CHAPTER 2

You got this. Take a deep breath. Charlie attempts to calm herself down waiting in the wings of Vox's set. Her new boss, and a live audience waits just beyond the curtains. Expecting her.

She had gotten used to acting and filming in front of other people, but for some reason, a live audience feels different.

Vox says a clever and dashing line, the audience roars in laughter. She knows her cue, it's all just a matter of time.

"...but anyway folks…there's someone very special I'd like to introduce to you too. I gotta tell ya, ladies and gentlemen, Hell hasn't seen a star rise quite as high and fast as this young lady! Everyone give it up, for none other than Princess Charlie Morningstar!"

Putting on a charming smile, Charlie walks out on set. It seems way bigger in person. Vox beams at her with one of the fakest sneers she's ever seen. The audience roars, claps and cheers.

She feels like throwing up.

Don't forget once you're out there Charlie, dear, Vox reminded her last night. The audience doesn't know what they don't need to. Just follow my lead.

"Thank you for joining us, Princess! Aren't we glad to have you on the show!"

"It's truly an honor, Vox. I'm so excited to be here!" she gushes, her face red from the rush of thrill and excitement. She had never been on live-broadcasted shows or had ever interacted with such a renowned TV personality on camera. "I have to tell you, I'm a huge fan."

"Well, thank you! Thank you very much!"

"Growing up, I used to watch your show after I had finished homeschooling or filming for the day. You were always such a landmark of how successful I dreamed of being one day."

He glances out at the huge crowd of an audience, giving them a phony smile.

"Aww, isn't that just so sweet…but enough about me! We're here to talk about you, my dear!"

"Oh, of course."

"Now the audience is dying to know, how did you get started in this industry?"

The difference is remarkable when interacting with Vox on camera compared to off. It's as if their personal connection had been turned off like the flip of a switch. He isn't her friend and mentor right now. He's just a ridiculously famous celebrity doing an interview with her. A charity case.

"Well," she begins, "it all started before I could remember. I might have been two or three when I was in my first commercial."

"So, let me get this straight, you've been acting since you were able to talk? Your parents sure didn't waste any time exploiting you!"

Ouch.

The audience laughs at this, and Vox chuckles with them, flashing a shiny grin.

Charlie doesn't know how to reply, so she offers a weak smile.

"And how was that? Growing up as a child actor…?"

She freezes, the question triggering a fear response. Luckily, she's good at what she does, and paints on a cheerful face.

"Oh, you know… great! I think everyone's life has ups and downs. But I'm still here, aren't I?" She laughs awkwardly. Silence.

Vox gives her an odd look for a second, "Well I certainly hope this experience can be an up for you," then forces his most perfected television-host laugh.

The audience joins him faithfully.

They wait to see how he wants them to react. She's fascinated and terrified at the same time.

"So, I hear you're going to be starring in a couple of new movies, hm," he's already moving onto the next thing, "would you like to tell us a little bit about those?"

She tries to ignore how nauseous she feels.

"Okay…well there's a romance film I'm shooting. It's based off of a popular book called Virgin, a lot of people might already know it. It should be released within the next six months," she explains, trying not to trip over her words.

He glances at the crowd to make sure they give her a round of applause.

"On the other hand, I'm shooting an action movie called Fast & Fucked Up . It's so exciting because I get to do things that I've never done before, like drive crazy-fast cars, shoot guns and scale buildings!"

Applause again.

"Wow! So you've never worked on any movies before in your entire life and then BANG ! Out of the blue, you're preparing for two at the same time!" he reminds her of what he's doing for her.

"I know, it's pretty cool, right?" She agrees, trying her best to disregard the funny feeling warping her stomach.

"Is that workload tricky to adapt to? You must be very worn out."

Is he teasing her? Of course she's worn out. He's the one who's been working her to death.

"It's been kind of rough on my sleeping schedule, but it's all about finding balance," she gives an artificial smile.

"Fantastic! I'm just delighted to hear that, Charlie." He turns to the audience to ask them directly, "Ladies and gentlemen, how does she do it?"

The audience cheers and applauds her hard work.

"We'll be right back, folks, after a short message from our sponsor."

