Chapter 17: Julian’s Fury

The release of the digital evidence, even through an anonymous reporter, was a tremor through Julian’s meticulously controlled world. His usual charming facade began to crack. He started receiving anxious calls from his studio, his agents, all asking about the “mounting rumors” and “unattributed articles” detailing patterns of exploitation. His perfectly curated image was fraying.

I heard about it indirectly, through Eleanor. She relayed snippets of what she’d gleaned from her network: Julian was stressed, lashing out, demanding answers from his team. The carefully planted seeds of doubt were bearing fruit. The industry knew.

One afternoon, I received a frantic call from Bryce Holloway. His voice was unusually strained, devoid of its usual polished composure.

“Ayla, I need to talk to you. Urgently,” he stammered. “Julian is… he’s losing it.”

I hesitated, wary of his motives. “What do you want, Bryce?”

“He’s convinced you’re behind the leaks,” Bryce said, his voice low. “He thinks you’re systematically sabotaging him. He’s furious. And I’m caught in the middle.”

He sounded genuinely rattled, his usual professional detachment replaced by a raw edge of fear. The petty cruelty of Julian’s paranoia, falsely accusing me even as his own actions came to light, was now affecting his inner circle.

“He’s demanding I ‘handle’ you,” Bryce continued. “Make you stop. He’s saying terrible things.”

I stayed silent, letting him speak. This was Julian’s unraveling, glimpsed through his publicist’s terrified words.

“He just had a closed-door meeting with me,” Bryce confessed, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’ve never seen him like this. He was raving. Screaming. Accusing everyone.”

Bryce recounted how Julian, in his uncontrolled rage, had lashed out at him, convinced that I was orchestrating a massive conspiracy. In his fury, Julian had begun to reveal details, unintentionally confirming everything I had suspected.

“He specifically mentioned ‘that damned theatre contract’,” Bryce recounted, his voice thick with disbelief. “He said you were trying to use it against him. He boasted about how he ‘had that lawyer tied up in knots’ years ago, making sure it could never see the light of day.”

My breath hitched. Julian had confirmed it. To his own publicist, the man he had relied on for years to spin his narrative. He had inadvertently admitted to his past deceit, to the systematic suppression of my contract. The casual, boastful confirmation of his legal manipulation felt like a petty cruelty, showing his complete disregard for ethical boundaries.

“He went on about how you were ‘never supposed to be a long-term problem’,” Bryce stammered, his words coming out in a rush. “How your ‘contributions were always temporary.’ He said he ‘made sure to scrub all traces’ of your involvement from early records.”

The words sliced through me. “Temporary.” “Scrub all traces.” It was a chilling confirmation of his long-standing pattern of exploitation, dating back to our earliest days. He hadn’t just forgotten; he had actively, meticulously erased my very existence from his professional history. The petty cruelty was in the sheer casualness of his admissions, revealing the depth of his calculating nature. He considered me a temporary tool, easily discarded, easily erased.

Bryce sounded horrified, disgusted. His belief in Julian, his professional loyalty, was clearly shattering.

“I can’t work for him anymore, Ayla,” Bryce admitted, his voice cracking. “He’s not just ruthless; he’s dangerous. He’s cruel. And I… I was an idiot for not seeing it sooner.”

Julian’s uncontrolled rage had led him to inadvertently reveal the full extent of his manipulative nature and past deceit to the one person he truly trusted with his image. The man who crafted his public persona now saw the ugly truth behind the mask. It was a crucial turning point, a profound crack in Julian’s carefully constructed world, brought on by his own unraveling. The petty cruelty of his rage, consuming his closest professional ally, was now a visible consequence.

Bryce paused, a shaky breath.

“He even said… he said your sentimental charm was ‘cheap and tacky’ and that he’d planned to publicly discredit it at the gala to finalize his break with your past image.”

That specific detail, confirming his intentional public humiliation of a cherished personal item, solidified the depth of his calculated malice. It was the ultimate, petty cruelty.

“I have to go,” Bryce finally said, his voice strained. “But Ayla… be careful.”

He hung up, leaving me with the chilling echo of Julian’s rage and the stunning confirmation of his decades-long pattern of calculated, self-serving deception. The mask was truly off, and the face beneath was monstrous.