Page 6 of Corrupted Tyrant

I’m not a mind reader, but I have a feeling, by the way Candy’s eyes narrow, that she’s considering giving me the slip. When a second text comes through, she glances at it, smirks, then reads it out loud.

“‘If you come without Courage, you’re fired’.”

Her lips press into a flat line, which makes me assume I wasn’t off base when I imagined she was planning to leave without me. Why does she look adorable wearing that ridiculous no-lips expression?

Something tells me this job is going to be a lot more interesting than I bargained for. One thing’s for sure—life with Candy will never be boring.

Chapter Five

Candy

The leather couch in Maury’s office squeaks every time I shift, trying to get comfortable. It’s not easy to relax, considering how my heart is racing, my palms are sweating, or that Courage is sitting right next to me, his muscular thigh brushing against mine every time he moves.

Focus, Candy. This meeting is important.

Maury clears his throat, drawing my gaze to where he sits behind his massive mahogany desk. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, his usually immaculate appearance disheveled and weary.

“You both need to understand how serious this is.” His voice is grave as he folds his hands on the desk. “Although it hasn’t aired yet, the documentary, Broken Starlets is gaining traction. Variety’s putting out a lot of buzz about it and it’s still in production. It’s going to be a six-parter about everything that went down at the Kids Entertainment Network.”

I frown, a familiar knot of anxiety forming in my stomach. Broken Starlets. The exposé promises to blow the lid off the dark underbelly of KEN—the abuse and trauma inflicted on its young stars. Including me.

“Candy,” Maury sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know you’ve been reluctant to participate. And I understand. I do. But this thing… it’s not going away. Your old co-stars Samantha Adair, Veronica Trudeau, and half a dozen others… they’re all attached to the project. Ready to tell their stories. The only major holdout… is you.”

My hands clench in my lap, nails digging into my palms. I feel Courage’s gaze on me, steady and assessing.

“What… what are you saying, Maury?” My voice comes out brittle, strained. “That I should do it? Spill my guts to some film crew? Let the whole world pick apart the worst years of my life?”

Maury holds up a placating hand. “I’m saying you should consider it. This is your chance, Candy. To control your narrative. Get ahead of the story. Show that despite everything you’ve been through, you’re a survivor. A fighter.”

I swallow hard, my throat tight. “And if I don’t talk to them? If I keep my mouth shut, what then?”

Maury wipes his palm across his mouth as he thinks. “Then you risk the documentary painting you as complicit. An enabler. Maybe even an abuser yourself.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. For a moment, I can’t breathe.

“But that’s not… I never…” I stammer, hot tears pricking my eyes.

“Of course, I know that.” Maury’s belief in me is obvious. “Anyone with half a brain can see you were a victim, Candy. Not a perpetrator.”

I draw strength from Maury’s support, understanding, and belief in me.

“Candy, honey, no one’s going to force you into anything.” His tone is soft. “But I think you should meet with the documentarians. Hear them out. They’re good people, I’ve checked them out. They just want to give you a platform to share your truth.”

I press my lips together, my mind whirling. The thought of dredging up those old wounds, laying them bare for public consumption… it’s terrifying. Soul-skinning.

But the alternative… letting my silence be misconstrued, twisted into something ugly and false…

“I’ll think about it,” I manage at last, my voice scarcely above a whisper. “I just… I need some time.”

Maury nods, looking relieved. “Of course. But Candy… don’t take too long, okay? This thing’s got momentum. Better to get out in front of it. And at the risk of sounding like a true bastard, this could help your P.R. problem.”

My head is spinning so fast that I can’t figure out how talking to these documentary people could help my tabloid infamy.

“You tell the world about this and you’re no longer a spoiled little rich girl—”

I scoff as I roll my eyes.

“Your behavior now has a reason and a name behind it. The optics are good.”

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