As soon as the cameras stop rolling, feeling anxious and alone, she approaches his desk.

"So.. how did I do?" she asks him, feeling rather flushed.

"You were amazing, kid," he answers, not even looking at her, more focused on checking his phone as a woman fixes his tie. " Hey , not so tight, bitch."

"Really?" She doesn't feel convinced. "I felt like I was a little awkward up there. It's my first time doing anything like this…"

Vox puts away his phone, at last, and gives her a smug, pointy grin.

"Hey, you know what they say, it only seems kinky the first time," he laughs hysterically, gaining a couple chuckles from nearby crewmembers.

She forces a smile at his dirty innuendo.

Can't we just be real? The cameras aren't even on.

"I wanted to talk to you babes, you've been perfect so far," he reiterates, getting up and as they wander away from his fake desk together, he throws an arm over her shoulders. "We've only been on air for fifteen minutes and my phone is already blowing up with offers for you."

"That's great."

"Just keep doing what you're doing. Anyway, are you having fun so far? Do you like my set?"

"Well, that one part…when you joked about my absent father exploiting me on live television—" Charlie hesitates to bring it up. She gently tries to tug out of his grip but stops resisting immediately when he seizes her around the waist, pulling her closer.

"Oh, c'mon, Char, loosen up. Gotta create content for the audience!" he scoffs, "It was funny."

"Yeah, very funny," her sarcasm is halfhearted, scared to challenge him.

"Hey…they all love you out there. You're an instant fan favorite," he ignores her demeanor completely.

"Do you actually think that? I felt very inexperienced filming live."

"That's because you are inexperienced. And yes, what's not to love? Stop doubting me, kid, I know what I'm doing," he assures her.

"Okay."

"It was pretty clever of me to have you featured on here, huh?"

Vox's talk show is the most well known in all of hell. It has a lot of attention. Being featured on it will certainly popularize her name. She appreciates what he's doing for her, though she can't shake the discomfort.

"It was genius. I'm more than happy to be here," she gives him a weak smile.

If he sees through it, he doesn't show it.

"You know, princess, ever since I saw you on one of my networks, I had a feeling about you. You have such potential. I know you'll never fail me."

Charlie follows Angel across the rooftop bar, with a cocktail in her hand, curiously surveying the party goers.

The nighttime air is brisk and the sound of the ocean is louder than the music near the edge of the rooftop. She's mesmerized by that sound and for a moment she desperately desires to leave the party and go to it, until her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of someone getting stabbed in the parking lot.

They stop at a lonely spot against the balcony to smoke.

"Saw ya on TV the other day," Angel pulls the joint tucked behind his ear and lights it, taking a puff.

"Oh, really? How was I?"

"You looked great, spoke great…maybe a little nervous, but that's just 'cause I know you well," he shrugs, offering her a smile.

"Aww, thanks. I was a little nervous, up there, to be completely honest," she takes the joint from him.

"I'm sure. It must be a lot of pressure, talkin' to a crowd that big. Talkin' to a jerkoff that celebrated."

"He's not a jerkoff," Charlie finds herself jumping to defend Vox. "He's actually nice once you get to know him."

"How would you know?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Because I've worked with him," she answers, keeping it vague.

"Don't be so naive, Charlie. Anything nice he's said to you is probably driven by some vile, alternative motive."

"You have such a cynical view on everyone. Not everyone is evil."

"Charlie. We're in Hell. Everyone's fuckin' evil."

She drinks to this.

"Do whatever you want, I'm just sayin'," he takes a sip of his cocktail too, "I really don't wanna see you fall into the wrong crowd."

"Well, I appreciate that. I really do. But I can take care of myself, Angel. I know what I'm doing."

"Okay, if you say so," Angel responds, not looking at her, but out at the water. "Just try to steer clear of that side of the industry."

"Alright..lemme rephrase, I work for him. He's my manager."

"Manager? Oh hell, Charlie, I really fuckin' hope you didn't sign nothin'."

"I…didn't," she hesitates.

"Good. You don't understand what you're getting yourself into. I wouldn't want anyone I care about involved with any of the Vees."

Day breaks and Charlie sleeps in, she had drank so much last night; her head is pounding. She can't bring herself to get up and go to work today.

