Chapter 14 – Breakthrough

She gasped for air like a fish out of water. Every breath felt like she had swallowed sandpaper. Her throat burned like fire, no, worse, as if someone had pushed a red-hot poker through it and twisted it a few times just to make sure there was enough damage.

A production assistant, young, maybe twenty, wearing a “THROAT ME CREW” T-shirt, rushed over with a towel. Chloe took it gratefully, wiped her face with it, but her hands were shaking so much she almost dropped it.

The training had helped, yes. She had done it, hadn’t panicked, hadn’t thrown up.

But only just barely.

Then something strange happened.

Trevor, the man who had just treated her like a piece of meat for half an hour, who had called her a “worthless fuck hole” just now, this Trevor disappeared. Just like that. As if someone had flipped a switch.

The cold, hard mask disappeared from his face, his narrowed eyes softened, all his dominance vanished, and suddenly there was a completely different person standing in front of her.

“Are you okay?” Even his voice was completely different. Warm and concerned, with genuine sympathy. He grabbed a water bottle from one of the PAs and handed it to her. “Here, drink this, but slowly.”

Chloe struggled to sit up and reached for the bottle. Her hands were shaking slightly, which annoyed her. The water was wonderfully cold, but even swallowing water hurt. Every gulp felt like a little torture, but a necessary one, because she was thirsty as hell.

She nodded to him anyway but couldn’t get a word out. Her vocal cords felt like they were torn to shreds.

“I’m sorry if I was too hard on you,” Trevor said, scratching his neck awkwardly. It was such a normal, human gesture that Chloe almost had to laugh. Almost. “I know it can be really rough, especially when you don’t have much experience.”

She shook her head, forcing out a whisper with enormous effort: “I knew what I was getting into.”

The words scratched like shards of glass in her throat, barely more than a hoarse whisper.

Trevor laughed softly, relieved. A pause. “Off camera, I’m really not like that, I promise.”

While they talked, the sound engineer packed up his equipment, calmly rolled up his cables, and the cameraman checked the footage on his monitor, nodding contentedly.

Another PA, a woman this time, in her mid-thirties, appeared with a bathrobe, which she held out to help her in. “The showers are this way, honey.”

Trevor took a step back, giving her space. “Take your time. You did great.”

There was genuine respect in his voice. No mockery, no condescension. Just sincere appreciation.

Chloe nodded, stood up carefully because her legs felt like jelly, and then followed the PA. She felt the aftermath of the last half hour with every step. Her knees ached from the hard floor, her scalp burned from her hair being pulled, and her throat… well, she didn’t even want to think about her throat.

But as she walked down the corridor, she couldn’t stop thinking about Samantha. The complaints Samantha had made about Trevor, were they about the on-camera Trevor? Or was there more to it than that? Had he not drawn such clear boundaries with her?

I need to find out more.

“This way,” said the PA, pointing to a door. “Take your time. Towels and soap are inside. When you’re done, just go to the production office, they’re waiting for you there.”

“Thanks,” Chloe croaked, even though the word was barely audible.

That’s it. I’m in the shower. I survived.

But as she turned to the mirror and flinched briefly at the sight of her battered face, the smeared mascara, all the jizz, the reddened eyes, and the swollen lips, she knew she would feel this for days to come.

~

Chloe came out of the changing room, her hair still damp from the shower, wearing comfortable sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt. Her throat still burned, but she’d be fine.

Trevor was standing at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall and scrolling through his phone. He had also changed, wore jeans and black T-shirt, his hair still wet and slicked back now. He looked like a normal guy you might meet in a coffee shop, not someone who had just throat-fucked her for half an hour.

He looked up. “Hey, are you feeling better?”

She nodded, her voice still hoarse: “Yeah. Thanks again for the water.”

“No problem.” He put his phone away. “Do you still have to go to the production office?”

“Yeah, paperwork and stuff.”

“I’m heading that way too.” He pushed himself away from the wall. “Gotta discuss something with Marc.”

Now or never.

“Can I ask you something?”

Trevor glanced at her. “Sure.”

She chose her words carefully, making her voice sound curious, not accusatory. “I read a little bit online before the shoot. About your reputation and stuff.”

