Erica Sinclair - Permanent Scars (M/F)

[Jenny_S]

The click of the front door echoes through Erica’s quiet apartment as she steps inside, setting her keys on the entryway table. The soft padding of paws greets her immediately, and she smiles despite herself as two small kittens - one a grey-striped tiger, the other sleek black with a white tuft of fur on his chest - bound toward her, mewing for attention.
“Hello, troublemakers.” she murmurs, crouching to scratch behind their ears. “Have you been good today?”

The kittens nuzzle her hands, their small, warm bodies a comfort. She scoops them up, carrying them to the living room, where a cozy scratch tree stands by the window. Gently setting them down, she watches as they pounce on a dangling toy.
With a sigh, Erica shrugs off her blazer, hanging it neatly in the closet in her bedroom. She changes into her favorite loungewear - a soft grey sweatsuit which she has dubbed her cat mom suit. The worn fabric feels like a warm hug, a far cry from the sharp, tailored persona she wears to the office.

She pads to the kitchen, the faint hum of the refrigerator breaking the silence, and fills the kittens’ bowls with food from the pantry. Their eager munching makes her smile again, a small, quiet joy in the routine.

Back in the living room, Erica sinks into the black leather couch, her laptop perched on the coffee table. She hesitates only a moment before opening the streaming service website for C4.

“This better be worth it.” she says under her breath, entering her PayPal details to subscribe.
The movie, titled “Permanent Scars”, starts with dramatic music and a sweeping aerial shot of a lone house in the dark of night – the exact same setting as described in the manuscript. Erica leans back, the glow of the screen illuminating her face as the story unfolds.

She watches intently, her lawyer’s mind on high alert, comparing every scene to the manuscript still fresh in her memory. The similarities are undeniable. The protagonists - two young women thrust into a horrifying world of white slavery - mirror Selina’s heroines down to their dialogue. Even the villains deliver chilling lines she remembers reading in the manuscript.

The film is raw, unflinching in its portrayal of its subject matter. Captivating performances draw her in despite herself, the actors embodying the characters with unnerving precision. The eroticism is explicit, the violence visceral. It’s a masterful production, she admits grudgingly, even as anger coils in her chest.

As the credits roll, Erica exhales deeply as a certain Lo Harbinger is named as the scriptwriter. Only then she powers down her laptop.
She sits in silence for a moment, her mind buzzing. There’s no doubt now - Selina’s work was stolen, plagiarized almost line for line, as it had been turned into a cinematic spectacle.

Rising, she walks to the kitchen and pours herself a generous glass of Nero d’Avola. The rich, velvety red wine swirls in her glass as she takes a sip, savoring its warmth.

In the living room, the kittens are playing, tumbling over each other in a blur of fur and tiny paws. Their innocent antics bring a soft smile to Erica’s lips.

As she finishes her wine, she retreats to the bedroom, the weight of the evening still pressing on her. She changes into her black silk kimono, its cool fabric brushing against her skin.
Standing in front of the mirror, she catches her reflection - her hair loose, the kimono tied at her waist. Her mind drifts, unbidden, to certain scenes from the movie. They replay in vivid detail, lingering at the edges of her consciousness. There’s a flicker of something - excitement, intrigue - beneath her determination to help Selina Neely find justice.

She turns away, pulling back the covers and slipping into bed. As the kittens curl up at her feet, Erica stares at the ceiling, her resolve hardening.
Tomorrow, she’ll contact C4 and see how they react when confronted with a copyright claim, but for now, she lets herself drift, the tension and excitement of the evening lingering like a shadow at the edge of her dreams.





The morning rush at Sinclair & Associates is in full swing. Holly Beck, fresh-faced and eager as ever, sits at the sleek reception desk, juggling phone calls and scheduling appointments. She’s just placed a call on hold when another line lights up.

“Sinclair & Associates, this is Holly speaking. How may I help you?” she says brightly.

“Holly.” comes the familiar, smooth voice on the other end. Her breath catches slightly. “It’s Nathan. From last night.”

“Right…” Holly hesitates, her mind flashing back to the martini-drinking man who’d joined her and Claire. “Hi, Mr. Asner.”

“Please, just Nathan.” he says warmly. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important. I just…well, I couldn’t stop thinking about our conversation. I realized I never really got to say what I wanted to say.”

“Oh?” Holly glances around, her voice dropping slightly as she leans into the phone. She’s torn between curiosity and caution, Claire’s subtle warnings from the night before echoing faintly in her mind.

“It’s about Erica.” Nathan continues, his tone shifting to something more somber. “I don’t want to put you in an awkward position, but…you seemed to understand my situation. The truth is, I don’t think she’d even take my call, let alone hear me out. But Holly, I love her. I always have. I gave up so much so she could chase her dreams.”

Holly feels a twinge of sympathy, her inexperience making her linger on his heartfelt words instead of their implications. “I don’t know if I can help, Nathan. Miss Sinclair - she’s very private.”

“I understand. And I respect that.” he says, his voice thick with sincerity. “I’m not asking for much - just for someone to let her know. Maybe if she knew I called… she’d consider hearing me out.”

“I…” Holly bites her lip, unsure how to respond.

“Holly, please.” Nathan interrupts gently, sensing her hesitation. “I promise, I’m not trying to cause trouble. I just…I need her to know I haven’t stopped loving her.”

The line goes silent for a beat, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Holly swallows hard, her heart leaning toward compassion. “I’ll… see what I can do.” she says finally, unsure if she means it.

“Thank you, Holly.” Nathan says, his voice softening into something almost reverent. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

As Holly ends the call, a flicker of doubt crosses her face. She shakes it off quickly, returning to her work, unaware that Nathan has just expertly planted another seed - this time, right at Erica’s doorstep.





The soft clatter of Holly’s keyboard echoes in the reception area as Erica steps off the elevator, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She strides in, her dark blazer perfectly tailored, her presence commanding as always. Holly straightens in her chair, her nerves tingling with anticipation.

