CHAPTER 50: FACE SLAPPING BEGINS

The elevator’s door opened on the sixth floor of the building of Producer Li’s production house, and Elara took a deep breath, mentally prepping herself for what was about to come.

"You look nervous," Antonio commented from behind her.

Elara looked at him with a helpless smile. No shit, Sherlock. Obviously, I am nervous. Though I was serious about this, it didn’t mean I didn’t have my doubts. Elara wondered inside her head before walking towards the reception area on the floor.

The area was quite alive with the buzzing of voices, camera flashes, chatter from excited contestants, some of whom she didn’t even know, and who were already in the ’celebrity mode.’

The competition was tough—no doubt about that.

As her gaze swept over a few people, she couldn’t help but think she was underdressed. She didn’t have any glittery makeup, a formal dress, or anything extravagant or luxurious. She thought this was just going to be an introduction to the rules.

Since she wasn’t allowed in the social circle, even as a kid, she didn’t know much about power struggles through appearance.

She was wearing a fitted black shirt and jeans, with her hair tied in a high ponytail and minimal makeup. Her appearance was clean, sharp, and quite unbothered.

That, unfortunately, made her stand out even more.

The people who were taking photos of the already-famous singers looked at her with contemplation. She was a rare beauty whose face glowed even amidst other contestants, even in such simple clothes. She was worthy of being captured, but she wasn’t famous.

Her heels clacked against the floor as she made her way to the receptionist to sign the form; she heard a familiar voice.

"Oh my god. Someone, tell me I am hallucinating. Why the hell is this pathetic woman here?" Carla’s voice was loud enough for everyone to hear.

Several people turned towards her to see who she was talking about.

Elara, on the other hand, didn’t stop to look at Clara. She made her way to the podium where the contestants’ checklists were. She signed her name in clean handwriting. Elara Frost.

Seeing how she couldn’t get a reaction out of Elara, Carla gritted her teeth and marched up to where she was.

"What are you doing here? This is a singing contest—as in vocals. It’s not some tactic thing that you play behind the scenes, just like how you got the favor of our grandfather by God knows what trick," Carla said, her eyes sharp and full of mockery.

Elara didn’t respond. She just lazily looked at the girl, as if talking to her was disrespecting her intelligence, and the unbothered stare made Carla even more furious.

"This has to be a joke," Carla scoffed.

"Do you think writing lyrics for a talent like me in the dark is the same thing as singing? What makes you think you can compete with real singers?" Carla said, her voice still loud.

She was so busy trying to humiliate Elara that she even forgot to put a filter on her words.

A few contestants gasped. Wait. So this woman has been writing songs for Carla? Was Carla really the songwriter she claimed to be?

Caral, too busy mocking Elara, didn’t even notice how some people were starting to look at her in mockery. She was about to open her mouth to humiliate Elara even more when Beatrice walked to them.

Beatrice looked at Carla, cursing the girl’s slow wit in her mind before she faked a smile and shifted her attention to Elara.

"Elara? You came too? I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I mean... are you sure this is a good idea? Things might get a little messy with all the voting and unfiltered mockery from the hosts. With your humble background, I am not sure if you’ll be able to handle it," Beatrice said, subtly hinting to everyone that she was poor.

Elara smiled inwardly, suppressing the urge to scoff. There it was—the almighty knife of the white lotus, wrapped in velvet to make her look so thoughtful. Elara thought.

"Is it because of me? I didn’t know you were still so jealous." Beatrice asked, pretending to lower her voice when everyone could hear her quite clearly.

Elara almost laughed at Beatrice’s word. In her three years of marriage, she never once openly competed with Beatrice. She was always the one making things up. She opened her mouth to speak when someone beat her to it.

"Enough!" Andrew’s cold and controlled voice reverberated around them, his stern gaze moving to her. He walked towards them, his dominance radiating from the way he moved.

He didn’t look at his sister or Beatrice, but at Elara. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the side, away from the crowd, to talk without being overheard. Antonio stepped forward to stop him, but Elara shook her head at him.

"So you are doing this for real? You don’t even know how to act. You were never trained professionally. Forcing it will only embarrass you, and it will reflect on you and me." Andrew lowered his voice for the last statement.

Elara quirked her brows. There was a time when her heart would skip a beat just at his sight, and now... all she feels is the bitter feeling in her heart, a reflection of how stupid she was.

"It’s amazing how much trust you have in me. Beatrice never trained either, but you used your connections and investments to make her a lead model in the luxury brands because she wanted to try it to show off to her cousin; that is the reason she is even standing here."

Elara’s words were like a direct slap to his hypocrisy, but the man refused to believe he ever did anything wrong.

"You don’t need to do this. If you are struggling financially or just feeling lost, come back. You don’t need to pretend to compete with Beatrice. I’ll give you a handsome monthly allowance, and you can spend it however you want," Andrew said, his voice hushed so only they could hear what he was talking about.

Elara stared at the man. His eyes almost looked like he was proud of himself for coming up with that so-called lousy solution. She didn’t say anything for some time.

Then the thought overshadowed all her rationality. Why did it sound like he thought she was showing up before him to seek permission? Permission to even breathe in the outer world and create an identity for herself?

The old Elara would have smiled and held his hand to appease him, but the new Elara was not a doormat anymore.

With a scoff, she stepped ahead. "I appreciate the concern. But better save it for later. For your family," Her eyes flickered towards Carla and Beatrice.

"And, you don’t really get to say anything about what I do anymore. That contract expired the moment I signed those divorce papers." Her words angered Andrew but surprised Carla, who wasn’t aware of it.

"You are divorcing my brother? Is it for real? You are finally setting him free?" Carla asked with wide eyes, and Andrew’s expression darkened since he had yet to inform anyone in the family about it.

He knew this wasn’t permanent.

"Watch what you are saying, Elara. If everyone finds out, you won’t get the permit to return. It will be final," Andrew threatened, holding her elbow, his fingers digging into her skin.

Elara narrowed her eyes at him before looking at Carla.

"Are you happy?" She asked.

Carla scoffed. "Hell, yeah! A bitch like you didn’t deserve my brother," she said.

Elara smiled at her words.

"I am happy too," she said before shifting her attention back to Andrew.

"There. You have your answer. You should understand soon that my world has stopped revolving around you, Andrew Lloyd," Elara said, her eyes screaming defiance.

She dug her left hand into her pocket, pulled out her python lighter, which she rarely used, and lit it, bringing it right under her right elbow, where Andrew’s tight grip was.

"Fuck!" Andrew hissed when the flame almost burnt his hand.

"Andrew!" Beatrice and Carla quickly stepped forward to check up on him, while Antonio, who was maintaining a healthy distance to stay away but intervene if things went out of hand, almost rolled over in laughter at her tactics.

"This will remind you not to touch me next time. I tried words last time, but they didn’t work." Elara shrugged as if she didn’t just try to burn his hand.

Andrew glared at her, too stupefied to say anything.

Elara turned to leave before stopping and looking at him.

"And yes, if you were really worried about me, the first thing you would have asked me would have been, ’How is your hand? Are you okay?’ But did you even care about that? Taking your fake secretary to the hospital, yet not even checking up on your wife, and then you say, ’nothing is going on.’ Yeah, bitch. I was blind," Elara scoffed before flipping him off, leaving the trio speechless as she left.