His jaw tensed slightly, but he said nothing.

“There were even a few complaints from performers…” She paused, as if trying to remember. “I think Samantha Sparkles was one of them? She said you made her uncomfortable. I was a little nervous about the shoot because of that.”

Another pause. He didn’t interrupt her, and she watched his face out of the corner of her eye.

“But you seem… pretty okay?”

Trevor stopped walking. A technician squeezed past them with a camera case and muttered, “Excuse me.” Trevor waited until he was out of earshot, then turned to her. His posture was defensive, not aggressive. He sighed and ran his hand through his still-damp hair.

“Yeah.” Another sigh. “Yeah, I have that reputation. I’m not exactly happy about it.”

He seemed sincere. The frustration in his voice sounded genuine.

“Look, I get it.” He gestured back toward the set. “My on-set persona is pretty intense. Aggressive, even. But it’s a show. I do it because it sells. Just like some of you girls fake orgasms.”

A faint grin flitted across his face, but Chloe didn’t react to that, waiting for him to say more.

“But that complaint from Samantha, we actually cleared that up. It was a misunderstanding.”

Keep talking.

“What happened?”

The curiosity in her voice was genuine. She really wanted to know.

Trevor leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.

“We filmed together a few times. It was always totally professional between us, you know? No problems. But I went pretty hard on her in one scene.” He looked awkward. “I thought she was okay with it because she didn’t stop me, didn’t give me the signal, I mean, you know.”

He shook his head.

“Turns out she wasn’t okay with it. She felt pressured to go through with it.”

“Oh.”

“We talked about it afterward. I apologized. She understood that I wasn’t trying to push her beyond her limits. I just misjudged the situation.”

Mai, the makeup artist, came out of one of the rooms with her bag slung over her shoulder. She nodded to them as she passed. “Bye, Trevor. Bye, Chloe.”

“See you, Mai,” Trevor called after her, then turned back to Chloe.

“The thing is…” He hesitated, as if considering how much to reveal. “Sam wasn’t in the best state at the time. She was going through something.”

Here we go.

“What do you mean?”

“She wanted out of the industry. Or at least to change direction.” He shifted his weight. “But Valeria Cruz was pressuring her hard for an exclusive contract.”

That name again.

“Sam kept saying no, and Valeria doesn’t know the meaning of that word.” He lowered his voice. “But please don’t tell anyone I said that about her.”

Chloe kept her tone casual. “That sounds like a lot of pressure.”

“Yeah. The last few times we worked together, Sam seemed… kind of stressed.” The memory seemed to really bother him. “Like she was mentally somewhere else, you know?”

She nodded, silently encouraging him to continue. A PA hurried past them with a stack of release forms.

“I felt sorry for her and tried to be more relaxed on set, but the directors…” He shrugged. “You saw how it is.”

“We actually got along pretty well. After we cleared up the misunderstanding.” A small, sad smile. “I think she just wanted more than this.”

He made a vague gesture that seemed to encompass the entire studio, the entire industry.

“Did Samantha ever say what she wanted to do instead?”

Trevor thought about it, scratching his chin. “Not specifically. Just… something else. She once mentioned something about being behind the camera. Maybe directing or something. But I think it was more of a dream. She died not long after, I think. It’s really sad when someone so talented dies so young…”

He broke off and just shook his head. Chloe felt a twinge in her heart, but she kept her face neutral.

He sounds sincere and the story is coherent. Of course, it could all be complete bullshit, but it doesn’t feel that way. I’ll have to verify this later somehow, I can’t just take his word for it.

However, Valeria’s pressure on Samantha was now confirmed by another source.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to reopen old wounds. Thanks for telling me,” she said. “And thanks for being cool about the question.”

“No problem.” Trevor straightened himself and looked her straight in the eye. “Look, I know about my reputation. But I try to be decent to the people I work with.” He seemed sincere. “That’s important to me.”

She nodded. “I can tell.”

They approached the exit, and Chloe suddenly realized something.

I need to be able to contact him again. In case I need to follow up.

But how? She couldn’t just say, “Hey, give me your number in case I need to contact you for my secret murder investigation, and please don’t leave town.”

