Naomi threw up in the club bathroom ten minutes later.

It wasn’t controlled. It wasn’t quiet. It was violent, sudden—her body reacting before her mind could catch up.

When it stopped, she stayed bent over the sink, shaking.

Her breath came in uneven pulls.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like something alive.

“Fuck,” she whispered.

Something was wrong.

Not just the situation.

Her body.

The numbness had spread. Her left arm now felt heavy—delayed, disconnected. Like it didn’t fully register as hers anymore.

She flexed her fingers once.

Nothing changed.

Behind her, a stall door creaked open.

A woman stepped out, adjusting her dress. She froze the moment she saw Naomi.

“Oh my God.”

Recognition.

Naomi almost laughed under her breath. Even like this, she couldn’t escape it.

“You’re Naomi Reyes.”

“Unfortunately.”

A pause.

The woman hesitated, then softened her voice slightly.

“I saw what happened online.”

Naomi waited for judgment. Accusation. The usual script.

Instead—

“Damien used to come here all the time,” the woman said.

That made Naomi look up immediately.

“You knew him?”

The woman nodded slowly.

“Everybody knew him.”

Something darker passed through her expression.

Not gossip.

Fear.

“Girls avoided being alone with him,” she added quietly.

Naomi’s stomach tightened.

“Did anyone report him?”

A short, bitter laugh.

“To who? The producers protecting him?”

Silence settled between them.

Heavy. Familiar.

Naomi already knew the answer before it was spoken.

Hollywood didn’t stop men like Damien.

It absorbed them.

The woman stepped slightly closer.

“You really don’t remember that night, do you?”

Naomi swallowed.

“No.”

The woman studied her for a moment longer.

“Then maybe your brain is trying to protect you.”

That sentence landed wrong.

Too heavy.

Protect you.

From what?

A flash hit her without warning.

Not gradual.

Instant.

Damien shoving someone against a hotel wall.

Naomi shouting—her voice sharp, panicked.

A camera flash cutting through the darkness.

Then—

blood.

Too much of it.

Naomi gasped sharply.

The bathroom tilted violently.

Her hands flew to the sink, but her grip didn’t hold.

Her body gave out before she could correct it.

And everything went black.