“Good morning, Miss Sinclair!” Holly chirps, her voice bright.

Erica glances her way, offering a polite but distracted nod. In her mind she’s already placing the call with Selina Neely. “Morning, Holly.”

Holly fidgets for a moment, then blurts out, “Miss Sinclair, um - Nathan called earlier. He told me he’s still…so in love with you. It was really sweet, actually.”

The words hit Erica like a sudden slap, but she masks her reaction instantly, her expression hardening. Her stride doesn’t falter as she brushes past Holly. “Is that so.” she says, her tone razor-sharp.

Holly falters, biting her lip as Erica disappears down the hall.
Erica practically flies by Claire’s desk and storms into her own office, shutting the door notably harder than usual.
She drops her briefcase on the desk, her movements brisk, her thoughts a whirlwind. Nathan. How dare he infiltrate her workplace, her carefully constructed sanctuary?

The sound of soft knuckles on the door pulls her from her racing thoughts. “What?” she snaps, then winces, tempering her tone as she realizes that it is Claire, her reliable, trustworthy assistant and closest thing she has to a friend in this environment.
“Come in.”

Claire steps in, her demeanor calm but deliberate. She softly closes the door behind her, her gaze steady as she approaches Erica’s desk.
“Good morning, Erica.” she says, her voice low.

Erica exhales sharply, sitting down. “What is it, Claire?”

Claire folds her hands in front of her. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. Last night, at Ernie’s, Holly and I ran into someone…Nathan Asner.”

Erica stiffens, her jaw tightening. “Did you.”
Claire nods, her expression serious. “He sat at the neighboring table, possibly overhearing us. At some point he approached us - charmed his way into our conversation, really. He was asking about you. Said he…sacrificed everything for you. Wanted to reconcile.” She watches Erica carefully. “It felt off, Erica. Manipulative.”

Erica’s fingers drum against the desk, her expression darkening. “Of course it did. That’s his specialty.”

“I tried to shut it down, but…” Claire hesitates. “Holly…she was sympathetic. He slipped her his card as we were leaving.”

Erica’s eyes narrow, a storm brewing behind them. “And you think she called him? She told me about him just a minute ago when I walked in.”

“Maybe he called her.” Claire says firmly. “But she’s young, Erica. Naïve, romantic. He knew exactly what he was doing, targeting her.”

Erica leans back in her chair, brushing a bang behind her ear, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “He’s testing me, Claire. Trying to get under my skin.”

Claire nods. “And judging by your mood, it’s working.”

Erica’s gaze sharpens, but the tension eases slightly. She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Claire hesitates. “What’s the plan, Erica? If he’s this bold now…”

Erica stands abruptly, pacing toward the window. “I’ll handle it. Just…keep an eye on Holly, please. Make sure she doesn’t get drawn into his games.”

Claire nods, her expression resolute. “I will do my best.”

As Claire leaves, Erica stares out at the city skyline, her mind a whirlwind of anger and unease. Nathan wasn’t just testing her patience - he was invading her world, one deliberate move at a time, his tried and tested strategy.
But she won’t let him win. Not this time.

[LunaDog]

First things first, young Selina's claims that the T.V. company (C4) DID steal her story DOES appear to have credence. But proving so? Erica's up against a VERY rich and powerful corporation here. But if anybody can win justice, it's her.

Then there's Nathan's 'activities.' He really is a total 'snake in the grass,' using young Holly like that. At least Erica, and Claire, don't blame her, they fully realise that she's young and naive, knowing she is not to blame here. Looks like his tricks will get him nowhere, but it's hassle she doesn't need right now, or at anytime really!

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, I'm quite confident that Erica can make her case against C4 Entertainment, but with Nathan...you put it so well. He's a snake in the grass. Types like him know how to use and play other people and Claire noticed that if nothing else, he managed to get under Erica's skin already.

[Jenny_S]

Claire strides purposefully down the hallway, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Her expression is composed, but a glimmer of frustration tightens her jaw as she approaches the reception desk. Holly sits there, hunched over a pile of files, her brows furrowed in concentration as she sorts through documents for one of the associates.

Claire pauses a moment to steady herself, then speaks in a calm but firm tone. “Holly, join me in the conference room, please. We need to talk.”

Holly glances up, startled by the unusual edge in Claire’s voice. “Sure, just let me…” she begins, gesturing to the files.

“Now.” Claire interjects softly, her tone leaving no room for debate. She is not Holly’s boss, but her position as Erica’s assistant gives her a certain leadership role and therefore, authority.

Holly blinks, quickly sets the files aside, and follows Claire who leads her to the smaller of the two conference rooms, steps inside, and waits for Holly to follow before shutting the door firmly behind them.
Holly flips the sign on the door from green to red, marking the room as occupied. The air in the room feels heavier than usual, the quiet hum of the building amplifying the tension.

“Yes?” Holly asks tentatively, her voice small in the enclosed space.

Claire turns to face her, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes lock on Holly’s with an intensity that makes the younger woman’s shoulders stiffen. “Holly, this is about yesterday. At Ernie’s.” she begins, her words precise and deliberate. “That man - the one who approached us - Nathan. He’s Erica’s ex-boyfriend or something like that. Whatever their history is, it’s messy. And we - you and I - cannot allow ourselves to be used as his tools to get back at her. Do you understand?”

Holly’s face twists in confusion and a flicker of defensiveness. “I…I wasn’t trying to be used. I just thought - he seemed so genuine, Claire! He said he still loves her. He called this morning and…”

“No.” Claire’s voice sharpens, cutting Holly off mid-sentence. “Do not talk to him. Do not get involved. He will manipulate you. That’s what people like him do - they exploit kindness, naivety, and goodwill to get leverage.”

Holly recoils slightly at Claire’s intensity, her lips parting as though to protest, but Claire presses on. “I don’t know what happened between him and Erica.” she says, her voice softening, though it retains an unmistakable firmness. “But I do know this: the way Erica reacted this morning tells me they didn’t part on good terms. And if nothing else, we owe it to her to respect her boundaries. That means staying out of her private life, Holly. No exceptions.”