What am I supposed to say? “Can you give me your number for industry questions?” No, that sounds too transparent. “In case I need advice?” Too needy. “For future shoots?” But what would I have to discuss with him? I can’t exactly go over the script with him. “What do you think, should I better say ‘Urghg’ or ‘Glug-glug-glug’ at this point?

She was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she almost walked into a camera tripod that had been left standing there. Trevor reflexively grabbed her elbow.

“Careful.”

“Sorry, I…” she croaked, shaking her head. “I’m still a little shaky.”

He let go of her arm but then hesitated and uncertainly pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

“Listen,” he began, scratching his neck awkwardly. “I don’t want to be pushy or anything, and absolutely no pressure, but… would you like to exchange numbers?”

Chloe blinked. “What?”

An embarrassed smile flitted across his face. “You know, in case you ever want to talk about the industry again. Or… whatever. It can be pretty lonely I imagine, especially when you’re new to the business.”

Oh.

Oh, you idiot, Chloe.

Of course. She was an attractive eighteen-year-old girl who had asked him interested questions. Who had actually listened to him instead of just nodding and waiting for her money. Who hadn’t run away after he explained that his brutality was just an act.

Jesus, I’m so deep in investigator mode that I’m overlooking the most obvious things.

It definitely made her job easier.

“Oh! Yes, sure, gladly.” She rattled off her number, watching him type it in. He hesitated briefly at “Name,” then typed: “Chloe🎬”

The little movie emoji almost made her laugh.

That’s actually cute.

He pressed Save, sent her a quick message, and put the phone back in his pocket when it made a short “ping” in her bag. “Cool.”

Marc Weston’s voice could be heard in the distance: “Trevor! Where the hell are you?”

Trevor rolled his eyes. “The boss is calling. It was nice talking to you, Chloe. And you were a real trooper today!”

“Thanks, Trevor.”

He nodded and turned toward the exit. Then he turned around again. “Oh, and… maybe have some tea with honey tonight. It helps your throat.”

Before she could reply, he had already disappeared through the door to Marc Weston’s office. A soft snort escaped her. Then she walked two doors down to the production office.

The door was open. Inside, a bored-looking woman in her forties sat behind a desk piled high with papers, her fingers flying over a calculator.

“Chloe Heart?” The woman barely looked up.

“Yes.”

“One moment.” She opened a drawer, pulled out a thick envelope, and counted out bills. “One thousand two hundred dollars. That’s your payment minus your agent’s cut, which goes to him separately.”

Chloe watched as the woman sorted the bills into neat stacks, counting each one twice before sliding them across the table.

“Feel free to count it if you want.”

Chloe took the money and weighed it in her hands. One thousand two hundred dollars. More than she had earned all last summer in Oak Springs with two summer jobs. And all she had to do was kneel on a studio floor for half an hour and let someone do whatever the director wanted.

That’s so crazy.

She stuffed the money into her gym bag, acknowledged receipt, then muttered a hoarse “thank you” and left the office.

The Valley City heat made her gasp softly as she left the air-conditioned warehouse and made her way to the bus. Finally on her way home.

~

The door closed behind her, she let the gym bag slip from her shoulder and dragged herself into the bathroom, where she turned on the bright light.

She undressed, simply dropping her clothes on the bathroom floor. The mirror showed her the toll of the day. Red marks on her neck where Trevor’s hands had been, more marks on her chest. Her scalp still throbbed from the hair pulling.

But the worst part, of course, was her throat, even though it wasn’t visible in the mirror. When she tried to speak, still only a hoarse croak came out.

“Shit,” she wanted to say, but it sounded more like the sound of a dying toad.

She turned on the shower and stood under it. Her fingers gently massaged her scalp as she washed her hair. Even this gentle touch hurt.

She leaned against the tiled wall and let the lukewarm water run down her back for minutes. Exhaustion seeped deep into her bones, a kind of fatigue she had never felt before. Not the normal tiredness after a long day or a hard workout, not even after an hour of running. This was different. As if someone had wrung her out like a wet rag.

After what felt like an eternity, she turned off the water, carefully rubbed herself dry with her towel, put on something comfortable, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Okay. Taking stock.

She had expected to feel… broken? Ashamed? Like a victim?

