Darling, I Destroyed You

The silk sheets felt too soft against my skin this morning. I lay in my king-sized bed, staring at the ceiling of my penthouse, wondering how a place this beautiful could still feel like a cage.

My name is Lila Voss. Twenty-six. Actress. Daughter of Richard Voss — one of the most powerful men in the country. On paper, I have everything. In reality, I’m barely holding it together.

I dragged myself out of bed and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Los Angeles glittered below me, bright and merciless. Another day of pretending I was fine.

My phone was already blowing up. Notifications from social media, messages from my publicist, and two missed calls from my father. I ignored them all and went through my usual routine — gym, shower, makeup, armor.

Maya, my assistant, arrived right on time, tablet in hand.

“Morning, Lila. You have a script read-through at ten, lunch with your agent at one, and your father expects you for dinner at eight sharp. He said it’s important.”

I sighed, applying lipstick in the mirror. “Of course he did.”

The day passed in the usual exhausting blur. On set, I nailed every take — playing a cold, ruthless woman who destroys lives without blinking. The director loved it. If only he knew how much of it was real.

That evening, I drove to my father’s mansion in the hills with a knot in my stomach. The place always felt more like a museum than a home.

Richard Voss was already seated at the head of the long dining table when I arrived. He looked at me with those sharp, calculating eyes.

“You’re trending again,” he said without greeting. “Not the kind of publicity we need. I’ve told you before, Lila. Your image matters. One wrong move and everything I’ve built for you could crumble.”

I sat down, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s just gossip, Dad.”

“Gossip becomes truth if you let it,” he replied coldly. “I protected you after the kidnapping. I buried that story. Don’t make me regret it.”

The words stung. He never said “what happened to you.” He just treated it like an inconvenience he’d paid to disappear.

Dinner was tense and tasteless. By the time I left, frustration was burning in my veins like fire. I felt trapped — by the cameras, by the rumors, by my father’s constant control.

I needed to feel something I could control.

So I stopped at a quiet upscale bar downtown. I ordered a strong drink and sat in the corner, hoping no one would recognize me.

That’s where I met him.

Tall. Handsome in a careless way. Easy smile. He slid onto the stool beside me.

“Rough night?” he asked.

I looked at him for a long moment, then smiled. “You have no idea.”

We talked. Flirted. The conversation was shallow and meaningless — exactly what I needed. His name was Marcus. Or maybe Matt. I didn’t care enough to remember.

When he suggested we go somewhere more private, I said yes without hesitation.

I followed him to his hotel, knowing exactly how the night would end. I didn’t want love. I didn’t want comfort. I just wanted to forget — for a few hours, at least — that my life was slowly falling apart.