Outside the bathroom door, security knocked again.

Harder this time.

"Ms. Reyes," the voice called. "We need you to come with us."

Naomi stared at the screen.

At the blood on her sleeve.

At her own smiling face frozen in grainy black-and-white footage.

"That’s not possible," she whispered.

But even to her own ears, it sounded weak.

Broken.

Terrified.

Zara grabbed the phone from her.

Outside the bathroom door, security knocked again.

Harder this time.

“Ms. Reyes,” the voice called. “We need you to come with us.”

Naomi didn’t move.

She couldn’t.

Her eyes were locked on the screen.

The video was still open.

Her.

Walking through a hotel hallway.

Damien stumbling behind her.

Then—

Naomi turning.

Smiling.

Blood on her hands.

Her breath stopped completely.

“That’s not possible,” she whispered.

But even to her own ears, it sounded weak.

Broken.

Terrified.

Zara snatched the phone from her.

“Okay—no. No, this is—videos can be edited. Deepfakes exist. People fake shit all the time.”

“That's me.”

“Naomi—”

“That’s literally me.”

Her voice cracked.

Silence swallowed the room.

Downstairs, music kept pulsing through the hotel like nothing had changed.

Like no one was missing.

Like reality hadn’t just split open upstairs in a bathroom made of marble and lies.

Zara lowered the phone slightly.

Her confidence wavered for the first time.

“Okay,” she said more carefully. “Okay, but we don’t know what happened before or after that clip. We don’t know context.”

Naomi’s hands shook.

But her mind didn’t stop.

Fragments surfaced again.

Damien’s grip on her wrist.

The rooftop lights.

Champagne spilling.

A hallway turning too long.

Someone shouting her name.

Then—

Nothing.

Blank static.

Naomi pressed both hands against the sink like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

“Fuck,” she breathed.

Her voice dropped.

“What if I actually hurt him?”

Zara immediately shook her head.

“No.”

But the answer came too fast.

Too automatic.

And then—just for half a second—she hesitated.

Naomi saw it.

Of course she saw it.

That tiny pause broke something deeper than the video did.

Outside, the knocking came again.

More urgent now.

“Security,” the voice repeated. “Open the door now.”

Naomi didn’t answer.

Her phone buzzed again.

This time:

BREAKING NEWS ALERT

She didn’t want to look.

But she did.

BREAKING: Assistant Producer Damien Vale Reported Missing After Cast Afterparty

Naomi’s stomach dropped.

Under the headline was a blurry paparazzi image.

Her.

Leaving the rooftop earlier that night.

Smiling.

Alive.

Unbothered.

The comments were already exploding.

Accusations.

Speculation.

Names.

Narratives forming in real time.

Zara saw it over her shoulder.

“Oh my God…”

The room felt smaller again.

Hotter.

Wrong.

Naomi stared at the screen too long.

Then slowly looked up at the mirror.

Perfect makeup.

Controlled expression.

Bloodstained sleeve.

Empty memory.

A person she could not fully recognize anymore.

Outside, security knocked again.

“Ms. Reyes. Final warning.”

But Naomi barely heard them anymore.

Because something else was louder now.

Her own thoughts.

Spreading.

Rotting.

Taking shape.

For the first time that night, a thought formed fully.

Cleanly.

Horrifyingly.

What if everyone was right?

What if she really fucking killed him?