Just as she begins to doze back off, the TV in her room turns on by itself and it's a painfully loud weather forecast. Only, Vox has replaced the weatherman? There was a smudge of blood on the lower half of his suit jacket. He's wearing sunglasses and has a mojito in one hand and a cigar in the other.

Fuck, this can't be good, Charlie sits up in bed, rubbing her eyes.

"Good morning, ladies and hellions! Grab your tanning oil, because it's going to be a hot, sunny day in this bitch, and can my favorite, little princess get her lazy ass out of FuCkInG bed and answer my messages? Aaaand don't forget to bring an umbrella," he casually throws the mojito and sunglasses, and as glass shatters in the background, he draws open an umbrella, "because later this evening, it's going to rain cunts and dogs!"

The TV cuts out to a standby warning and Charlie is left staring at the screen in bewilderment.

The office lights are off this time, like they are a lot of the time, though the wall of monitors remains on, working a blue-green glow over the darkness.

"There you are. It's about fucking time," He's already glaring at her when she walks in.

"I'm really sorry," Charlie mumbles, unable to meet his gaze. "I just didn't feel—"

"'Sorry' doesn't give me back my time. 'Sorry' doesn't make me any money," he snarls.

She's so disappointed in herself. She screws up everything. Unsatisfactory, just as always. So pathetic.

She feels like crying. Unable to speak, unable to look at him, she slumps down in her chair.

"It's alright, babe, I get it," the overlord's tone eases up, "everyone has those days where they feel like shit. But you've gotta to just get the fuck up and keep going. I mean hey, I feel like shit all of the time and look at what I've become!"

"I hope I can make it up to you. I'm sorry," she accidentally says it again.

Vox merely rolls his eyes this time, "You can easily make it up to me."

"How?" she sits up in her chair, just glad he's not yelling any more.

"Your little tv series, Rehab for Sinners, has amazing reviews," Vox says, before hitting a vape and exhaling smoke over the desk between them.

"I know, I've heard…It's some of the most fun I've ever had," she admits.

"Well, I'm sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but we're not going to renew your contract for another season. In fact, we're going to breach your current one with them, too."

"What? Why?" she asks, her stomach flipping with devastation.

"Because I've been talking with some first-class producers," Vox gets up out of his chair and starts to wander around his office like he always does, " much bigger producers than the ones on your puny little show," he sneers, "and we're about to launch a new series, with you as its star."

She doesn't reply at first, the heavy feeling in her chest—in her soul, is distracting.

"Chaar-lieee ," he sings, glaring at her through his smile, "What's the prob-lemmm ?"

"They're going to have to cancel my show without me. I'm their lead," Charlie mumbles, without meeting his glowing cyan gaze.

"That shit's only been reserved for one season anyway."

"They were going to renew it for another two seasons because it's gained so much popularity," she weakly challenges.

When she looks back up at him, to meet his gaze, he's right beside her. He kneels down so they're eye level and he gives her an insincere smile.

"Listen, babe. Fuck. That. Stupid. Show. This — what I'm doing for you — will be perfect for your career," he insists dramatically.

She remains silent.

"These are the producers of multiple award-winning shows. This new show I have figured out is going to be fucking huge. You are going to be huge, Charlie."

He drags a glowing claw through her blonde hair, then delicately beneath her chin, tilting her head to ensure their eyes meet, he lowers his voice, " Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

"Okay…" She's mesmerized by the rich gleam of his eyes, "you're the one with all the insight, anyway." Maintaining his powerful gaze proves to be too overwhelming; he's not usually this close to her. The fluttering sensation in her stomach almost makes her sick.

"See, that's what I like to hear."

She looks down in her lap, unable to look at him, and says with timid objection. "I just—I can't help but think…I just started on Rehab for Sinners , and it's a hit. I mean, it's produced by a small, independent company. They've worked so hard for this. I can't just leave them," she finally works up the courage to look at him, but he's pacing around the room again, "I feel bad for them."

"You feel bad for them?" he demands, annoyed, disgusted even, by her sympathy. "You're doing yourself a fucking favor!"

He lets out a long exaggerating sigh.

