The Canary's Final Act

Two years into building a life with Sarah, she died aboard Julian Vance's private yacht. The official report called it a tragic accident—a simple slip and fall into the dark sea. I knew better. Julian had tried to force himself on her. When she fought back, he tossed her to his hulking bodyguards to teach her a lesson. "Enjoy yourselves tonight. She’s all yours." Three years later, I became Julian’s most cherished caged bird. Docile. Quiet. Needing nothing, demanding nothing. Stroking my hair, he would tell me in that lazy, careless drawl of his, "Be a good girl, and I'll give you the world." What if I want your life, Julian? Will you give me that too? Billionaire Heir Julian Vance Spotted Leaving Luxury Hotel with A-List Actress! Lounging on the sofa in the penthouse he bought me, I watched the trending headline for a beat, then locked the screen. "Jealous?" Julian came over and sat beside me, his voice indifferent. I leaned my head gently against his shoulder, letting my tone go soft and sweet. "Maybe a little. But you drove all the way to my film set just to pick me up today, so... I’m over it." Pleased with my compliance, he cupped my cheek. "Good girl, Chloe." That night, as I lay in bed pretending to choke back muffled sobs, Julian walked out of the ensuite bathroom. "What’s wrong?" Without a word, I threw myself into his arms, clinging desperately to his waist. My tears fell fast and hard. "I know I’m not high-society. I know I can't compare to women like her." I squeezed my eyes shut, drawing ragged breaths, letting my voice shake with broken despair. "Just... don't leave me, Julian. Please." "I'll be good. I'll do whatever you want." "Just don't throw me away." Scalding tears soaked through his silk shirt until a flicker of pity finally softened his posture. His warm palm swept down my spine, patting me soothingly. "I'm not going anywhere." Julian hooked a finger under my chin, lifting my tear-streaked face. Something dark flickered in his eyes. Then his mouth crashed down on mine, rough and demanding. Afterward, he held me against his bare chest, tossing out a reward like bone to a dog: "Such a good girl. Director Shaw is casting the female lead for his next blockbuster. Go audition next week." I wound my arms around his neck. "Thank you, Julian." To anyone watching, it looked like sheer, unadulterated devotion. I was an actress, after all. Wearing a look of total adoration was just part of the job. When I woke the next morning, the space beside me was already cold. Julian had left. I sat up. The duvet slid down, revealing the bruises and red marks covering my skin. I marched straight to the bathroom and scrubbed myself raw in the tub. Sickening. Absolutely repulsive. Every single mark he left made my skin crawl. Every second in his orbit reeked of greed, rot, and hollow excess. Just thinking about it made me want to gag. Yet, I had to kiss him. I had to sleep with him. I had to play the doting, adoring pet, feeding his ego until he believed, without a shadow of a doubt, that I worshipped the ground he walked on. Closing my eyes against the pain, a choked whisper slipped from my throat. "Sarah... I miss you so much." "I'm going to make him pay. If the law won't touch him, I’ll take matters into my own hands." "And when it’s over, I’ll come find you." I was an orphan. No parents, no family, raised in a broken foster care system. Never enough food, never enough warm clothes. One harsh winter, I didn't even have a decent coat, and the frostbite nearly ruined my ears. I didn't understand back then, but growing up, I learned the shelter director had been pocketing every dime of government aid.One freezing afternoon, starved and desperate, I slipped out to scavenge for food. Following the scent of fried grease, I stopped outside a diner. The smell of roasted chicken was intoxicating; my mouth watered uncontrollably. The owner caught me staring, realized I didn't have a cent, and came out to chase me away. Head hung low, stomach growling, I backed up blindly. And bumped right into a girl. Sarah. Bathed in the afternoon sunlight, she smiled down at me and ruffled my messy hair. "Hungry, little stray?" She bought me a warm meal. Then she took me home and said, "Chloe, from now on, we look out for each other." "Pinky promise. Forever and always." One year passed, then two. I thought our little pocket of happiness would last forever. Then came the police report. Sarah Miller, drowned after a fall. That night, the nightmares returned. I dreamed of Sarah again. In the dream, her estranged father had discovered where we lived. Pointing an angry finger at her face, he bellowed, "Ungrateful bitch! You won't support your own flesh and blood, but you'll take in a stray rat?!" He grabbed a wooden chair and swung it straight at her. Sarah took the blow, weeping, curling inward. "Dad, please, just stop gambling! We can make an honest living, please—" I lunged forward to shield her, but he shoved me so hard my head slammed against the wall, everything plunging into blackness. Before I lost consciousness, his bitter