I Made You I Break You

I couldn't help but smirk.

On the very night Judy Bell secured her first Best Actress nominationa feat built entirely on the back of my sweat and influenceshe stood before a swarm of reporters and accused me of being a tyrant.

Into the glowing lens of the cameras, she wept about how the machine had stifled her soul, how she had been forced into a hyper-sexualized brand, and how every stitch of clothing she wore was a calculated move by a cold, corporate hand. My hand.

She declared to the world that tonight, she was finally breaking her chains. She was going to prove that an artist could shine without the shadow of "big industry money" looming over them.

The media ate it up. They hailed her as a brave revolutionary, a woman of integrity standing up to the big, bad wolf of Hollywood.

I didn't argue. I simply picked up my phone, dialed the chairperson of the awards committee, and gave them a simple instruction: "Change of plans for tonight. Give the trophy to someone who actually knows how to follow a script."

I discovered Judy when she was eighteen. I found her at a back-alley industry party in a town that thrives on devouring girls like her.

She was terrified, dressed in next to nothing, surrounded by a circle of aging vultures who were planning which hotel room shed be delivered to after the appetizers were finished.

When my assistant first briefed me on her, I felt a rare pang of genuine pity.

She came from a broken home in a Rust Belt town where daughters were liabilities and sons were kings. Her parents were degenerate gamblers who had racked up debts that would take three lifetimes to pay off. To keep them afloat, shed been coerced into filming some "private" contentthe kind of videos that stay on the internet forever.

Once you step into that swamp, there is usually no way out.

In a moment of uncharacteristic softness, I stepped in. I bought out her "debts," scrubbed the internet of her past, and spent years meticulously crafting her image. I hired the best acting coaches to sharpen her raw talent and, piece by piece, I put the clothes back on her that the world had tried so hard to tear off.

Now, she thought her wings were strong enough to claw at the person who gave them to her.

"The agency gave me my start, yes," she told a reporter, her voice trembling with practiced emotion. "But Im tired of being a puppet. Im tired of the forced 'sexy' image and the mandatory dinners with investors. I want the world to know I can make it on my own. My talent is my only currency!"

It was a stirring performance. She was poised, articulate, and utterly unafraid of the cameraskills I had spent thousands of dollars teaching her.

Because I had shielded her for so long, she actually had a decent reputation in the industry. The fans immediately rallied behind her, screaming about "toxic management" and "corporate greed."

I sat in the back of my Maybach, watching her be escorted into the theater by a phalanx of security guards. I let out a dry laugh.

My assistant, Sarah, glanced at me nervously. "Ms. Rossi, shes probably just trying to generate buzz for the win. Its a competitive year. Maybe she felt she had to play the victim to get the votes?"

"Buzz is one thing; betrayal is another," I said, my voice cold. "Four of the five nominees in that category are from my agency. It didn't matter who wonuntil now. Shes developed an ego she hasn't earned. Shes not renewing her contract, is she?"

Sarah shook her head. "She signaled that she wants to go indie."

"Fine," I said. "Lets give her exactly what she wants. Freedom."

Sarah looked stunned.

As the head of Apex Talent Group, Ive spent twenty years navigating the shark-infested waters of this industry. My clients don't just get rich; they become icons. Ive treated them like my own children, poured my life into their careers. When actors wanted to retire and live a quiet life, I let them go with grace and a golden parachute. We stayed friends.

Judy Bell was the first one to ever try to burn the house down on her way out.

Everyone in that room knew that when she spoke of "the machine," she meant meAntonia Rossi, the most powerful woman in the business.

I watched the hashtags trend. #FreeJudy. #DownWithApex. I smiled and turned to Sarah. "Start the audit. Every cent weve spent on her development over the last decadeI want a line-itemized bill. If she wants to be independent, she can start by paying her debts. And tell the PR team to kill her victory spreads. Were backing Sofia Rossi for the win tonight."

"But Sofia was the dark horse," Sarah whispered.

"Not anymore."

I picked up my phone and made one more call. "Mr. Sterling, theres been a change in the weather. Stick to the backup plan. Lets go to a pure popular vote for the final tally. Let the 'people' decide."

Judy, lets see how that "talent" holds up when Im not the one holding the scale.

The car pulled up to the red carpet. I smoothed my gown, stepped out, and was immediately blinded by the flashbulbs. I walked past the shouting reporters without a word, my heels clicking like a countdown on the marble floor.

Once inside the VIP lounge, I had barely taken my seat when I saw Judy marching toward me. She looked defiant, her chin tilted at that perfect angle Id taught her for "strong female lead" roles.

"Ms. Rossi."

I leaned back in my chair, giving her a curt nod. My silence was louder than a scream.

Judy faltered for a second, then steeled herself. "Dont hate me, Antonia. I just want to walk my own path. I can't let you control my every move anymore."

I nodded slowly. The other studio heads around me were already snickering behind their champagne flutes.

"Youve certainly made a splash tonight, Judy," the CEO of Paramount Pictures remarked. "Found a new home already? Who's picking up your tab?"

Judy glanced at me, her eyes darting nervously before she regained her bravado. "Actually, no. Im taking a hiatus. Im going to be my own boss."

"How brave," I said.