Holly shifts uneasily, wringing her hands together. Her earlier confidence has melted away, leaving her looking vulnerable and contrite. “But…I thought maybe I could help. He just seemed so...sad.” she says, her voice faltering. “I thought he deserved a chance to explain himself.”

Claire exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Holly,” she says gently, “I know you mean well. You have a good heart, but sometimes that can get you into trouble. Nathan doesn’t want a chance to explain himself. He wants an opportunity to use you - to manipulate you into giving him access to Erica, to her life, her emotions, her vulnerabilities. And trust me, nothing good can come from that.”

Holly’s eyes shimmer with unshed tears, her lower lip trembling. “I didn’t mean to make things worse.” she whispers.

Claire’s expression softens. She steps closer and places a reassuring hand on Holly’s shoulder. “I know you didn’t. That’s why I’m having this conversation with you now. To make sure you don’t get pulled into something you’ll regret later. If Nathan calls again, don’t talk to him. Tell him to leave you alone. And if you can’t do that, let me handle him. Understood?”

Holly nods, her voice barely audible. “Yes, ma’am…okay.”

Claire gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze before stepping back. “Good.” she says. “And for the record, you don’t have to ‘ma’am’ me. I’m still your friend, Holly. I just want to protect you from getting caught up in something bigger than you realize.”

The words seem to ease some of Holly’s tension. She sniffs softly, her voice tinged with remorse. “I’m sorry, Claire. I didn’t think…”

“I know you didn’t.” Claire says, her tone patient and kind now. She wraps an arm around Holly’s shoulders, drawing her into a brief but comforting hug. “That’s why I’m here. Just remember - this isn’t your battle to fight. Let Erica handle her past in her own way.”

Holly nods again, more firmly this time, as Claire releases her. “Thank you.” she says, her voice steadier. “I’ll do better.”

Claire smiles faintly. “Now, let’s get back to work. There’s plenty to do without Nathan adding to the pile.”

As Holly opens the door, Claire watches her leave, a flicker of worry lingering in her expression. She knows Holly’s heart is in the right place, but Nathan’s charm and manipulative streak are potent. Claire resolves to keep a closer eye on both Holly and the situation - Erica’s privacy depends on it.




Holly hesitates at her desk, clutching the edge of her phone. Claire’s words still echo in her mind, but guilt weighs heavily on her chest. She hadn’t meant to overstep, and the thought of Erica being upset - truly upset - makes her stomach churn. She glances down the hallway toward Erica’s office, the door closed as usual. With all the confidential matters going on, there’s no open door policy in this law office.

Gathering her courage, Holly takes a deep breath and starts walking. Her footsteps sound louder than they should on the floor, and her pulse quickens as she reaches Erica’s door. She raises a hand to knock but hesitates.
What if she’s furious? What if she doesn’t want to see me?
Steeling herself, she raps lightly on the door.

“Come in!” Erica’s crisp voice calls from within.

Holly steps inside, her nerves fraying at the edges as she sees Erica seated at her desk, a neat stack of documents before her and her laptop open to an email draft. Erica glances up, her sharp blue eyes meeting Holly’s. “Yes?”

Holly swallows hard. “I…I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” she stammers.

Erica’s brow furrows slightly, though she sets her pen down and leans back in her chair, giving Holly her full attention. “Sorry for what, exactly?”

“For…letting Nathan talk to me this morning. And for not realizing he was - well, trying to use me. I didn’t mean to cause trouble for you.”

A flicker of something - annoyance? Discomfort? - passes over Erica’s face before she schools her features into a neutral mask.

“Holly, I appreciate your apology.” she says carefully, her tone measured. “But let’s make one thing clear. My private life is exactly that - private. It’s not something I want anyone in this office getting involved in, no matter how well-meaning the intentions might be.”

Holly nods quickly, her cheeks burning. “I understand. I just…he seemed so sincere, and I thought maybe…” She trails off, realizing how naive her reasoning sounds now.

Erica exhales softly, her gaze softening just a fraction. “Nathan Asner is…complicated. And he’s very good at presenting himself in a lot of different ways when it suits him. Don’t feel bad for being taken in by it, Holly. He’s done it to plenty of people, myself included.”

Holly’s eyes widen slightly, catching the hint of vulnerability in Erica’s otherwise firm tone. “I really didn’t mean to overstep,” she says again, her voice small.

“I know.” Erica says, offering a faint smile. “But going forward, I need you to be cautious. If Nathan - or anyone else claiming to know me – contacts you, tell them to leave you alone. Anyone who really knows me doesn’t need you to play middleman. They would know how to get a hold of me.”

Holly nods fervently. “I will. I promise.”

“Good.” Erica picks up her pen again, a silent signal that the conversation is over.

Holly lingers for a moment, then adds hesitantly, “For what it’s worth…I think you’re really brave.”

Erica blinks, caught off guard. “Brave?”

“For dealing with all of this. I don’t think I could.”

Erica’s lips curve into a tight smile. “You’d be surprised what you can handle when you don’t have a choice. Now, if there’s nothing else, I have a lot of work to get through.”

“Of course,” Holly says quickly, stepping back toward the door. “Thank you for listening.”

As the door clicks shut behind her, Erica exhales a long breath, leaning back in her chair and staring at the closed door.

Brave.
She doesn’t feel brave. Not when memories of Nathan - and what he did to her - linger like shadows, dark and unshakable.

Holly’s words replay in her mind, grazing the edges of wounds she had convinced herself were healed. But they’re not. Not even close. She had covered them with a veneer of time and distance, slapped a band-aid over the pain. Beneath it, though, those wounds still fester, raw and unresolved.
"Permanent Wounds." Selina Neely’s story echoes in her mind, its title laden with weight. C4 had turned it into "Permanent Scars," but scars implied healing, and Erica wasn’t sure she was there yet.

