Fractured Soul

The city lights stretched out before Scarlet, a sparkling sea of gold and white, endless and indifferent. The wind whipped through her hair, tugging at the edges of her dark thoughts. It was late—hours past midnight—but the glow of Bayhaven Heights never dimmed, always alive, a city that never slept. 

But tonight, as Scarlet stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the chasm below, she felt more isolated than ever.

Her feet were barely a footstep away from the edge, where the earth met the abyss. 

She could see it all—the jagged rocks below, the infinite drop that seemed to echo her very existence. 

She was a woman suspended between two worlds, neither of which wanted her.

A past of flashing lights and adoration, it felt almost like another life.

And the future?

It had no room for someone like her; it had no room for a forsaken and betrayed soul.

She breathed in deeply, the cold, crisp night air filled with saltwater from afar, the murmur of the city muted by so much open area.

She could barely hear the hum of the highway below. 

Everything seemed so far away. 

So distant. 

So detached from what remained of her life.

Her fingers gripped the cold metal railing, the only thing keeping her from the fall that had been creeping into her thoughts for days, if not weeks. The ledge of the cliff had become a cruel metaphor for her existence. 

This was where it had all brought her—standing on the edge of nothingness, contemplating the end.

Her eyes remained fixed on the lights below as her mind began to unravel. 

She could still hear the voices, the cruel, harsh words echoing in her ears, louder than the wind. 

The past had a way of coming back at moments like these, each memory a ghost rising from the shadows to torment her.

“You’re a disgrace to this family, Scarlet.”

The words of her father, Richard Sinclair, rang in her ears as if he were standing beside her now, his cold eyes piercing her very soul. 

Desperate for support, that day she had confronted him—fot someone, anybody—to help her through the storm which was beginning to engulf her.

She had hoped that he would be there for her now, when she was at her most vulnerable.

But instead, she was met with something far worse than indifference.

His face had been stone, unmoving, unfeeling. 

He had barely looked at her as he spoke. 

The sharpness in his voice made her knees weak.

“You’ve embarrassed us. You’ve ruined everything. No one will believe you now.”

The words he spoke struck her like a knife, being the last straw.

She had pleaded, begging for help. She had dropped to her knees before him, completely uncomprehending of how the man who had raised her could be so cold, so heartless.

But to him she was just a piece of equipment, something to be thrown away once it ceased to fulfill his expectations.

Scarlet was a failure in his eyes. 

A liability. 

She was no longer the golden child, the perfect daughter to parade in front of the cameras.

“Get up. Get out of my sight.”

That was all he said before he walked away. 

How could she have been so blind, so fucking stupid, she had turned and walked out of his office, splintered into a thousand pieces. 

How could she have thought that her parents — the people who were supposed to love her no matter what — could so casually discard her? Her fingers gripped the railing tighter as another memory came rushing to her mind uninvited, but as clear as glass.

"I can't help you, Scarlet."

It was as if Max had slapped her in the face with those words. 

She had turned to him for comfort, her ex-boyfriend. 

He had been the one person, or so she had thought, who would have her back no matter what.

She had shared everything with him—her heart, fears and dreams.

But when the accusations came, he was the first to throw her under the bus.

He had stared at her coldly as he continued, the silence that came after his words were as empty as they felt.

“You’ve made your bed, Scarlet. You’re on your own now.”

She had pleaded with him to support her, to stand by her side, but Max was too busy with his own career to care. 

He had never loved her the way she had loved him. 

It was all just an illusion, a romance which had crumbled in the face of public opinion.

She shut her eyes as another flash of betrayal hit her.

Sydney's jeering laughter cut through her brain like a tolling bell-relentless, merciless. 

Her best friend, the woman she had trusted more than anyone, had turned on her the moment the cameras were rolling. 

The public humiliation, the betrayal so well documented, was still a sting Scarlet could feel.

“Did you really think I was your friend, Scarlet? You were just a stepping stone for me. Just like Max. You never meant anything.”

Those words had torn her apart, and yet, they were the truth. 

Sydney had always been about herself—her fame, her image, her place in the world. To her, Scarlet had been nothing more than a pawn to climb higher. 

And once Scarlet had fallen, Sydney had stepped on her without hesitation.

The pain in Scarlet’s chest deepened, and her knees buckled as she leaned against the railing, her hands shaking. 

She had trusted the wrong people. She had believed in them, in their words, in their promises. But now they are all gone. 

All of them had abandoned her, and she was left here—alone. 

Alone at the edge of it all.

And then there was Matthew Fletcher. Her manager. 

The man who had first uplifted and then destroyed her with one, well-placed act of betrayal. He framed her, ran circles around her and left her to fend for herself.

He was the one who ruined her, the ghost who had faded into the background without a backward glance.

“It’s not personal, Scarlet. Just business.”

Business.

It was always business.

But for her, it was personal. Everything they said, everything they did — every treachery — had been personal. She had given them everything: her trust, her heart, her career — and now they had taken it all away.

She shut her eyes, too much of the memory flooding back to her, too heavy to carry.

Everything had suddenly been snatched away from her—everything she had come to love and treasure—and it hurt her, burned her chest.

She couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t think.

Maybe this is the only way out. 

The thought crossed her mind like a cold whisper. 

She had nothing left to live for. 

No friends, no family, no career. 

The world had forsaken her.

Only the abyss lay before her, waiting to engulf her.

As she opened her eyes for the second time, her heart raced around and around in her chest and the lights front the city below spun around her in a whirl.

The dizzying height taunted her, the gulf between where she stood and where she wanted to be — far, far away from it all — widening with every tick of the clock.

She closed her eyes again and took one last breath.

Then the silence was shattered by a deep, commanding voice.

“Is this your final decision? Your last option?”

The voice was spry, sharp as a knife in the dark.

It came from the shadows.

She turned in the direction of the voice, but the darkness hid its owner, and the words lingered in the air like an invitation or a warning.