The set of The Final Clue was buzzing with tension as the cameras rolled.

  The officer stood in the middle of a dimly lit alleyway, her fingers firm around the gun’s grip, feet planted in a wide stance. Her dark eyes locked onto the suspect before her, it was sharp and unwavering, carrying an unspoken intensity that made her presence impossible to ignore.

  “Freeze! Drop your weapon!” She commanded, her voice steady but threaded with the perfect amount of controlled panic.

  The suspect hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing his face and in that split second she moved. Fast. Efficient. No wasted motion. Pivoting on her back foot, she knocked the gun from his hands in one swift motion, her grip tightening as she twisted his arm behind his back.

  The suspect struggled— an instinctive, useless fight— but she had him. Secured. Subdued.

  “Cut!” Director Emiliano Vargas finally called, standing from his chair as he replayed the scene in his mind. He had to admit he was impressed.

  Initially, he had been beyond frustrated when the higher-ups at Aureum Pictures, a subsidiary of Garcia Group, had pushed CeCe into the lead role. He had fought tooth and nail for another actress for this part. Someone grittier, someone with the rugged charisma expected of a hardened detective. But in the end, even a so-called visionary director had to bow down to capital. Money and power always won.

  When he first saw CeCe, his frustration had reached its peak. She was stunning.Too stunning. With her doll-like features, soft curves and an almost ethereal beauty, she looked like she belonged in a glamorous romcom, not a hard-hitting crime thriller.

  He had accepted the challenge of shaping a rookie lead, but how was he supposed to convince an audience that this impossibly gorgeous woman spent her days chasing criminals through alleyways and brawling with thugs? He was certain she wouldn’t be able to pull it off.

  But damn it, she had proved him wrong!

  CeCe dusted herself off, wincing slightly from the impact of the fall. Yet, instead of complaining, she turned toward the stunt coordinator with a bright, almost sheepish grin.

  “That was okay, right? Should I be a bit rougher with the landing next time?”

  The stunt coordinator chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t have to throw yourself like that. We can just adjust the angles.”

  “But then it won’t look as convincing.” She pouted, tilting her head playfully. “I mean, I’d rather get a few scrapes than have people say my action scenes look fake.”

  Director Vargas felt something shift in his chest. Damn it. He liked her.

  He could see right through the cutesy act she played with the crew, but it worked! She was shrewd in the most charming way. Even those who had been skeptical of her at first had started warming up to her. He had watched her go out of her way to memorize the crew’s names, casually handing out coffee during long shoots and offering small favors here and there.

  She was crafty, no doubt, but not in a way that felt cheap or insincere.

  And then there was her performance.

  She wasn’t just tolerable she was good. Beyond the stunts, there was something in her eyes, something he hadn’t anticipated. A sincerity with a hint of quiet defiance.

  The contrast of her striking beauty against the hardened uniform didn’t make her look out of place instead it elevated her. She wasn’t just another detective. She was the kind people wanted to root for.

  Director Vargas exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head with a wry smile. Maybe, the executive at Aureum Pictures knew what they were doing after all. With a face like hers and the raw talent she clearly had, The Final Clue would definitely be a hit!

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  CeCe, who Director Vargas had so much hope for, was leaning against a chair in her dressing room, lazily sipping on her iced latte, now a sad, watery mess. The excitement from earlier had faded, replaced by the quiet hum of post-shoot fatigue.

  Still, exhaustion wasn’t enough to deter her from her little research .

  Philip’s account was private— of course it was— but his associates weren’t always so particular.

  CeCe tapped on the profile of a man she suspected was connected to Philip, whether as a colleague, a friend or just someone who moved in the same circles. She scrolled through his Instagram highlights, her sharp eyes skimming over the lavish settings, designer suits and expensive liquors.

  This man had a habit of documenting everything, from private lounges to rooftop galas not to mention he was always in the kind of places where the elite gathered. The kind someone of his calibre would frequent.