“Time.” she whispers to herself, her voice barely audible over the steady hum of the office. “It’s time for the wounds Nathan inflicted to turn into scars. Permanently. Finally.”

But not today.
Today, she reminds herself, isn’t about her past or the ghosts it drags behind. Today is about helping a young woman - a student - fight for the justice she deserves.
Erica straightens her posture, brushing away the lingering shadows, and forces her focus back to the work before her. The past may be threatening to creep into her present, but it will not define her future.
Her resolve hardens, sharp as steel. For now, there’s a job to be done.

[LunaDog]

Young Holly was just being young and naive, with no bad intentions, on the contrary she WANTED to help and thought that she was. Both Erica and Claire can see this and reacted superbly. Making it clear, firmly, that she is being USED, and not to react to this cad ( an old English word to describe perfectly the kind of man Nathan is ) trying to involve her, but kindness making it clear it's not her fault.

Meanwhile trying to work out how to approach C4 Entertainments.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, in this story we don't meet a hardened career criminal, but (besides C4 Entertainment) a predator of a different kind. Tonight we will see how the story unfolds further, because Nathan isn't done yet.

[Jenny_S]

Erica leans back in her chair, takes a steadying breath, and picks up the phone. She dials Selina Neely’s number, which Claire had taken down along with her address upon her previous visit.
The line rings twice before a tentative voice answers.
“Hello?”

“Selina Neely? This is Erica Sinclair.”
Erica’s tone is crisp but warm, projecting the calm confidence she reserves for clients, even as her pulse quickens slightly.

“Oh! Miss Sinclair, hi.” Selina’s voice lifts with surprise, a mixture of relief and nervousness. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”

“I’ve had the chance to review your manuscript,” Erica begins, careful to keep her tone measured, “and I’ve also watched the movie. It’s safe to say the similarities are undeniable.”

A pause. Selina’s breath hitches faintly. “You mean…it’s really…?”

“Yes.” Erica confirms gently. “It’s unmistakable. They’ve adapted your work, almost verbatim in some parts. If you’re ready to pursue this, I’d like to meet in person to discuss next steps and formalize our approach.”

“I…” Selina hesitates, and Erica detects a waver of uncertainty. “Yes, I think I’m ready. When would you like me to come in?”

“How about 2 PM today? That way we can go over everything thoroughly.” Erica’s voice carries a decisive yet accommodating tone, maintaining control of the conversation.

“Yes, of course.” Selina’s tone steadies, though it’s still tinged with apprehension. “I can be there at 2. Thank you so much, Miss Sinclair. I didn’t know if anyone would take me seriously.”

Erica softens her voice. “You’ve done the hard part by coming forward. Now it’s my job to make sure your voice is heard. We’ll figure this out together.”

Selina exhales audibly, a small laugh slipping through. “Thank you. Really. I’ll see you after lunch.”

“Looking forward to it.” Erica replies. “Take care, Selina.”

As she hangs up, Erica lets the phone settle into its cradle. She closes the folder on her desk, where neatly arranged screenshots from the movie and excerpts from Selina’s manuscript await. Her preparation is meticulous, her focus unwavering.
Today promises to be a decisive step forward, but a flicker of unease lingers. Too many parallels between Selina’s story and her own dark desires tug at her thoughts, threatening to blur the line between justice and self-reckoning.





Selina Neely steps hesitantly into the Sinclair & Associates office, her movements precise and modest, as if wary of disturbing the air itself. Her conservative attire - a high-necked blouse tucked into a long, pleated skirt and a long coat to shield her against the cold weather - seems almost at odds with the weighty drama of the manuscript Erica had read. In her arms, she cradles a slim folder, her knuckles pale against its edges.

With Holly Beck still on her lunch break, Claire, efficient as ever, greets Selina at the reception desk with a warm, professional smile. “Miss Neely, good afternoon. Miss Sinclair is expecting you. Follow me, please.”

Selina nods, offering a murmured “Thank you.” and follows Claire down the sleek hallway, her shoes tapping softly against the polished floor. She keeps her gaze fixed straight ahead, her posture rigid but her lips pressed into an anxious, polite smile.

When they reach Erica’s office, Claire steps aside, knocks, and upon Erica’s “Yes, please!” pushes open the door. “Miss Sinclair, Miss Neely is here to see you.”

Erica, seated behind her polished mahogany desk, looks up with her characteristic calm composure. “Ah, Miss Neely. Please, come in. Thank you, Claire.”

Selina steps into the room, clutching her folder like a lifeline. Erica rises and gestures toward the chair opposite her desk. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

She perches on the edge of the chair, her back straight and her expression careful. Erica moves with deliberate ease, as if trying to put Selina at ease by example. “Can I offer you something? Coffee? Water?” she asks, her tone light but genuine.

This time, after a brief pause, Selina nods. “Coffee would be nice, thank you.”

Erica presses a button on her desk intercom. “Claire, could you bring us two coffees, please?”

The two women sit in silence for a moment, a tension in the air that’s not hostile but palpable nonetheless.
Erica studies Selina, noting the understated tremor in her hands and the way her eyes dart nervously around the room, as if cataloging her surroundings for a safe exit.
Claire arrives with the coffee on a polished metal tray, placing it carefully on the desk, putting one cup of the gourmet roast complete with two Sweet’n Low and a splash of almond milk before Erica.
“Here you go.” She departs again with a smile and a small nod.

Erica takes her cup, and Selina mirrors her actions, cupping the warm mug as though the heat is grounding her. Erica waits until Selina has taken a small sip before speaking.

“I’ll be honest, Miss Neely.” she begins, her tone professional but not cold. “When you first came to me yesterday, I didn’t expect to be reviewing mature content of this caliber.”

Selina flushes deeply, her fingers tightening around her coffee cup. “I…I know it’s not what people expect when they look at me. But it’s just…writing has always been a way for me to explore things I couldn’t otherwise…”
Her voice trails off, as if embarrassed by her own words.

