Urban System in America

"My agent," she said finally, her tone neutral but not cold.

Hearing that, Rex's expression shifted. The lazy charm fell away as a frown tugged at his brow. He leaned forward, no longer lounging carelessly.

"Her?" His voice was low, edged with steel.

Monica didn't answer right away, but the way her fingers tightened around the sheet told him enough.

Of course. Her agent.

He should've known.

The same woman who had smiled through her teeth while handing Monica over to that vulture. The same one who called it "just another party," who assured her it would be "good for exposure," while already pocketing favors behind her back.

If Rex hadn't been there last night… if he hadn't stepped in when he did—

His jaw clenched.

The consequences simmered behind his eyes. Unspoken. Unbearable.

Rex's voice dropped low. "You don't have to answer her."

Monica turned slightly to glance at him. There was no teasing in his tone now, no gentle smirk or light jab. Just something solid. Protective. Angry.

She swallowed. "I know."

A pause. The unspoken truth lingered between them, heavy and bitter.

"She knew," Rex said finally. "Didn't she?"

Monica didn't look away. "Yeah."

No denial. No attempt to soften it.

"She sent you there anyway," he said, voice like gravel.

"And if you hadn't been there..." Her words trailed off, but they didn't need finishing. They both knew what she meant.

"I'm not letting that happen again," he said, almost too quietly.

Monica blinked, startled, not just by the words, but by the certainty in them. It wasn't a promise made in the heat of the moment. It was something deeper. Something that made her chest tighten.

Last night might've happened because of alcohol, high emotion, or sheer gravity pulling them together. But this morning, this was something else.

She searched his face, half-expecting him to regret it, to distance himself now that the night had passed. But instead, she found steel beneath the softness. Anger on her behalf. And… something warmer too. Calmer.

"Thank you," she said, barely above a whisper.

Rex didn't say you're welcome. He just nodded once.

There was no need for superfluous words… not between them, not after last night. Some things didn't need to be said out loud to be understood.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze shifting toward the still-buzzing phone on the floor. It had fallen silent a few times, only to light up again a minute later, relentless, like the woman behind it was trying to claw her way back in.

"So," Rex said, his voice level, "what are you gonna do now?"

Monica followed his gaze, then sighed. "I'm gonna pick up."

That surprised him. A flicker of something crossed his face, concern, maybe irritation, but he didn't interrupt.

She gave him a small smile. Not the performative kind she wore at red carpets or interviews, but something tired and honest.

"I'll at least hear what she's going to say," she added.

Rex didn't respond right away. His eyes narrowed slightly, jaw still tense, but he leaned back on one arm, silently giving her the space to make her own call.

Monica reached down and picked up the phone from the carpet, sitting back on the edge of the bed as the screen lit up again—SABRINA CALLING.

She stared at the name for a beat.

Once upon a time, that name would've jolted her to attention. It used to mean opportunity, connection, maybe even validation. Just hearing the ringtone associated with Sabrina would've made her sit up straighter, force a smile into her voice, and prepare to perform… like a marionette on cue.

Now?

Now it just made her feel cold.

Not angry. Not hurt. Just… numb.

With a slow exhale, she swiped to answer.

"Hello?" Her voice came out flat. Guarded. Almost distant.

There was a pause, then the smooth, practiced, syrupy tone came through, fake warmth,, the kind of fake warmth only someone who'd spent too long in showbiz could perfect.

"Monica! Finally. I've been trying to reach you all morning. Are you alright?"

Monica's gaze didn't shift. She just stared ahead, at nothing in particular.

Rex could hear every word. Monica didn't even try to hide the call.

"I'm fine," she replied colly. "Why?"

There was a slight pause on the other side, as if surprised by the tone, but still, she didn't said anything about that, and said: "Just checking in. You disappeared early last night. There were a few people who wanted to meet you. You missed a big opportunity."

Monica's jaw tightened. So that was the angle. Not concern. Bot warmth. Not even curiosity. Just a veiled accusation wrapped in fake concern.

Monica's jaw clenched. She didn't raise her voice. Didn't flinch. Just responded, calm and composed:

"I left because I didn't feel safe enough,"

The other end went silent.

Rex leaned forward slightly at that, his eyes locked on her.

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Then the voice returned, softer now, cautious. "Monica, you're overthinking it. These events are always a little intense. You just have to play the game—"

"No," Monica cut in. Calm. Cold. Clear. "You threw me in there with someone you knew had a reputation. You didn't warn me. You didn't check in. You didn't care what would happen."

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the call. Then Sabrina's voice returned…cooler this time, like someone trying to brush off a storm with a smile.

"That's not fair, Monica," she said, her tone still pretending to be composed. "I got you in that room. Do you even realize how many girls would've killed to be in your shoes last night?"

Monica's eyes narrowed, her grip tightening around the phone.

"He's the head of one of the biggest media groups in the city. You being on his radar could've changed everything for you. Do you understand what kind of leverage that gives you?" Sabrina continued, her voice rising… not with emotion, but irritation. As if Monica was the one being difficult. Ungrateful.

"You keep saying you want to make it, that you want your chance. Well, chances don't come gift-wrapped with rainbows and security blankets. Sometimes you have to be uncomfortable. Sometimes you have to take risks. That's just how this world works, sweetheart."

Monica didn't reply. Not yet.

Because she had heard all of this before, in whispers behind curtains, in quiet corners of afterparties, from other girls who were further along in the game and wore their scars like accessories. She'd always told herself she was different. That Sabrina wouldn't let that happen to her.

But now, hearing it directly from her mouth, wrapped in that tone of faux wisdom and veiled superiority… it hit different. It didn't sound like advice. It sounded like a mask slipping.

Sabrina kept going, unaware, or maybe uncaring, that Monica's silence wasn't passive. It was building.

"This is how everyone starts. You think I got where I am by being shy and saying no to every opportunity that made me uncomfortable? Please. Grow up, Monica. You were always smart, but you're not special. You don't get to skip the rules just because they make you squirm. Either play the game, or stay irrelevant."

Monica felt something crack inside her.

A part of her… the younger version, the eager one who used to hang on Sabrina's every word, who used to believe she was being groomed for greatness, shrunk and withered. That girl was done.

(End of Chapter)