"Die, you murderer!"
"Die, you motherfucker!"
"You animal in human flesh. Return our Ayra!"
The voices echoed in my head, their words like blades slicing through my already fractured mind.
Zane Watts, known to the world as Blue, the name I had built my career on, stood at the edge of the bridge. Rain poured down in heavy sheets, soaking me to the bone. The cold wind howled through the city, but I barely felt it. My eyes, once the piercing shade of blue that captivated millions, stared blankly down at the dark river below.
I didn't look like the glamorous superstar I once was. Dressed in a simple white shirt and black trousers, I still exuded wealth, but it felt like a mockery now. My skin, smooth and flawless, was the result of years of meticulous skincare, and my hair, silky and curled, was dyed blue, still a signature of my persona. Yet, my name had become nothing but filth in the mouths of those who had once worshipped me.
In my trembling hand, my phone glowed, illuminating the hate-filled comments flooding my social media.
Just yesterday, I had been one of the biggest names. A celebrated actor, model, brand ambassador, and part-time singer. I had worked tirelessly, giving years of my life to my craft. And now? My career had been obliterated in a single night.
The accusations were horrific.
They said I had taken the life of my closest friend, my half-sister from another mother, my colleague Ayra. My confidante. My anchor. The one person who had understood me.
Her death had been twisted into a horror story, with me at the center.
The police told me to stay calm, that the investigation was ongoing, that the truth would come out. But truth never mattered in a world ruled by rumors. Lies spread like wildfire, and my name had already been blackened beyond repair.
My mansion had become a warzone. Protesters gathered outside, hurling rocks, paint, and whatever they could get their hands on. I hadn't stepped foot outside in days without being met with jeers and threats. My endorsement deals were terminated. My contracts, ripped apart. My fans, who once cried for me, now wanted my blood.
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms.
"Why me?"
Tears burned in my eyes, blending with the rain. Despite the large amount of alcohol I'd consumed, it wasn't enough to drown my sorrows; I was still painfully aware of them. It seemed as though my sadness was strong enough to sober me, rendering the alcohol powerless against my grief.
"Why does it have to be me? Why?!!"
I had been an orphan. I had clawed my way up from nothing. I had worked for everything, my education, my fame, my success.
And now it was all gone.
The city's honking horns and rushing traffic blurred into the background as I gazed down at the river.
"What else can I do?"
I took a shaky step closer to the edge. The drop was deep. If I jumped, it would all be over.
No more hate. No more loneliness. No more pain.
My breath hitched. My fingers tightened around my phone.
Is this the right thing to do? Does it really have to come to this?
My body trembled violently, my soaked shirt clinging to my skin.
"That's crazy!" I let out a choked sob and stumbled back, running a hand through my wet curls.
Just what should I do?
A sudden sound soon snap me out of my thoughts.
Footsteps.
Quick. Heavy. Approaching from the right.
I turned my head, narrowing my eyes as a figure emerged through the downpour.
A young man came into view, panting heavily. He had sharp, raven-black hair, and tattoos coiled around his neck and arms, their dark ink stark against his pale skin. He wore a short-sleeved shirt, revealing a lean but strong frame.
There was something dangerous about him, the roughness in his stance, the sharpness in his gaze. He carried himself like someone who had been through hell and had come out on the other side, unbothered.
I smirked bitterly.
"Wouldn't it be better to die at the hands of an assassin? I guess..."
At least then, my death wouldn't be by my own hands.
"Does he have a weapon? A knife? A gun?"
If I was lucky, maybe the guy would put me out of my misery.
The black-haired man finally stopped before me, caught his breath, and lifted his gaze, locking eyes with mine.
A tense silence stretched between us before the stranger spoke.
"What? What's with the staring? You want me to pluck your eyes out, guy?"
I stiffened, an involuntary shiver crawling down my spine at the threatening tone.
"Are you here to kill me?" My voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Are you one of the crazy fans? Or something else?"
The stranger's brows furrowed in confusion, then widened slightly in recognition.
"Wait a minute... Aren't you that actor? Blue?" His tone turned sharp. "The one accused of that crime recently. The murderer?"
