制霸好莱坞

Jenny's idea was simple—if Dietrich wanted to sabotage her, it was only natural to expect another attempt if the first one failed. She had a strong suspicion about Dietrich's motive; this wasn't just a petty grudge but a desperate effort to see her fail on stage or, better yet, be unable to perform at all.

Instead of waiting defensively, Jenny decided to bait Dietrich into attacking in a way she could anticipate. She knew Dietrich wouldn't resort to something blatant like poisoning her food—offering a cigarette at a party was one thing, but poisoning carried far greater risks. It was too direct, too dangerous. Instead, Jenny presented her with a subtler, seemingly safer opportunity: an allergy.

Peanut allergies were common in the U.S., even fatal in severe cases. A few days after the cigarette incident, Jenny casually mentioned to the cast and crew how she had once been hospitalized for several days after accidentally eating toast with peanut butter. She even joked about how grateful she had been for student insurance, as she would've gone bankrupt otherwise.

At that moment, she could almost see the wheels turning in Dietrich's mind. If she wanted to keep Jenny off the stage, all she had to do was slip some peanuts into her food.

The setup was easy. Jenny just had to be cautious in her daily routine—though, in truth, she wasn't allergic at all. If Dietrich attempted something and Jenny had no reaction, she could attribute it to varying allergy sensitivity, which was common. Even if Dietrich suspected she had been deceived, she wouldn't have concrete proof.

Tonight was the perfect opportunity to spring the trap.

For Jenny, creating opportunities was second nature. She had maneuvered through worse situations before. In comparison, this was a trivial game.

Peanut contamination was easy to orchestrate. A trace amount left on a kitchen utensil could trigger a reaction in severe cases. Tonight, if not for Cesare and James witnessing the entire situation, Dietrich could have easily denied responsibility. The public refrigerator was accessible to everyone. The peanut-laced salad could have been tampered with by anyone envious of Jenny. It would be impossible to pin the blame solely on Dietrich.

It was the same as the cigarette incident—low risk, low investment, and minimal consequences for the culprit. Perfectly suited to Dietrich's style. And Jenny had laid out the feast just for her.

Now, she was certain Dietrich had taken the bait. Even Cesare and James couldn't deny it—neither of them dared to touch the salad.

"You can test it," Jenny said coolly. "But I already know the answer. I have a sharp sense of smell, and I can detect peanut oil on the leaves."

The salad container explicitly stated that it contained no peanut allergens. Jenny pointed this out before continuing, "So, we have our chain of reasoning and a prime suspect. What we lack is a motive. James, Cesare—can either of you explain why Dietrich would go this far to sabotage me?"

James raked a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. Cesare, as always, remained composed. Leaning back, he spoke with casual certainty, "It's obvious to anyone who has watched your rehearsals. Right, James?"

James groaned. "Shit."

He exhaled sharply, then locked eyes with Jenny. His voice turned cold. "What do you want me to do?"

There was a distinct charge between them. Jenny could sense the tension—James was trying to seize control of the conversation. The dynamic between them had shifted. His usual easy-going charm had vanished, replaced by a calculating sharpness, much like Cesare's.

But Jenny wasn't about to back down. "The real question," she corrected, "is what you should do, James. How do you expect me to cooperate with someone who's been trying to harm me? I'm the rising star of this production. She isn't. I'm the victim here. She's the perpetrator."

James swore under his breath. "Jennifer, I know what you want—but I can't fire her."

He raised his voice, trying to reassert authority. "Listen to me!"

If Jenny and Cesare had reacted emotionally, his outburst might have gained traction. But neither of them flinched. They simply observed him in silence. The lack of response left James floundering, his momentum slipping. He sighed, then tried again. "All three of us want the same thing: a successful production, right?"

Neither Jenny nor Cesare answered. James took that as agreement and pressed on. "Here's the harsh truth—Dietrich is the best Velma we have right now. Unless we can get Catherine Zeta-Jones herself, she's the strongest dancer for the role. The understudy, Ann, is subpar, and the backup, Samantha, doesn't have the right look. Like it or not, we need Dietrich."

"So, you expect me to let this go?" Jenny asked.

James ignored her, doubling down. "You don't have direct evidence. Even if you call the police, there's nothing solid against her—no witnesses, no physical proof—"

At that moment, he grabbed the lunchbox and hurled it out the window. "So, the only option is for me to handle Dietrich. I'll make sure she stops targeting you, and this whole thing gets buried."

Jenny turned to her agent. "Cesare?"

Cesare clasped his hands on the table, expression unreadable. "For now, this is the most pragmatic solution."

James visibly relaxed, gesturing toward Cesare. "Listen to him, Jenny. He's a veteran. He knows how to play the long game. This is Broadway—we can't afford scandals right before opening night."

Jenny remained silent. James's tone implied that she was the one causing a disturbance, as if Dietrich weren't the one sabotaging her.

Cesare cut in smoothly. "Six months, James."

James narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"This is Broadway," Cesare said. "Six months is more than enough time to find a new Velma. If you can't find one here, look in London's West End. Their production of Chicago will have candidates. When Jenny returns next year, she doesn't want to see Dietrich in that role."

James hesitated. "But you have no proof."

Cesare checked his watch. "Looks like we won't reach a resolution tonight. We still have script discussions. For now, let's put this on hold. The three of us will go to the rehearsal room. Jenny, you'll tell Dietrich you decided to have dinner with us. James, do you accept this arrangement?"

James exhaled, nodding. "Fine."

Jenny and Cesare exchanged glances. His face remained an unreadable mask, but she felt an unspoken understanding pass between them. "I'm fine with it."

"Then let's go." Cesare stood. "It's eight o'clock—time for dinner."

As they stepped out of the office, they put on a show—smiling, laughing, as if nothing had happened. Jenny even went to reassure Dietrich, feigning cramps and suggesting a group dinner. James played along, complaining that her untouched salad wouldn't be fresh by tomorrow. With all appearances carefully managed, the three of them headed to Jim's Kitchen.

Dinner was painfully awkward. James kept casting wary glances at Cesare. Jenny barely spoke. They finished eating at record speed and went their separate ways. But just as she turned to leave, Cesare caught her attention.

"Let's take a walk."

Jenny shrugged. "Sure."

Broadway gleamed under the neon lights as they strolled through Times Square. Eventually, Cesare stopped, his voice unusually calm. "Tell me—why did you choose to end the game tonight?"

Jenny didn't hesitate. "Because both of you are here. It's the perfect moment to prove that I'm right."

Cesare nodded thoughtfully. "You've done well, Jenny. But I think you should've let it slide, taken the higher road."

Jenny raised an eyebrow. "You don't think I'm right?"

Cesare's smile was calculating, but his voice was calm. "Maybe you are, but sometimes the best strategy is to rise above it. Hollywood is full of these games. Fighting them all is exhausting."

Jenny's eyes narrowed, but she stayed silent. She wasn't ready to back down yet.

"Well, you'll learn eventually," Cesare said. "This kind of thing happens all the time. You'll see."

Jenny's determination didn't waver. "I'm not letting Dietrich get away with this."

Cesare shrugged, then handed her a dollar bill. "Rules are rules."

Jenny chuckled, pocketing the bill. They walked on, the night alive with the buzz of Broadway, but a quiet tension lingered between them.

Before parting ways, Jenny asked one last time, "So, we just let this go?"

Cesare's expression softened, just a little. "We let it go—for now. But next time, trust your instincts more."