Chapter 13
Tessa
“It’sbeenseveraldayswith no updates on the disappearance of Hollywood Sweetheart, Tessa Bradley. Her bodyguard refused to comment on the matter, stating that by following standard protocol, she was safe and sound at home when he last saw the award-winning Actress…”
The act of disappearing wasn’t as challenging as I had anticipated, especially with the tricks I’d learned as a teen—the countless times of escaping from Theodore the moment he turned his back. It all paid off in the end.
I’d been planning this move for months. Starting slowly by transferring small amounts of money from my primary bank account to a private one, just enough to avoid raising suspicion and giving me time to figure out how to stabilize my income without needing to access my traceable assets.
I knew that transitioning from a life of luxury and glamour to one of middle-class status would be an adjustment at first. But I also knew that the sacrifice would be necessary if I were ever to have the ability to actually fucking live for a change.
In order to do this right, the scene needed to look as though I hadn’t just up and run away, everything left as if I’d only briefly stepped outside of my home and would return within the hour—except I wouldn’t…
This way, I would have more time to leave this city—state before anyone, more specifically Alex, would have even noticed or begun to question my prolonged absence.
Why wouldn’t you want them to know you were leaving by choice? That you were quitting this life?Because I wasn’t.
I wasn’t quitting my career; I was taking an extended vacation until I felt ready to come back to a world so vicious and transparent. And if I never graced the stage set again, finding my salvation and future out there where I wasn’t seen as a public figure, then even better.
The media parasites would follow me relentlessly if I disclosed what I was doing, where I was going. They would never leave me alone to rediscover and find myself. Becoming a missing person was extreme, but essential, and there would be no second chances at a clean getaway if I screwed this up on my first try. The second would be predictable.
I made sure to only pack the things that mattered most and were of little to no monetary value—of course, there were a few luxury items I did take, such as my favorite bottle of Chanel number fiveperfume, a pair of black studded red-bottom heels, and a Cartier bracelet.
Those three items alone weren’t enough to raise suspicion, but to me, they had more value than their retail sticker—
“Ahem…”
A throat cleared from behind me, and I jumped, spinning around to find the dark figure of a man looming at the far end of the room, near the bar. He had one hand resting in the pocket of his jeans, while the other held up a glossy black clipboard. And while I couldn’t see him perfectly in the dim lighting of the dance floor, there was something that felt vaguely familiar. I could feel his eyes roving over every inch of my body as if they were whispers of fingertips that had left their mark on me previously.
“Can I help you?” His stern voice carried across the room, and I found myself at a loss for words…
Mindlessly doom-scrolling through my IG feed this afternoon, I came across an advertisement for auditions to work at Pulse as a cage dancer. I’d been having shit luck at finding a job that I would legitimately enjoy doing this past week, but the one thing I loved more than my newfound freedom was the world of dance. One of the only reasons why I auditioned for the leading female role in the last two Step Up movies.
There was magic behind every hip-hop routine and performance. I’ve lost myself countless times on set and in rehearsals. It was the only time I’d ever felt like my true self, letting the lyrics take my body away.
“S-sorry I—I was just—” I stammered like a fucking idiot, taken aback by the sound of his voice as it echoed throughout my mind like recalling a recent memory.
Where do I know that voice from?
I stood outside far longer than I had planned, debating whether to go through with asking for a last-minute audition or not. Application submission had closed two days ago, and I still hadn’t figured out an alternate persona.Just me and my pink fucking wig.
By the time I had reconsidered my decision and was about to call a ride-share to take me back to my apartment, it had started to downpour, leaving me no other option but to seek shelter inside.
“You know, most would call if they were planning on being late to an interview. You’re lucky I’m still standing here at all.” His words sounded agitated at the inconvenience, but also slightly intrigued.
Interview? Oh my God, he was mistaking me for someone else… I could play off this, right? Use it to my advantage?
“I didn’t—”
“It’s fine, I’m always one to consider a second chance.” As he stepped out from the shadows and into the light, my chest seized, lungs airless, from the second I saw his face. “Let’s just hope your audition outshines your ability to be on time.”Holy fucking shit.
“L-Levi?” I gasped in shock, my eyes nearly bugging out of their sockets as they scanned him from head to toe.
This isn’t possible… How could he be here? He’s on tour, I just saw a video uploaded this morning of him in Chicago, there’s no fucking way—
“Yes, that’s me.Levi Castiel. The owner and operator of Pulse Nightclub. At least you did some research before showing up.” His formal and arrogant tone was throwing me for a loop. While he looked and sounded like the Levi I’d met only a week ago, he didn’t share the same charismatic demeanor. “Why don’t we take a seat and go over your resume before performing your chosen routine, Miss Sinclair?”
“Sure. Yeah. Let’s do that…” I whispered, nodding frantically as I hustled my ass over to where he’d just pulled out a chair at one of the low cocktail tables, inviting me to sit.