"What do you think is going to happen to your career if you stay with this insignificant series and reject the offer these producers and I have worked so hard to come up with?"

She didn't say anything.

"What do you think will happen if you agree to quit that waste of time, and accept my offer instead, huh? What do you fucking think will happen?"

"You will…probably make more money?"

DING —DING—DING—DING— There's a game-show, winning bell sound effect, accompanied by an invisible applauding audience.

"Cor-rect! And? what else?" He raises an eyebrow.

"And I'll gain more popularity?"

"Right again! So don't you see, I'm helping you. Don't think I'm the bad guy."

"I don't think that," she says defensively. "I'm grateful to have you in my life, Vox," she insists, to which he raises his eyebrows, "it's just…that show is very sentimental to me. It's been helping me grow as an actress and I'm helping it gain traction as well. Just ditching them—"

"What? Are you fucking kidding me? I'm the one who's been helping you, not that irrelevant flop of a series," he growls, one of his eyes whirling. "It's all very touching and wholesome of you, but in the grand scheme of things, it won't do much for you. It would be an absolute waste of fucking time to continue working for those scumbags. Let's not keep going back and forth about this."

Charlie knows she doesn't have much of a choice. "Alright."

"I knew you'd see it my way," he grins maliciously, clearly satisfied with himself. "I'll reach out to the producers, right away." He doesn't waste a second to pull out his phone and scroll through his millions of contacts.

Charlie tries not to glare at him as he types away. How unfair. He catches her lingering eye and slides his phone back into his pocket, to offer her his arm.

"You know, you're such a good girl."

Charlie takes his arm, feeling her cheeks flush.

"Where are we going?" she asks.

"To celebrate with drinks."

"Celebrate what?"

"Your incoming, monumental success, of course…and your obedience , too," he adds with a rich laugh. "But that achievement is personal."

Charlie slumps on her couch, her head on Angel's shoulder as they pass a bottle of vodka back and forth.

"He sounds really controlling," Angel concludes dryly from Charlie's rant, "sounds like my type. "

"He definitely.. wants me to be successful," she takes a swig of vodka, "I wanna talk about you now. How's everything going? Work is good, hopefully?"

Angel scoffs. "No, work is absolute shit. Every part of me hurts, all the fuckin time. I can't stand to go there unless I'm high off my ass, which has put me in a pretty vicious cycle, but hey, I'm still kickin'."

"I—I'm sorry to hear that," she stammers.

"Sometimes, it's too much," Angel mumbles darkly. "And I just…"

She looks at him with mild concern. "What?"

"Nothin', forget it," he takes a sip from the bottle after she passes it to him.

"If there's anything I can do to help…just please come to me," she's feeling drunker by the second. "Hey, I forgot to mention it to you the other night, I think I met your boss at the club last week. It's Valentino, right?"

Angel sits up slowly, so Charlie has time to move off his shoulder, and he pulls out of a tiny bag of coke.

"Yep, that's him. But listen, Charlie, he's bad news. He's down here for a good reason," Angel says, sprinkling the powder on his phone then using a credit card to scrap it into a perfect line.

"He seemed okay, I guess. Just really horny."

"Hah! Yeah that's an understatement, if I've ever heard one. He's a sadistic fuck too," Angel continues to prepare his drugs. "Whatever you do, don't ever, and I mean never, sign a contract with him. With any of 'em. No matter what the douchebag offers you. You'll end up a coked up, dick-sucking, hoe like me."

Her insides twist.

With that, Angel snorts every last speck of a generous sized rail.

Charlie watches angel's face contort with pleasure. She debates on asking for a bump herself. What must that feel like..

However, she resists the subtle desire to ask and takes another sip of liquor.

"I wish I could help you in some way," she changes the subject.

"I'm fine. I have all the therapy I could ever need, right here!" he gestures down to the lines of blow he had started to organize again over the coffee table.

As the night goes on, she stays up as late as she physically can with him, finishing nearly the rest of the bottle on her own, and by the time she stumbles to bed, she's spinning wildly.

The club is packed as always. Dark music overpowers conversation and demons, witches, and hellions cover the dance floor. Some are scattered around the bar, throwing back shots, taking selfies, mindlessly staring at their phones, snorting lines of blow off the bar, off each other.

