𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 | 𝐋𝐄𝐎

I already knew the name of my little star. On the first try.

Carrie.

It rolled around in my mind like a secret only I was allowed to keep. Frenchie had been right—his hidden camera and microphone, tucked away in the petals of that sunflower, had worked like a charm. I'd caught a quick look between her and Starlight—now knowing her name was Anne—and The Deep, that smug asshole.

Frenchie's idea had been simple: plant the sunflower with the hidden tech, and wait. The rest was just a matter of patience and careful observation. I had to admit, the man knew his craft. His devices had provided clear audio and video, capturing every moment and every word with precision. It was all laid out in a neat file on my laptop, the footage playing out like a stage production of deceit and discomfort.

As I watched the recording of the confrontation in the Vought Tower hallway, I found myself leaning forward, hanging on every word. The way Anne had looked at the note, the tension in her voice—she was clearly rattled. And The Deep's arrival had only added to the pressure. His taunts and condescension were as predictable as ever, but he served his purpose: to unsettle her.

I watched Carrie entering her room, through that camera, standing there, unaware that I was listening in. The way she said her real name... so soft. So vulnerable.

It felt intimate. Personal. Too personal.

I replayed the footage for the fifth time, leaning back in my chair, one hand rubbing absently at my jaw. There was something raw about hearing her voice when she thought she was alone, when she wasn't performing for anyone. The walls she put up for the world, for Vought, they were down when she said her own name—her real name. Not "Supernova" or any other fake persona. Just Carrie.

I watched her face on the screen, a close-up from the sunflower cam. Her expression, her eyes. There was a subtle sadness in them, a kind of weariness she was careful to hide from everyone else. But not from me. Not anymore.

I could feel a strange warmth blooming in my chest as I watched her. It was as if I had crossed an invisible line between us. Her world, her real world, was no longer closed off to me. Knowing her name... it wasn't just a piece of information. It was like holding a piece of her.

I imagined whispering it to her, letting the name fall between us in the darkness. How would she react if she knew? If she realized that I had this secret, that I had slipped into her life in ways she couldn't even imagine?

God, it was intoxicating.

I leaned forward, pausing the video on her face, my finger hovering just above the screen. There was something about her—something that pulled at me in ways I hadn't anticipated. She wasn't like the others. She wasn't just another suit to be manipulated. There was depth to her, layers I wanted to peel back one by one until I understood every inch of her.

And then, my thoughts turned dark as The Deep invaded my mind, taking my focus away from my little star.

The Deep. That arrogant, slimy bastard. Watching him on the screen, the way he slithered through that hallway like he owned the place, my blood started to boil. He had no right to even look at her, let alone taunt her. The way he smirked, like he had some kind of claim over her—over Carrie — made my hands clench into fists.

I could barely stand to watch him, but I forced myself to. Every second of his smug performance was fuel. He thought he could just waltz in and make a joke out of her discomfort, make her feel small and powerless like he always did. But that was where he was wrong. Because my little star wasn't small. She wasn't powerless. And I'd be damned if I let someone like him make her feel that way.