Erica softens slightly. “And explore, you did. I’m not judging you. Your manuscript is vivid, detailed, and evocative. That’s part of why it was so easy to recognize your work when I watched the movie.”

Her expression hardens subtly as she continues, “The similarities between your manuscript and Permanent Scars are glaring. There’s no question about it - they adapted your work.”

Selina looks down at her lap, blinking rapidly. “I just…I can’t believe they’d do something like this. Without asking, without even telling me.”

Erica leans forward slightly, her hands folded on the desk. “Unfortunately, it happens more often than you might think. But you came to the right place. Here’s what I suggest: I’ll make an initial call to C4’s legal division to test the waters. If they’re willing to admit wrongdoing, we can negotiate directly with them. If they dig in their heels, we’ll move forward with a lawsuit.”

Selina’s breath catches. “A lawsuit? That sounds...big. Expensive.”

“It can be.” Erica admits. “But if we win – and this is what the evidence, your manuscript, suggests, all costs will be covered by their settlement. And if we go that route, I’m confident we would win. Otherwise, I’d not recommend taking this case to court.” She pauses, studying Selina’s expression. “That said, in the event C4 offers a settlement to avoid court, would you be open to that? Monetary compensation, I mean.”

Selina hesitates, her brows furrowing. “I…guess so. I mean, I wouldn’t know how much to even ask for.”

Erica offers a reassuring nod. “That’s something we can figure out together. The goal would be to secure an amount that reflects the full value of your intellectual property - both what it’s worth and what it has earned for them.” She sits back, giving Selina space to process. “We don’t have to decide everything today. The first step is just to reach out to them and follow up with a written statement to document our actions.”

Selina exhales shakily, a faint smile breaking through her anxiety. “Thank you, Miss Sinclair. I…I’m so grateful you’re taking this seriously. I was so scared no one would.”

Erica’s voice softens. “You have every right to be heard. And now, you will be.”
She stands, signaling the conclusion of the meeting. “Claire will help you with any paperwork we might need, and I’ll contact you as soon as I’ve spoken with C4.”

Selina rises, clutching her folder again but with a hint of steadiness this time. “Thank you. Really. I don’t know how to repay you.”
Erica smiles faintly, ushering her to the door. “Let’s focus on making them pay us.”





After Selina leaves, Erica lets out a long breath, her thoughts racing as she gathers her materials. She straightens the stack of papers on her desk, the hard evidence of Selina’s claims. The movie script excerpts, side-by-side with Selina’s original story, are damning. The parallels are too blatant to dismiss, and Erica knows she has the upper hand.

She reaches for the phone on her desk, her fingers pausing momentarily over the keypad. She takes a calming breath. This call could set the stage for a battle - or a resolution. Either way, she knows she has to project confidence and precision.

Dialing the number for C4 Entertainment’s corporate offices in Los Angeles, she is greeted by an automated menu. Erica navigates it with practiced patience until a human finally picks up.
“C4 Help Center. How may I assist you today?”

“This is Erica Sinclair of Sinclair & Associates in New York City.” she says, her tone crisp yet polite. “I need to speak to someone in your legal department regarding a copyright claim.”

The word “copyright” seems to cut through the usual call center haze. After a brief hold, she’s transferred, the tinny elevator music in her ear fading as a new voice answers.
“C4 Legal, Kyle Brennan speaking. How can I help you?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Brennan.” Erica begins, her tone professional but firm. “I’m contacting you regarding your production, Permanent Scars. Am I correct in understanding that this is C4 Entertainment property?”

“It is.” Brennan replies cautiously, his voice guarded. “What’s this about?”

Erica doesn’t miss a beat. “I represent Miss Selina Neely, the original author of a story titled Permanent Wounds, which was published publicly on the Writer’s Corner forum on October 8, 2022, under the pen name Selina0720. After a thorough review, I can confirm that the script for Permanent Scars contains not just thematic similarities but direct textual lifts from my client’s work. Whole scenes and dialogue were copied verbatim.”

There’s a beat of silence, the kind where you can almost hear the gears turning on the other end of the line.
“That’s a bold claim, Miss Sinclair.” Brennan says finally, his tone even but edged with skepticism. “Are you absolutely certain of what you’re alleging? You’re suggesting copyright infringement of the highest order.”

Erica leans forward, her hand resting on the edge of her desk. “Mr. Brennan,” she says coolly, “I never make claims I can’t back up. I’ve already sent a formal statement with evidence to the contact email address listed on your website. That includes side-by-side comparisons of key scenes, dialogue, and plot elements. A hard copy will be sent by registered mail before the close of business today.”

Her words hang in the air, deliberate and unyielding.

“I’m giving your company four business days to review this matter and respond with your position. My client is open to an amicable settlement, including appropriate monetary compensation. However, if your legal team decides not to engage in good faith, we are fully prepared to pursue this case in court.”

Brennan exhales audibly, a slight crack in his polished demeanor. “Miss Sinclair, I’ll review the materials you’ve provided. Please understand that I can’t make any statements or decisions until I’ve had a chance to investigate the matter fully. Rest assured, we take all claims seriously, and our legal team is well-prepared to address unsubstantiated allegations.”

Erica’s lips tighten, but her voice remains smooth. “I’m confident you’ll find our claim is anything but unsubstantiated, Mr. Brennan. I’ll expect to hear from you by Friday. Have a good day.”

Without waiting for his reply, Erica lowers the receiver, letting it settle into the cradle with a satisfying click.

She sits back in her chair, her hands resting on the polished wood of her desk as her gaze drifts to the skyline visible through her office window. Her mind churns through the possible next steps.

Behind the walls of C4 Entertainment, she knows the wheels are already turning. Someone will be reviewing her email, someone will be sifting through the evidence, and someone - perhaps more than one someone - will be sweating. The kind of theft that Permanent Scars represents isn’t just a legal matter; it’s a reputational one. And reputations don’t survive scandals like this unscathed.