I flinched as if struck.
Shame curled in my stomach, and I tore my gaze away. "I don't think so."
The man let out a low chuckle, a sound laced with disdain. "Oh yeah, I think so. My sister won't shut up about you. She was crying over you just last night." He scoffed. "She used to be your biggest fan. Now she hates you."
My jaw clenched. "I didn't do it." My voice was tight, filled with barely contained rage.
The stranger let out a dramatic sigh, placing a hand on his hip. "Yeah, yeah. That's what they all say. I don't really care about celebrities. You guys live in your fancy glass castles. I only know about you because my sister talks about you all the damn time." His gaze flickered over me. "What the hell are you doing out here though? Shouldn't rich folks like you be in your million-dollar mansions, wrapped up in silk sheets, having maids feed you grapes?"
I let out a bitter laugh. "I wish. But didn't you just say your sister hates me? That the whole world thinks I committed a crime?" My voice dropped, raw and exhausted. "Would you be able to sleep if you were in my position?"
The black-haired man smirked. "Oh yeah. I've got more pressing issues on my neck too," he muttered, voice laced with dry amusement. "Somehow, I ended up here instead of sleeping in my house. Guess that tells you just how fucked up I am. Nobody can sleep when they've got real problems breathing down their neck."
I let out a humorless chuckle, my gaze drifting back to the river. The water below churned violently, as restless as my thoughts.
"So that's why you're here too, huh?" My voice was quiet, almost drowned out by the sound of the rain. "This river. This place. But let's be real, your problems can't be worse than mine."
The black-haired man's smirk vanished. His face darkened as he turned back toward me, his jaw tightening.
"You better shut the hell up, dude," he snapped, eyes flashing with something dangerously close to anger. "You think your life is over just because people are cursing your name? My head..." he tapped his neck pointedly "...could be separated from my body any second now. You, at least, still have an investigation going. Me? There's no court, no trial. Just a knife to my throat."
I flinched but quickly recovered, my expression twisting with frustration. My breath hitched, a lump forming in my throat.
"Do you even know what it feels like to have the whole world against you?" My voice cracked with emotion as my fists clenched at my sides. "To have millions of people hate you overnight? To be called a monster when you've done nothing wrong? Do you know the kind of curses I wake up to every day, coming from people I once called my fans?"
My chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths.
"It's worse than dying."
My lips trembled, but I held back the sob threatening to break free.
"And just like you, my head could be taken from me any moment now, only my executioners aren't in the shadows. They're everywhere. The entire world is ready to watch me burn."
Silence stretched between us for a long moment.
Then, the black-haired man let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.
"You're fucked up." His lips curled into an amused smirk. "But then again, so am I."
He shoved his hands into his pockets and took a step closer.
"Name's Alfie Lane." His voice took on a mocking edge. "But you can call me Scorpion." His smirk widened. "A thug."
I scoffed, finally tearing my eyes away from the river to get a better look at him. My gaze trailed over the numerous tattoos covering his body, several of them scorpions, crawling over his skin.
"What the hell do I need your name for?" I muttered. "And what kind of thug just gives out his name so easily?"
"Oh, I don't know. Thought we should exchange pleasantries since we're both doomed, one way or another." Scorpion shrugged nonchalantly. "Not like it matters. And yeah, I might be a thug, a thief, anything just to make a living. But this is my first time belonging to an organization, and guess what? I already fucked up my first assignment."
A bitter chuckle escaped him.
"Should've just stuck to petty stealing. Fuck!"
I let out another scoff, shaking my head.
"You're a fool, you know that? But I'm even a bigger fool."
Scorpion smirked, but before he could respond, the distant roar of an engine cut through the night.
I barely had time to react before blinding headlights appeared from nowhere.
A massive truck came barreling toward us at full speed, its headlights were off until the last second, slicing through the darkness like a predator locking onto its prey.
"Shit!" Scorpion cursed.
Without thinking, both of us lunged away from the road, just as the truck sped past, missing us by inches.
But our momentum sent us tumbling over the edge of the bridge.