And sure, she was damn exhausted, but it wasn’t like that. Instead, she felt something else. Something harder. The thought came unexpectedly, but with astonishing clarity.

I survived. And if I can survive that…

A strangely warm feeling spread through her chest. Not exactly pride, the whole thing was too fucked up for that. But a kind of grim satisfaction. A feeling of affirmation.

If I can do this, I can do anything.

She had tested herself, pushed herself to a limit she didn’t even know existed. And she hadn’t broken. This mission she had sent herself on wasn’t going to destroy her.

Her loudly growling stomach brought her back to reality, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything since last night. But the thought of solid food… no. Impossible. Even water hurt when she swallowed.

Ice cream. Ice cream would be a dream right now.

And when else would she have the opportunity to say without guilt that ice cream was simply the most practical meal? But it was indeed perfect. Cold for her throat, calories for energy, and she didn’t have to chew.

She grabbed her keys and a few crumpled dollar bills from her bag. The corner store was only two blocks away, but even that short distance felt like a marathon.

The old Korean man behind the counter smiled at her kindly. “Hello, how are you?”

Chloe just nodded, unable to respond. Her voice was still shot.

When she reached the freezer, she stared at the selection. She grabbed the largest cup of vanilla she could find. No fancy flavors, nothing that might irritate her throat even more. She added a pack of spoons from the plastic cutlery shelf.

At the checkout, the old man counted out her change. “Everything okay? You look, hmm… tired.”

Probably worried about the red hand marks on her neck. She forced a smile and nodded again. He looked at her with concern for a moment, but then said nothing more.

Outside, she tore off the lid and started eating as she walked home. It was the first time in three hours that something had gone down her throat without hurting. She groaned with pleasure and relief as the pain subsided.

A homeless man sitting in a doorway called out to her: “Hey, sweetie, wanna share?”

Normally, she would have just kept walking, but…

Fuck it.

She handed him a ten-dollar bill. “Buy your own.”

“God bless you, sister.”

Back in her apartment, she sat down on the bed with her laptop, the ice cream between her knees. She opened her investigation document and started typing with one hand while continuing to spoon with the other.

FILE EDIT VIEW INSERT FORMAT TOOLS HELP

Trevor Knight: on-cam persona vs. real person. Like a complete transformation after the cut. Confirms conflicts between Sam and him, but claims it was all a misunderstanding. Says Sam wanted out of the industry. IMPORTANT: Confirms Valeria Cruz pressure (due to exclusive contract). Seems sincere, but I can’t verify it (yet). Got number for follow-up.

She spooned more ice cream into her mouth, feeling it soothe her throat. Almost half of it was already gone.

Valeria Cruz shows up again. With Elena, with Trevor. Is it a coincidence because she just has her fingers in everything, or is it already a pattern?

She scrolled to her older notes and reread what she had collected about Valeria. “CEO of Dirty Dreams Productions. Known for her ruthless methods. Doesn’t take rejection well.”

It was a pattern for sure. But it was still too vague, there were still too many missing pieces. But she could get them, piece by piece.

Her phone was next to her on the bed. She picked it up, opened her messages, and selected Elena’s contact. She typed:

Elena Rodriguez online

Hey! Still thinking about what you said at the party. Coffee sometime?

18:53 PM

She read it again. It was casual enough, not too pushy or desperate. She pressed send.

The little “Delivered” check mark appeared. She stared at the screen, waiting briefly for the two check marks that would show that Elena had read it.

Nothing.

A minute passed. Two. Five.

Don’t drive yourself crazy, Chloe. She’ll reply. Or not. I’ll know later.

She put her phone aside and turned her attention back to the ice cream. The cup was almost empty and her throat felt marginally better. And she wasn’t so hungry anymore.

Soon after she closed her laptop and placed the empty ice cream cup on the wobbly nightstand. The clock read 7 p.m. Much too early to sleep, but her body had other plans.

She crawled under the thin blanket without brushing her teeth or doing anything else. Her whole body ached.

But she was also one thousand two hundred dollars richer. And she had gotten information.

Always keep an eye on progress and never let your goal out of sight, Chloe.

Sleep came surprisingly quickly.