Erica allows herself a small, satisfied smile. Whatever damage control C4 plans to execute, they’ll soon realize they’re not up against just anyone.

Turning back to her laptop, she pulls up Selina’s file and begins drafting a potential court submission, just in case. She isn’t the type to leave things to chance.

First blood has been drawn and this battle is just beginning.

[LunaDog]

Game on!

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, not only in this one respect, I guarantee that.

[Caesar73]

Today promises to be a decisive step forward, but a flicker of unease lingers. Too many parallels between Selina’s story and her own dark desires tug at her thoughts, threatening to blur the line between justice and self-reckoning.

Very insightful lines. It must be hard for Erica to walk the thin line here. And she will do so: The Call with C 4´s legal Department shows us the professional Lawyer Erica Sinclair at work. Ready to fight for her Clients best Interest. And she does.

To me it looks like a Game of Chess. The Board is set, the first Moves made.

I wonder how Nathan fit in all this. But @Jenny_S will tell us in her unique Style.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @Caesar73, thank you soo much. You'll see what Nathan is up to in a minute.

[Jenny_S]

“Holly!”

The pleasant, almost too-familiar voice pulls Holly Beck out of her thoughts as she tucks the cashier’s change into her purse. She freezes mid-motion, glancing over her shoulder. To her surprise, Nathan Asner is standing just a few feet away, his smile easy, his posture relaxed.
“Nathan…” Holly replies, her voice marked by surprise, her gaze flickering between him and the door. “I didn’t…”

“Expect to see me?” He finishes her thought smoothly, stepping closer with a slight tilt of his head. “Of course not. Pure coincidence, I assure you. Though it’s a lucky one.”

He gestures lightly toward the store’s small seating area, subtly guiding her away from the register and its line of impatient customers. She follows a step or two before stopping, her hand tightening around the bag in her grasp.
“How’s your day going so far?” Nathan asks, his tone light, conversational.

“Umm…” Holly hesitates, her mind racing. “Pretty good. Thank you.”

“That’s good to hear.” Nathan’s smile broadens, though there’s something almost calculated in the way his eyes linger on hers. “Did you get a chance to give Erica my message?”

Holly draws a sharp breath, her pulse quickening. Claire’s words ring loudly in her mind: Do not let him manipulate you. Erica’s warning wasn’t far behind: He’ll try to charm you into helping him. Don’t fall for it.

“Nathan…Mr. Asner…” she begins, her voice wavering slightly as she tries to inject firmness. “I’d rather…I mean, I can’t really…get involved in this.”

Nathan’s smile fades, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. His shoulders slump just slightly, his hands finding the pockets of his coat. For a moment, he looks down at the tiled floor before meeting her gaze again.
“I see.” His voice is quiet, almost wistful. “She told you what a bad guy I am, didn’t she?”

His lips curve into a sad smile, but his expression carries a heaviness that makes Holly hesitate. He looks so…wounded. A pang of guilt stirs in her chest, though she can’t quite explain why.
“She’s always been good at manipulating people,” Nathan continues, his voice low and heavy with emotion. “Bending them to her will. It’s one of her talents. And when she doesn’t need you anymore…” He trails off, shaking his head as if banishing a painful memory. “She throws you away.”

Holly swallows hard, her throat dry. The bag in her hands crinkles under the pressure of her grip. “I don’t think that’s…”

“She probably told you I’m some kind of villain, didn’t she?” Nathan’s voice breaks slightly, his gaze turning distant as if recalling some private pain. “The truth is, I loved her. Still do, if I’m honest. I’d give anything to fix things, but…I guess it’s too late for that.”

The rawness in his voice pulls at Holly’s heartstrings. She knows she should leave, walk away and let this be the end of it, but his sadness feels almost tangible. The idea of leaving him standing there, looking so lost, twists something inside her.

“Maybe it’s better if I just…let go,” Nathan says quietly, his shoulders sinking further. He glances toward the door, giving her a small, defeated smile. “Thanks for your help, Holly. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”

He starts to turn away, his movements slow and deliberate, and Holly feels the moment slipping through her fingers. Claire’s warning flares in her mind again, but it’s drowned out by something else - a deep, instinctive need to soothe, to help.
“Nathan…” Her voice comes out softer than she intended, barely above a whisper. He pauses mid-step, glancing back over his shoulder.
“Maybe…” she starts again, faltering as a knot tightens in her stomach. “Maybe there’s…something I can do to help.”

Nathan turns fully toward her, the sadness in his eyes tempered by a flicker of hope. He doesn’t speak right away, letting the silence stretch just long enough to keep her hooked.

“You’d do that for me?” he asks finally, his voice quiet, almost disbelieving.

Holly’s throat feels tight, her grip on her bag loosening slightly as she nods. “I don’t know what I can do, but…I can try.”

Nathan steps closer, his smile returning, warm and appreciative. “Thank you, Holly. That means more to me than you know.”

She looks away, the heat of his gaze unsettling. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a warning bell is ringing, but it’s drowned out by the weight of his gratitude.
As they step out of the store, Holly can’t shake the sense that she’s crossed a line, one she may not fully understand yet.

Nathan’s eyes light up with feigned relief when Holly tells him to wait. She fiddles nervously with the edge of her shopping bag, her internal conflict visible on her face.

“I’m not sure how I can help.” she says, her voice uncertain.

Nathan softens his posture, taking a step closer but careful not to invade her space. His tone is calm, almost pleading.

“I get it, Holly. You’re in a tough spot. I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position.” He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply, as though searching for the right words. “But I’ve written her a card - nothing dramatic, just a simple apology. Closure, you know? I’d love to hand it to her personally, but…I don’t want to ambush her or make her feel pressured.”

Holly blinks, her uncertainty softening at his apparent vulnerability. “Oh. I mean…that doesn’t sound too bad. A goodbye card?”

