Award-winning actress got canceled

The Frosts' family name glittered like the icy diamonds they were known for, and Selena embodied it all. 

She ascended the stage at the Frost Theater, her sheer golden gown shimmering under the spotlights, hugging her figure in all the right ways. Her cascading, dark hair framed a face so delicate and radiant, it made every pair of eyes in the room linger.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the presenter announced, voice charged with admiration, "the award for Best Actress goes to...Selena Frost!"

Selena Frost, the reigning princess of the big screen, had just been announced as the Actress of the Year, and the audience was on its feet, cheering wildly as she ascended the stage.

Selena’s beauty was a spell, and it worked on everyone. Men craned their necks for a better view as she glided up the stairs, their gazes pausing too long on the gentle sway of her hips or the confidence in her stride. Even women, some with envy and others with genuine admiration, couldn’t help but acknowledge her star power.

Among the crowd, men whispered about her ethereal beauty. "She's more goddess than human," one murmured to another. 

One man, however, didn’t join the chorus of admiration.

Selena reached the microphone, her smile soft yet radiant.

"This award," she began, her voice a melody that silenced the crowd, "isn’t just for me. It’s for everyone who believed in me when no one else did. My team, my father—Harrison Frost—and most importantly, my fans. You’ve been my guiding light, my inspiration. This is for you."

Julian Mathers, the enigmatic billionaire seated in the shadows, watched her with a dark stare. 

His tailored black suit fit him like a second skin, the sharp lines of his jaw emphasizing his undeniable handsomeness. His presence commanded attention without effort, exuding power so effortlessly that people whispered about his influence and control. But while others ogled Selena like a jewel, Julian’s expression remained unreadable.

Julian’s eyes stayed locked on Selena and a faint smirk played at the corners of his lips.

—------

The joy of the night was fleeting.

Because the next morning, Selena woke to chaos.

Her phone buzzed incessantly with calls, texts, and notifications. Headlines screamed accusations in bold letters:

"Actress of the Year Arrested for DUI!"

 "Selena Frost’s Fatal Crash from six years ago!"

"#CancelSelena Trends Worldwide!"

“Celebrity S Arrested for DUI!”

“The Fall of a Frost Princess.”

“Selena Frost: Talent, Beauty, and a Criminal Record?”

Selena sat frozen on her bed, her fingers trembling as she scrolled through the news. Paparazzi photos of her leaving the after-party filled the internet, her eyes slightly red and her steps wobbly. Someone had captured a blurry image of her getting into a car—her car—and now the world believed she’d driven under the influence and caused a fatal accident.

Her heart pounded as she read the comments beneath the articles.

"Never meet your heroes. Selena Frost is a monster."

"She deserves to rot in jail. No one’s above the law."

“So much for her sweet ‘princess’ image. Fake from the start!"

She didn’t remember driving that night, let alone causing an accident. But the evidence—photos, videos, even a damning audio recording of her allegedly slurring her words—seemed irrefutable.

Worse, the betrayal cut deep. Fans she thought would defend her turned on her. 

"How fake can she be? Just yesterday she was playing innocent."

"Selena Frost, another spoiled brat who thinks she’s above the law!"

Even Ann Darrow, a fellow actress and once a trusted friend, went on a talk show to condemn her.

"I’ve known Selena for years," Ann said, her tone dripping with faux concern. "I never imagined she’d do something so reckless. My heart goes out to the victims’ families."

Selena clenched her fists, fury mingling with despair. Ann was lying. They hadn’t spoken in months.

The police came for her hours later.

Selena sat in a cold, sterile interrogation room, her silver cuffs glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights. She wore no makeup, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Across from her, a detective loomed, his eyes sharp and unforgiving.

"You want to explain how your car ended up at the scene of the crash?" he asked.

"I wasn’t driving that night..or maybe I was..I don't know. It was six years ago but I'm sure I didn't kill anybody. This is all false," Selena let out, her voice firm despite her trembling hands. "I didn’t—"

"The evidence says otherwise," he interrupted. "Witnesses saw you getting behind the wheel. And this recording—" 

He hit play on his phone.

Selena’s blood ran cold as her own voice—slurred and hazy—came through the speaker. "I’ll be fine...I’m not even that drunk."

Her breath hitched. "That’s not me! Someone’s framing me!"

The detective’s lips curled into a skeptical smile. "Framing you? You’re telling me that someone went through the trouble of faking all of this? The photos, the video, the audio?"

"Yes!" Selena insisted, her voice breaking. "I don’t know how, but—"

The door opened, and the officer on duty walked in. "Bail denied."

Selena’s heart sank. She was stuck.

Meanwhile, her father, Harrison Frost, was in a state of rage.

In his sprawling mansion, he paced the floor, yelling into his phone. "What do you mean you can’t get her out?"

"Mr. Frost," his head attorney replied, his voice strained, "the evidence against Selena is overwhelming. The judge won’t budge."

"It’s all fabricated!" Harrison bellowed. "Someone’s behind this, and I want to know who."

"That’s the thing, sir," the lawyer said hesitantly. "Whoever’s behind this...they’re powerful. More powerful than we anticipated."

Harrison froze. For the first time, he felt powerless.

As if to taunt him further, his phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number. Harrison answered, his tone sharp. "Who is this?"

The voice on the other end was smooth, almost amused. "Mr. Frost. I hear you’re in quite the predicament."

"Who are you?" Harrison snapped.

"Someone who can help your daughter. But my help comes at a price."

"Listen here—"

"Calm down, Mr. Frost. This is a business proposition. Meet me, and we’ll talk."

Before Harrison could respond, the line went dead.

Across the city, in a sleek, glass-paneled office, Julian Mathers set down his phone. His smirk deepened as he swiveled his chair to face the twinkling skyline. 

"Selena Frost," he murmured to himself, his grey eyes glinting with intrigue. "Let’s see how far Daddy’s willing to go."

His aide entered, a folder in hand. "Sir, the smear campaign is going according to plan. Public sentiment is overwhelmingly negative. #CancelSelena is still trending."

Julian waved a hand dismissively. "That’s the easy part. Now comes the fun."

The aide hesitated. "If I may ask, sir...why her? There are other ways to go after Frost Industries."

Julian leaned back, steepling his fingers. "This isn’t just about Frost Industries. Selena...she’s special. And sometimes, you have to break something beautiful to truly own it."

The aide swallowed hard but said nothing.

As the city buzzed with outrage and controversy, Julian Wright stood poised, a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

And Selena Frost, unaware of the depths of the trap laid for her, was about to learn just how dangerous the game had become.