cursing echoed above me. "Stupid women. Narrow-minded losers. If I don't gamble, what do you expect me to do? Bust tables like a pathetic waitress?!" He rummaged through her drawers, pocketing every single bill she had managed to save. "Damn it, that's all there is?!" I never understood why she kept giving him money, why she kept supporting him when he treated her like garbage. Sarah had just wiped her tears and offered me a fragile, bittersweet smile. "He wasn't always like this, Chloe. When I was little, he used to carry me on his shoulders. He bought me pretty dresses and dolls." "No matter what he becomes, he’s still my dad." A sharp pang of jealousy had hit me then. Looking down, too afraid to meet her eyes, I whispered, "Will I always be your sister?" "Of course. Chloe, you will always be my little sister." Two months later, Sarah told me she’d landed a lucrative gig—waitstaff on a billionaire's luxury yacht, making hundreds of dollars a day. She said the money would pay for my college tuition. When she came back, she was zipped inside a black body bag. The authorities told me, "Sarah was trying to get attention and accidentally fell overboard. The currents were strong; it took hours to recover her." They added that, out of the goodness of his heart, the yacht's owner was offering me a fifteen-thousand-dollar settlement. My senses shut down. The world went dead silent as I stared at her corpse. Her face was chalk-white; her clothes and body torn, bruised, and filthy. "Sarah..." She didn't slip. She took that job to put me through school—she would never try to "show off" or cause a scene. The yacht owner had tried to force himself on her. When she refused, he turned her over to his security crew to be brutalized all night long. Only then did she jump. "Enjoy yourselves tonight. She’s all yours."From start to finish, the entire murder was swept under the rug by a high-priced corporate lawyer. The man who owned the yacht never once showed his face. Rumor had it he was already busy chasing another Hollywood starlet. It took me months to uncover his name. —Julian Vance. The untouchable heir to the Vance corporate empire. His latest flame was Victoria Ward, an heiress in her own right who treated acting like an expensive hobby, only to fall head-over-heels for a notorious player like Julian. A spoiled socialite used to being worshipped, Victoria couldn't stomach the existence of a kept woman like me. So the very next afternoon, she showed up on set, clinging to Julian’s arm. I was scheduled to shoot a scene where my character falls into a lake, and I was going over the choreography with my stunt double. Victoria drifted over like a puffed-up peacock, listening for a second before letting out a sharp scoff. "I heard you won Best Actress last month. Tell me, did your stunt double do all the heavy lifting for that, too?" I lowered my head, keeping my voice soft and timid. "Miss Ward, it’s... not a good time of the month for me to be in cold water, but I promise I’m taking my role seriously..." As I spoke, I peeked anxiously at Julian through my lashes. Actors using doubles for dangerous stunts was standard practice. She was picking a fight, plain and simple. The Vance Group was the lead financier of the film, so the director immediately sidled up to Julian, sweating nervously. "Mr. Vance, what do you think...?" Julian patted Victoria’s hand affectionately, his tone chillingly casual. "Using a double does make a mockery of that Best Actress title. Chloe, do the stunt yourself. Keep shooting until it’s right." Their families had massive business ties. Julian knew exactly which side his bread was buttered on. Everyone on set knew it. Including me. In the biting chill of late autumn, I threw myself into the freezing lake over and over again. I had to thrash in the water, screaming for help until my lungs burned. The icy water soaked through my thin costume, chilling me right down to the bone. My lips turned blue, my limbs grew numb, and it felt like the blood in my veins had frozen solid. Only after the fifth take did she finally deem it worthy of mercy. "Now that looks authentic." Dripping wet and shivering violently, I dragged myself out of the lake. I bowed my head humbly. "I'm glad it met your standards, Miss Ward." Standing straight again, water dripped from my hair and clung to my eyelashes, highlighting the ghostly pallor of my face. I looked utterly broken, fragile beyond belief. I saw Julian watching me, his throat working as he swallowed hard. My assistant, Mia, rushed over with a thick wool blanket. But as she went to wrap it around my shoulders, she let out a piercing scream: "Blood! Chloe, there's blood running down your legs!" I looked down. Crimson stains were blooming rapidly across the hem of my pale dress. The plan was running perfectly on schedule. With the tension snapping, the adrenaline faded, and a sharp, tearing agony tore through my lower abdomen straight into my skull. Black spots crowded my vision. Right before the world went dark, I saw Julian’s mask slip, his face twisting in genuine panic as he lunged toward me.