Chapter 8: Onstage Betrayal

The convention center's main auditorium buzzed with anticipation as attendees filed in for what had been billed as the most controversial panel of LitCon 2024. "Building Bridges or Burning Books: The Future of Online Literary Discourse" had sold out within hours of the lineup announcement, and now over two thousand romance readers, authors, and industry professionals packed the seats, phones already out and recording.

Backstage, Ellie paced in the cramped green room, her hands shaking as she tried to review her notes one final time. The carefully prepared talking points about constructive criticism and community building felt hollow after last night's revelation. Every strategy she and Cal had developed was built on the assumption of neutral moderation, not the calculated malice of someone with a personal vendetta.

She hadn't seen Cal since the balcony. He'd avoided the speaker's breakfast, skipped the pre-panel briefing, and now sat in the far corner of the green room with his back to her, radiating the kind of cold fury that made everyone else give him a wide berth.

The memory of his kiss burned through her like a fever—the desperate hunger in his touch, the way he'd held her like she was something precious, the moment when all his carefully constructed walls had crumbled. Then the way he'd shut down completely when Victoria's involvement became clear, retreating behind accusations and assumptions that felt like daggers to her chest.

"Five minutes, everyone!" The stage manager's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. "Ms. Ashford is already on stage doing sound check."

Cal's shoulders tensed at the name, but he didn't turn around. Ellie wanted to go to him, to say something that might bridge the chasm that had opened between them, but the rigid line of his posture warned her away.

Victoria Ashford swept into the green room like a queen surveying her domain. Even at fifty-two, she was undeniably striking—silver hair styled in a perfect bob, wearing a tailored blazer that probably cost more than Ellie's monthly rent, and radiating the kind of confidence that came from decades of literary success and industry worship.

Her smile was warm and practiced as she extended a manicured hand to Ellie. "Ms. Vance! Such a pleasure to finally meet you. I've been following your work—so refreshing to see someone championing positivity in these increasingly toxic times."

"Thank you," Ellie managed, fighting the urge to wipe her palm after the handshake. "I appreciate you taking on the moderator role."

"Oh, it's my absolute pleasure. These conversations about discourse and accountability are so important, don't you think?" Victoria's gaze shifted to Cal, who had finally turned around, his face a mask of carefully controlled hatred. "And Caleb! My goodness, look at you. All grown up and making quite the name for yourself, I see."

The casual use of his full name—the name he'd used when he was young and trusting and full of dreams—was clearly intentional. A reminder of who he'd been when she'd known him, when she'd mentored him right up until the moment she'd stolen everything that mattered to him.

"Victoria." Cal's voice was arctic, professional courtesy layered over barely contained fury. "This is unexpected."

"Is it? I would have thought someone with your... research skills... would have done more thorough preparation." Her laugh was musical, designed to sound charming rather than threatening. "But then, you always were prone to tunnel vision when something caught your interest."

The barb hit its mark—Ellie could see it in the way Cal's jaw tightened, the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Victoria was already in his head, already throwing him off balance before they'd even taken the stage.

"Places, everyone!" The stage manager appeared in the doorway. "We're going live in sixty seconds."

The walk to the wings felt like a death march. Ellie's heart hammered against her ribs as she caught glimpses of the packed auditorium through the curtain gap—a sea of faces, phones held high, the expectant energy of an audience that sensed drama in the air.

Victoria took the stage first, her entrance met with enthusiastic applause from readers who knew her as the bestselling author of sweeping historical romances. She was in her element up there, commanding attention with the effortless charisma that had made her a literary darling.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Victoria's voice carried perfectly through the sound system, "please join me in welcoming two of our community's most... passionate voices. Elara Vance of Ellie's Endless Shelves, and Caleb Thorne, better known as The Lit Critik!"

The audience's reaction was immediate and divided—cheers from Ellie's supporters, a more complicated mix of applause and murmurs from Cal's followers, and an undercurrent of tension from everyone who'd been following their online drama.

Ellie walked onto the stage with what she hoped looked like confidence, waving to the crowd and taking her seat at the panel table. The stage lights were blindingly bright, turning the audience into a dark mass of anticipation beyond their glow.

Cal followed, his entrance met with a more subdued response. He moved like a predator forced into the open, every line of his body radiating tension. When he sat down, he was careful to avoid looking at either Ellie or Victoria, his gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance.

"Now," Victoria began, settling into her moderator's chair with the satisfied air of someone about to enjoy themselves immensely, "I think we can all agree that online book discourse has become increasingly... fractured in recent years. We have creators like Elara here, who focus on celebration and positivity, and critics like Caleb, who believe in holding the community accountable through more... aggressive means."

The setup was already biased, painting Ellie as naive positivity and Cal as unnecessarily cruel. Victoria was framing the conversation before they'd even had a chance to speak.

"But what's particularly fascinating," Victoria continued, her smile sharpening, "is how these supposedly opposite approaches have recently found common ground. Tell me, how exactly did this collaboration come about?"

