public moment to do it, giving me no way out.
This was the man I'd poured my heart and soul into for five years?
"Sign it. Let's part on good terms," he urged, shoving the folder into my hands.
I knew I had no choice but to sign.
Alex loved his grand gestures, and he'd definitely planned a backup if I refused.
Pushing me off a cliff at my peak wasn't his endgame, but it was enough to ruin me for now.
Cutting my losses was the only smart move.
I smiled faintly, setting the folder down on a nearby champagne table before picking up a pen.
Then I signed my name neatly on the termination agreement and handed it back.
Alex froze, clearly not expecting me to agree so calmly, so readily.
"My lawyer will contact you for the handover," I said, turning on my heel and walking away.
Behind me, his voice rang out, cheerful and triumphant. "Thanks everyone for coming. Mia and I..."
I tuned him out, not caring to hear the rest.
By the time I got home, it was already two in the morning.
I pulled out a bottle of Dom Pérignon 2008, the one I'd bought last year when Alex won his first Artist of the Year award.
We'd promised to drink it together after his intercontinental tour wrapped.
The party had happened. The wine was still here. And I? I was a joke.
My phone buzzed, Jenny's name lighting up the screen.
"Olivia, it's bad. I tried to pay the afterparty's final bill, but there's no money in the company account!" she said in panic.
"What do you mean?" I asked, my stomach dropping.