Too Late For Regret: The Surgeon's Comeback

The lawyer's office was all dark wood and leather, designed to project an aura of power and stability. Arely placed a cashier's check on the polished mahogany desk.

"That's the full penalty for breaking my contract with my agency," she said. "I want it terminated. Today."

The lawyer, a man named Mr. Davies, looked from the check to her, his expression troubled. "Ms. Wallace, with all due respect, this is the worst possible time. Kole Bowman is holding a press conference as we speak. If you terminate your contract now, it will look like an admission of guilt."

Arely simply took out her phone and placed it on the desk, the live stream of the press conference already playing.

Kole was at a podium, his eyes red-rimmed, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek. He was a master performer.

"...a victim of silent abuse," he was saying, his voice thick with emotion. "Arely's moods were... violent. Her paranoia, her jealousy... I was walking on eggshells for years. I made a mistake with Brittny, yes. But I was driven to it. I was desperate for a moment of peace."

Brittny, sitting beside him, nodded and dabbed at her eyes, playing the part of a fellow survivor.

The live chat was exploding. The tide of public opinion, so firmly against him hours ago, was beginning to turn.

Wow, I never knew. She always seemed a bit off.

So he's the real victim here?

Classic crazy ex-girlfriend story.

Mr. Davies paled. "Do you have anything to refute this?"

A cold smile touched Arely's lips. She opened Twitter. She didn't write a single word of defense. She just uploaded the audio file.

She attached a simple caption: The Truth.

The first clip was Kole's voice, slick and arrogant. "That idiot will give me anything I want. A few sweet words and her bank account is mine. As soon as I land this Marvel role, I'm dumping her."

The second clip was more graphic. It was Kole, his voice unmistakable, negotiating a weekend with a married studio executive in exchange for an audition.

The third thing became the final straw: Cole instructed Brittany on how to search through Arelly's belongings and find anything he could use to blackmail her later.

Twitter went into meltdown. The audio file spread like a digital wildfire.

On the live stream, Kole was still spinning his tale of woe, oblivious. Then, his publicist rushed onto the stage, her face ashen, and shoved a phone in his face.

Kole's eyes scanned the screen. The blood drained from his face. His legs gave out, and he crumpled behind the podium. Brittny let out a shriek and ran from the stage. The press conference descended into chaos.

Arely stopped the video. She looked at the stunned lawyer.

"Now," she said, her voice calm. "About that contract."

Mr. Davies swallowed hard and began stamping papers with a new, frantic energy.

When Arely walked out of the building, a small swarm of paparazzi was already waiting. She ignored their shouted questions, a serene smile on her face, and slid into her waiting car.

Inside, her phone buzzed. A text from Alfred Pemberton's number appeared, but the curt, direct language was clearly not his.

Well played.

It was Elsworth. He'd been watching.

She typed back a reply. That was just the interest. The principal is yet to come.

A moment later, another call came through. It was Alfred Pemberton from the Hall estate. His voice was tight with panic.

"Ms. Wallace! It's Mrs. Hall! Something's wrong!"

Arely's calm demeanor vanished, replaced by an icy focus. "What did Isadora do?"

"She changed the medication protocol while Mr. Hall was out. Mrs. Hall... she's slipped into a deep coma. Her vitals are crashing."

Arell slammed on the gas, and the car sped away. "Keep her steady. I'm on my way to the airport. Get me to the operating room immediately."