Nathan nods eagerly, his expression earnest. “Exactly. I want her to know I respect her boundaries. But if I send it to the office, it feels wrong to force a personal matter into her business.” He hesitates, giving her a rueful smile. “If you know of a place where she might feel more comfortable, somewhere neutral, I could hand it to her and say goodbye. Then, I can walk away for good.”

Holly glances around the store, biting her lip as she considers his words. Claire’s warning flickers briefly in her mind, but Nathan’s downcast expression and the way he speaks of respect disarm her. This doesn’t feel like a threat, she tells herself.

“Well…” she begins hesitantly, “she doesn’t really like to mix personal stuff with work. But…she does go to Muscle Buster’s Gym during her lunch break. She likes her weight training.”

Nathan’s eyebrows lift in what appears to be mild surprise, though there’s a flicker of triumph in his eyes. “Muscle Buster’s? Huh, I wouldn’t have guessed. That’s…perfect, actually. I can stop by during lunch and give her the card. Quick and simple.”

Holly nods, now feeling more at ease with her decision. “Yeah, just - don’t make it a big deal, okay? She doesn’t really like surprises.”

“Of course.” Nathan agrees smoothly, placing a hand over his chest in mock solemnity. “I promise, no drama. Just a quiet goodbye.”

Holly smiles faintly, reassured by his calm demeanor. “I hope it works out for you two.”

Nathan’s lips curve into a sad smile. “Me too. Thanks, Holly. You’ve been really kind.”
As they part ways, Nathan steps out of the store, his pleasant mask slipping as he strides purposefully toward his car. His mind is already racing with possibilities, plotting how best to exploit this opportunity.

“She likes weight training, does she?” he mutters under his breath, a sly grin curling his lips. “Interesting choice, Erica. Let’s see how much you’ve built those walls of privacy when I show up.”

Inside the store, Holly watches him leave, a small knot of unease forming in her stomach. But she brushes it off. After all, she reasons, she’d only shared a harmless detail. What could possibly go wrong?

[LunaDog]

Oh Dear! Seems like young Holly hasn't yet learnt her lesson, the really sad bit is that she means well, she has NO idea that she's been played like a puppet on a string but this devious man, who really is, to use an English expression, a 'nasty piece of work.'

Now he knows another detail about Erica's private life, another place he can pester her.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, Nathan is not just suave and charming, but is also great as passing himself off as the poor victim who gave everything only to be discarded. He knows exactly how to tug at Holly's heartstrings using her to get to Erica. We'll see how far this gets him.

[Caesar73]

Nathan tells Holly is a gifted manipulator - who uses People for her gain. It is exactly the other way around. Nathan knows exactly which Buttons to push. One have to give him his due: He is good at what he is doing. I have the Feeling, if Erica finds out Holly helped Nathan by what ever he is planning? There will be the devil to pay!

[Jenny_S]

Dear @Caesar73 what could Erica do? Get a restraining order? Read on and find out...

[Jenny_S]

The fluorescent lights buzz faintly in Muscle Buster’s Gym, casting a sterile glow over the rows of machines, free weights, and cardio equipment. Erica is in the zone, her breathing steady as she executes a set of weighted squats in front of the mirror. Clad in sleek black leggings and a tank top, she exudes focus, her movements purposeful and strong.
The gym is a space where she leaves the world behind and, not unlike during her morning runs, focuses on herself only.

Nathan spots her from the entrance, his lips curving into a calculating smile as he ogles Erica’s toned body imagining how much fun he will be having with her once he has demolished her fortress’ walls.
His timing is deliberate, his posture casual yet poised for confrontation. He holds a small envelope in his hand, the card inside bearing an apology crafted to sound heartfelt but carefully designed to pull at Erica’s emotions.

He approaches slowly, weaving past gym-goers with the ease of someone who’s used to blending in. Erica doesn’t notice him at first, her attention fixed on the barbell across her shoulders. Her final rep completed, she racks the weight with a clink of metal and wipes her brow, catching movement in her peripheral vision. At first she believes it to be another athlete, but as she glances toward the figure nearing her, her heart drops like a stone when recognition hits.

“Nathan.” she says, her voice flat and taut with disbelief, her posture stiffening, her sense of control evaporating as if the room has tilted off balance.
“What the hell are you doing here?”

Nathan raises his hands in mock surrender, his smile painted with false charm. He takes a deliberate step closer, just enough to loom without being outright threatening. His voice is smooth, practiced.

“Relax, Erica. I’m not here to cause trouble. I just wanted to say goodbye.”
He holds up the envelope like a peace offering. “I wrote you a card. An apology for everything. That’s all.”

Her eyes narrow, skepticism sharpening her features. Her pulse races, but she keeps her expression steely.
“You’ve got some nerve. Goodbye? You shouldn’t just have shown up at all.”

“I didn’t mean to ambush you.” he lies, his tone low and disarming. “Holly mentioned you came here often. I thought it would be better to speak in person, no emails, no texts. Just closure.”

The mention of Holly’s name ignites a flare of anger in Erica’s chest, but she clamps it down, unwilling to give Nathan the satisfaction of seeing her react. She glances around, suddenly hyper-aware of the people nearby, the feeling of being trapped creeping up her spine. Nathan steps closer, and her fists tighten at her sides.

“Stay where you are! You could have apologized back then.” she bites out, her voice edged with ice. “Why now?”

“Because I’ve realized what I lost.” he says, his tone rich with manufactured regret. “You. Us. And I can’t live with myself if I don’t at least try to make things right. I’m not asking for a second chance, Erica. Just a chance to…heal.”

The words land with a nauseating familiarity, echoes of his past manipulations ringing in her ears. Her mind screams at her to walk away, but her feet stay rooted, her defiance battling against the flickers of old wounds he’s prying open. This is her place and she will not run away.

Nathan holds out the card again, his expression pleading.
“Please. If you don’t want to read it, throw it away. But at least take it. After that, I’ll leave you alone. I swear.”