Vox, Valentino, Velvette, and a few of their friends had taken over a hookah lounge in the far corner of the club.

There's a stripper dancing on a small nearby stage.

The deep bass rumbles heavily through the club, Vox can feel it through his body, vibrating within his electric veins.

"Here, I cut this one out just for you," Velvette says. "It's your favorite."

"What is it?"

"I know you've been on a strict Xanax diet since your nerves have been so shot recently."

"Not really so much anymore," he shrugs.

"Thought I knew you better."

"Thought you did too. Cocaine's always been my favorite."

He snorts the crushed-up pill through a rolled up blue hundred, "Ah—that's some good shit."

"Twitter won't shut up about your broadcast from the other day. Seeing Hell's princess being interviewed by you sent the internet into an absolute frenzy."

"Good. Just the way I like it."

"I have to say, V, I think you're onto something here," Velvette cuts herself a line. "It's truly a genius idea to exploit the little brat, I'm surprised I didn't think of it first. Her image is eye pleasing, and her last name is powerful. We're going to make so much fucking money."

"My intentions, exactly," he says, starting to feel relaxed. "Choosing her was very premeditated."

"Why the fuck isn't that little bitch picking up the phone," Valentino suddenly seethes, texting dramatically. "He's probably off fucking some lowlife for free!"

"Relax, Val," Vox says, "You spend way too much time worrying about your pets."

"I'm just going to have to tighten the leash on that fucking prick," Val growls, ignoring the other overlord. "He's going to be the most obedient dog after I'm through with him."

Velvette looks to Vox to roll her eyes dramatically.

After a couple hours of sitting with them, Vox's head is swimming. Feeling the familiar mix of liquor and benzos, he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the cushion taking a drag off the hookah.

"You know, Voxxy, she really does have the looks."

It's only been a moment and Valentino is already pestering him again.

"I bet the fans are lusting over her."

Vox opens one irritated eye, glaring at Valentino. Then closes it, not allowing himself to give any energy to this nonsense.

"They sure are," he agrees, delightfully sarcastic.

"I have a little advice for you," Valentino purrs, stretching out in the spot beside him.

"Great, here we go."

"She doesn't show enough skin…she's a virgin icon. You know what the crowd really loves to see? A good girl gone bad."

Vox rolls his eyes. "She's classier than that. She's a princess , for fucks sake."

"Yes, and for that reason, I'm certain the population of Hell would pay a pretty penny to see some more of her," Valentino inclines.

"No."

"You know what sells better than beauty? Sex."

"He's right, you know," Velvette chimes in to agree.

Vox feels a fuse snap with irritation.

"I own one of the biggest names in the industry," Valentino goes on, "it's too easy. We just put the little brat in a hot, adult film with my Angel Du—"

"N҉o҉ ," he glitches, slamming a fist on the table. "Absolutely fucking not. I hate you for even suggesting it."

The outburst catches the attention of a few of their idiot friends, who begin mumbling to each other.

Valentino gives a condescending laugh, his layers of jewelry jingling, "Aw, don't be so sour. This is a client we're talking about. You're being a bit possessive, don't you think?"

"I don't want you anywhere near her," Vox growls with a rush of defense, his claws digging into the table. He catches himself slipping and straightens up. "She's my own little project. I don't need any interference. Especially not from you."

Velvette laughs at this.

"I'm just trying to help. I thought all you cared about was making money," Valentino shrugs innocently.

"Of course I do, it's just that—fuck, I don't know."

"Wait, don't tell me…you don't actually care about this little showtime puppet of yours, do you?"

He doesn't respond.

"Oh, for fucks sake, Vox, you're going soft on me," Valentino accuses.

"Give me a fucking break. I don't care about anyone," he finally scoffs.

"Who are you trying to convince, me or yourself?"

"Fuck off. I've just never had a client all to myself before, that's all."

"You know, I can't help but notice, there's something different about you, Vox."

"Whatever. It's just in your head. Maybe you should lay off the heroin for a while, shit's killing your brain cells," Vox stands up, picking a tiny piece of lint off his suit.

Valentino laughs at this. "Aww, and to think I was just about to offer you a hit, too."