  Her scrolling slowed, eyes sharpening as she examined every frame, searching for clues in each glinting reflection. Then, finally she caught a glimpse of a familiar silhouette. Tall. Lean. Effortlessly commanding, even when he’s blurred in the background.

  CeCe chuckled. She wasn’t proud of it, but she had gotten quite good at piecing together clues from social media. She closed the man’s highlights, scrolled through his feed and paused at a post from earlier that afternoon.

  He posted a location tag at a high end hotel with a caption:

  “Another boring dinner. Well, at least the drinks are good."

  Philip wasn’t tagged, nor had he liked or commented. There was no real confirmation that he’d be there, but something about it still caught CeCe’s attention.

  CeCe sighed and closed Instagram. She took a final sip of her iced latte, then absentmindedly browsed through Spotify, searching for a song to play.

  Then the door to her dressing room creaked open and in walked Ms. M, balancing her phone between her ear and shoulder as she dropped her designer bag onto one of the empty chairs. She barely acknowledged CeCe, nodding in passing while continuing her conversation.

  “Yes, I understand, but you should’ve told me earlier— wait, The Bellmaré?” Ms. M huffed, pacing the room as she adjusted the phone against her ear. “Seven PM? Tonight? And you’re telling me this now? Do you know how hard it is to find a replacement at the last minute?”

  CeCe, who had only been half-listening, suddenly froze.

  Her eyes widened just slightly at first then in full after the words sank in.

  Like a woman possessed, she snapped back to her phone, fingers flying across the screen in a frenzied blur. Tap. Swipe. Scroll. Back. Forward. Click. Back again.

  Wait, where was it?!

  She knew she had just seen it!

  She scrolled so fast her own reflection in the screen became a blur. At one point, she skimmed past the post entirely, then frantically swiped back in the wrong direction, nearly exiting the app altogether. A strangled noise of frustration slipped from her lips.

  Ms. M shot her a look, but CeCe ignored it, too busy waging war against her own impatience.

  There!

  Her thumb hovered over the post, heart hammering as she took in the details once more.

  A sly, knowing smile curled at her lips.

  The Bellmaré. 7 PM. Cocktail event.

  CeCe’s smile widened, just a fraction.

  CeCe schooled her expression into something resembling casual curiosity as she glanced up at Ms. M who just finally ended her call with exasperated sigh.

  “Everything ok, Ms. M?” she asked, as if she hadn’t just been listening in on the entire conversation.

  Ms. M gave her a look but humored her anyway. “Ugh! It’s one of the RSVPs.”

  She then went on to explain that Tanya Espino, a socialite who frequently attended high-society events, had decided to fly to Milan at the last minute, leaving the organizer in shambles.

  CeCe gasped, clutching her chest like she’d just heard the most tragic news of the decade. “You mean to tell me that poor, poor Tanya’s invitation is just... wasted?” She pressed a hand to her forehead for dramatic effect. “Oh, the horror. The empty seat. The untouched champagne. A tragedy.”

  Ms. M didn’t even blink. “What are you up to?”

  CeCe straightened, plastering on her best innocent expression. “Oh, nothing! I just think it’s such a shame. All that effort put into an exclusive event and now there’s a vacant spot...” She trailed off meaningfully, eyes flicking to Ms. M with the kind of unspoken expectation that could sell a sob story to a jury.

  Ms. M narrowed her eyes.

  CeCe pouted. “What?”

  “I know that look.”

  CeCe scoffed, placing a hand over her heart as if gravely insulted. “Oh, Ms. M! Can’t a girl socialize?”

  The older woman continued to stare, unimpressed.

  CeCe batted her lashes. “I swear. Truly.”

  Yes, she would just socialize.

  Behind the veil of her innocent expression, CeCe’s fingers curled slightly against the fabric of her sleeve.

  After all, she didn’t know for sure if Philip would be there.

  But if he was—

  A slow, wicked grin spread across her lips, sharp and knowing.

  CeCe snickered under her breath, like a cunning fox about to slip into the henhouse.