My lack of rage seemed to unsettle her. She wanted a fight; she wanted to be the martyr. "Im serious, Antonia. From now on, my wardrobe, my scripts, my lifenone of it is up for negotiation with the agency."

"Message received," I said, checking my watch. "Is there anything else? The show is starting."

She bit her lip, frustrated that I wasn't pleading with her. "I dont need the 'handouts' or the 'curated' roles anymore. Im going to prove that I can get the prestige projects on my own. I want to be like youa power player."

I looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time in months. In ten years, she had grown into a stunning woman, but she had developed a fatal delusion: she believed she was the chef, when in reality, she was just the finest ingredient in my kitchen.

In this town, a "pretty girl with talent" is a commodity. You don't sit at the table just because youve been standing in the room for a long time.

I smiled and waved a hand. Sarah appeared instantly. "Ms. Bells seat is in the back of the house, I believe. Please show her the way."

Judys face flushed. "Youll see. Im going to be the biggest thing in this industry."

As she walked away, the man sitting next to mea cynical old producer named Loulaughed. "Ambitious girl. Too bad shes got a paper-thin soul. She doesn't realize shes only a star because you keep the sun shining on her."

"You made a mistake with that one, Antonia," another added.

I took a sip of my drink. "She chose her path. Let her walk it until her feet bleed. Ive already made my ROI on her. If any of you want to sign her tomorrow, be my guest."

They all laughed in unison. "A girl who bites the hand? No thanks. The market is too crowded for ego without leverage."

The ceremony began. I watched the notifications on my phone. The contracts were being drafted. Since she wasn't renewing, every deal we had in the pipeline for her was being rerouted to other talent. If she wanted to be "free," she could start with a completely empty calendar.

The awards rolled outBest Screenplay, Best Score, Best Supporting Actress. Apex clients were sweeping. The room kept turning to me with congratulatory nods.

"Another banner year for Apex, Antonia!"

"We do our best," I replied, my eyes finding Judy in the back rows. She was sitting tall, waiting for her moment.

Finally, it was time for the Best Actress presentation. Judy was asked to come up to the stage early to present a youth achievement awarda small courtesy Id arranged weeks ago. As she stood there, the host, a man named Jordan Kent, decided to stir the pot.

"I have to ask," Jordan said, grinning at the camera, "Judy, earlier tonight you mentioned going solo. Are we witnessing the birth of a new indie queen? And Antonia, how does it feel to lose your brightest star?"

The theater went silent. Everyone loves a public execution.

I smiled graciously from the front row. "I support her completely. Judy has been with us for a long time, and weve had a wonderful run. If she feels its time to fly solo, Apex will facilitate a smooth exit. Were all friends here. Its a small town."

Judys expression darkened. She hadn't expected me to announce the "divorce" so publicly and so casually. It made her look like she was being fired rather than quitting.

"Thats right," Judy forced a smile. "My contract is up, and Im launching my own production banner. I hope everyone here will support my new journey."

"And will there be future collaborations between you two?" Jordan pressed.

I felt a cold laugh bubbling in my chest. Collaborations? She wanted to leave the house but keep the credit card?

"Antonias agency controls half the prestige scripts in the city," Jordan continued, "Im sure Judy will still be looking to you for those A-list projects."

I leaned into the microphone near my seat. "Well see where the road leads. Judy is a... professional. If the right project comes along, were always open to talent."

Judys eyes were a storm of complex emotions. "Of course. Im looking forward to working on more original scripts," she added, a subtle dig at the franchise work Id steered her toward.

I caught Jordan Kents eyethe host. He looked away quickly. That one look told me everything. He was in on it. Hed probably been promised a role in whatever "indie" project she thought she was starting.

The awards moved to the main event. Jordan announced that for the first time, the Best Actor and Actress winners would be decided by a live weighted vote, including the front-row board members.

Judys poise slipped. She looked at me, panic flaring in her eyes. I gave her a reassuring, maternal smile.

She relaxed slightly and checked her phone. A second later, my phone buzzed.

Judy: Antonia, Im sorry I didn't talk to you first. I just had to do this for myself. About the contract... we can talk.

Me: I understand. Good luck tonight. I hope all your dreams come true.

She was obsessed with this trophy. She thought that because she was "my girl," I would pull the final strings to ensure her "Triple Crown" legacy.

In the wings, I could see her personal assistant already typing out victory tweets. The buzz was deafening. Her fan clubs were losing their minds online.

But her rivals weren't staying quiet.

Is she serious? The show isn't even over and shes celebrating? Talk about bad luck, one rival fan base posted.

Judy Bell is acting like she bought the vote. Its a public/board split tonight. Shes too cocky.

The tension in the room was thick. The big screen showed the live tally. It was neck-and-neck between Judy and Sofia Rossi.

The clock ticked down to the final second. They were tied.

"And now," Jordan Kent announced, his voice booming, "the tie-breaking votes from our four industry titans in the front row!"

The first three votes came in: one for Sofia, two abstentions.

Every camera in the building pivoted to me. Judy stood on the edge of the stage, her hair perfectly tousled, a look of hungry anticipation on her face.

I took the mic, my voice steady and resonant.

"My vote goes to... Sofia Rossi."

On the giant screen, Judys smile didn't just fadeit curdled. The camera stayed on her for a brutal five seconds as the realization hit her like a physical blow. She was frozen, a statue of pure, unadulterated shock.