The question was innocent enough on the surface, but Ellie caught the implication underneath—the suggestion that their partnership was calculated, strategic, suspicious in its timing.

"We realized," Ellie began carefully, "that our different perspectives might actually complement each other. That maybe the conversation doesn't have to be about choosing between criticism and celebration, but finding ways to make both more constructive."

"How admirably diplomatic," Victoria said, though her tone suggested she found it anything but admirable. "And Caleb? What drew you to this... partnership?"

Cal's silence stretched a beat too long, and Ellie could see him struggling to find words that wouldn't reveal too much while also not playing into Victoria's obvious trap.

"Sometimes," he said finally, "the most productive conversations happen between people who disagree. Elara challenges assumptions I didn't realize I was making."

"Challenges assumptions," Victoria repeated thoughtfully. "That's interesting phrasing. Tell me, Caleb—and please, correct me if I'm wrong—but isn't challenging assumptions exactly what you've built your entire platform on? The fearless critic, holding authors and influencers accountable for their blind spots and biases?"

The question was a setup, and they all knew it. Victoria was backing him into a corner, forcing him to either defend his harsh criticism or admit that his entire brand was performative.

"Accountability and personal attacks aren't the same thing," Cal replied carefully.

"Aren't they?" Victoria's eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "Because I have to say, some of your recent content has felt quite personal indeed. In fact, I believe you called Ms. Vance here a 'vapid cheerleader for mediocrity' just a few weeks ago. Was that accountability or a personal attack?"

The audience shifted restlessly, sensing blood in the water. Ellie felt heat flush her cheeks as the quote—which she'd tried so hard to forget—was broadcast to two thousand people.

"That was—" Cal started, but Victoria cut him off smoothly.

"Oh, but we're getting ahead of ourselves. Before we dive into the fascinating evolution of your relationship, I think the audience deserves some context about who they're listening to." Her smile turned predatory. "After all, credibility matters in these discussions, doesn't it?"

Ellie's stomach dropped. She could see exactly where this was heading, could see the trap closing around them with surgical precision.

"You see," Victoria continued, her voice carrying that same warm, maternal tone she used in author interviews, "I've known our Caleb here for quite some time. Years ago, when he was just starting out as a writer, full of dreams and ambition. Such a passionate young man, so eager to learn from established authors like myself."

Cal went very still beside her, his face draining of color. "Victoria—"

"Oh, don't be modest! You were quite talented, actually. Had such a lovely little romance novel you'd been working on. What was it called again? 'Hearts in the Highlands'? Such a sweet story about a bookish heroine and a brooding Scottish lord."

The audience was listening with rapt attention now, sensing that something significant was happening but not yet understanding what. Ellie felt sick as she watched Victoria systematically destroying Cal in real time, using his own vulnerability against him with surgical precision.

"Of course," Victoria continued, her voice taking on a regretful tone, "the publishing world can be so challenging for new writers. Sometimes manuscripts just aren't quite ready, you know? Sometimes they need the guiding hand of someone with more experience to reach their full potential."

"Stop," Cal said quietly, but his voice was lost in the acoustics of the large space.

"It's such a shame when promising writers let rejection defeat them," Victoria sighed dramatically. "Instead of learning from feedback, instead of growing from the experience, some people choose to become bitter. To tear down the very industry that could have embraced them, if only they'd been willing to do the work."

The implication was clear to anyone paying attention—that Cal's criticism came from sour grapes, that his entire platform was built on the resentment of a failed writer. But the audience didn't know the whole story, didn't understand that Victoria had stolen his work and published it as her own.

"That's not—" Cal tried again, but Victoria was relentless.

"I think it's important for people to understand the perspective that informs criticism," she said, turning to address the audience directly. "When someone builds their entire identity around tearing down others' work, it's worth asking what motivated that choice. Was it a genuine desire to elevate discourse, or was it something more... personal?"

The question hung in the air like a blade, and Ellie watched Cal crumble in real time. All the vulnerability he'd shown her, all the honest about his past and his pain, was being weaponized against him by the very person who'd caused it.

She should say something. Should defend him, should call out Victoria's manipulation, should use her platform to tell the real story of what had happened between them.

But the stage lights were blinding, the audience was massive, and the weight of two thousand gazes felt crushing. This wasn't her story to tell, wasn't her trauma to expose. And if she spoke up now, Victoria would turn on her next, would find ways to discredit her just as efficiently.

So she sat there, frozen by indecision and stage fright, watching the man she'd kissed less than twelve hours ago get systematically destroyed by the woman who'd already stolen everything else from him.

Cal's silence stretched on, his face a mask of humiliation and barely contained rage. The audience began to murmur, sensing his distress, and Ellie could see phones being held higher, everyone desperate to capture this moment of public downfall.

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, but the microphone picked up every broken word.

"Some stories," he said, "aren't worth telling."

Then he stood up, pulled off his microphone, and walked off the stage without another word, leaving Ellie alone under the brutal lights with Victoria's triumphant smile and an audience hungry for more blood.

The silence that followed felt like the end of the world.