Erica stares at the envelope, her instinct to refuse warring with the desire to seize the power in this moment. She snatches the card from his hand, her jaw tight.

“This doesn’t mean anything.” she snaps. “And it damn well doesn’t mean you’re forgiven. Now get out before I have you thrown out!”

Nathan takes a step back, his hands still raised in faux surrender, but the glint in his eyes betrays his satisfaction. He nods, his smile almost imperceptible.
“Fair enough. Thank you for listening, Erica. I’ll leave you to your workout. You look fabulous, by the way. Gorgeous even. My God, this body…”



The sound of the door closing behind Nathan reverberates like a taunt in Erica’s ears.

She stares at the envelope in her hand, its weight far heavier than the thin paper should allow. Fury courses through her veins, hot and insistent. Her fingers tremble as she glares at the envelope, a symbol of everything Nathan represents - manipulation, intrusion, and the past clawing at her present.

Without a second thought, she strides to the nearest trash can and tosses it in. She doesn’t want to know what he wrote on the card, she doesn’t care.
The soft thud of the envelope landing feels satisfying but not nearly enough. She wants to destroy it, tear it to shreds, burn it - but no. That would mean giving Nathan more headspace than he deserves.

Erica closes her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply through her nose, trying to reclaim her composure. The gym, usually her haven, now feels contaminated by Nathan’s presence. The air feels heavier, the neon lights sharper, the hum of distant chatter from the cardio machines too loud.

She needs an outlet, something physical to match the storm raging inside her. With determined steps, she walks to the neighboring boxing area, her gym bag slung over her shoulder. The familiar clang of weights and rhythmic thuds of others working the bags surround her, but she registers none of it. Her world narrows to the heavy sandbag hanging in front of her, lazily swaying as if mocking her restraint.

Erica slips on her padded lightweight gloves with deliberate precision, cinching the Velcro tighter than she ever did. She plants her feet, squares her shoulders, and, without hesitation, delivers a sharp right hook that sends the bag swinging. She follows it immediately with a left, her fists flying in a relentless rhythm. Her movements are precise and brutal, her breathing heavy and punctuated by sharp grunts with every hit.
The bag becomes him.
Nathan.
His smug smile, his glinting eyes, his audacity to intrude on her space, on her peace.

Each punch lands with the weight of her anger. Right hook. Left cross. Jab. Uppercut. The bag swings wildly, but she moves around it as if on rollers, chasing it, her fists unrelenting as she takes him apart with surgical precision.

Her strikes grow fiercer, fueled by memories she’s long buried.
His manipulation.
The way he twisted her world until she barely recognized herself.
The ache of betrayal, of trust shattered.

She closes in, wrapping her arms around the bag. Her knee slams into it with precision - once, twice, again and again - each strike a message she wishes she could deliver directly.

Pain.
Regret.
Stay away.

Her movements are controlled but feral, her face set in a grimace as sweat pours down her temple, mingling with the heat radiating from her skin.
Lost in the tunnel of her fury, she doesn’t notice Brian, one of the gym’s owners, leaning casually against the doorframe to the boxing area. His arms are crossed, his expression a mix of amusement and awe as he watches her demolish the bag.

After ten brutal minutes, Erica finally steps back, panting, her chest heaving with exertion. She steadies the bag with both hands, her knuckles aching beneath the light sparring gloves. Sweat drips from her brow, soaking into her top, but the whirlwind inside her feels quieter now, her mind sharper, her emotions more contained. She delivers one last, savage roundhouse kick to the bag, sending it swinging violently.

Brian winces in mock sympathy, crossing the room toward her. “Geez, Erica. You killed him.”
He nods toward the battered bag. “I wouldn’t want to get on your bad side when you’re this pissed.”

Erica turns toward him, towel in hand, wiping her flushed face. She gives a small, sarcastic laugh with no trace of humor in it. “Yeah, me neither.” she mutters, her voice laced with both exhaustion and resolve. “Me neither.”

Brian studies her for a beat, as if weighing whether to press further. But he knows better than to prod. Flashing her a thumbs-up and a knowing nod, he leaves her to catch her breath.

As Erica watches him walk away, she exhales slowly. Her body feels better - lighter, looser - but the anger still simmers beneath her skin. She knows Nathan isn’t done, not by a long shot. But neither is she.


Erica pulls off her gloves, her chest still heaving from exertion. She glances down at her hands, the skin reddened and raw in places. It’s been years since she’s pounded a bag like this, but as she flexes her fingers, she feels a strange sense of satisfaction. The movements had come back to her instinctively, like a muscle memory from another lifetime.

She lets out a long breath and leans against the cool concrete wall, tilting her head back. The gym noise fades into the background as an old memory takes hold, vivid as if it were happening now.

“Erica, sometimes words just aren’t enough.”
Her father’s voice echoed in the garage, calm but firm, as he hung up a battered, old leather sandbag from the steel rafter. The bag swayed as he secured it, testing the chain.
“If someone ever puts their hands on you – unwanted - you defend yourself. With all you’ve got. Don’t hold back.”

She remembers standing there, tall for her age but lanky, her arms crossed over her chest, staring at the bag with wide eyes. “But, Dad,” she hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper, “what if I get in trouble? What if they tell the teacher?”
He knelt down in front of her, meeting her gaze with that same reassuring look he always had when she was scared. “I’ll always have your back, Erica. No matter what. Don’t you ever worry about that.”

The reason for her father’s impromptu training session had been burned into her memory. It was the day Tommy Shoemaker decided she needed to be “taught a lesson.” She had defended Andrea Santos, the shy new girl in school, when Tommy and his cronies started picking on her on the school’s playground. Erica’s sharp words and refusal to back down had temporarily silenced the boys, but Tommy’s pride had been wounded.
Later that week, as she walked home from school, she’d felt someone grab her backpack. She turned to find Tommy, smirking, accompanied by his friends. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you, Sinclair?” he sneered.
Her heart had raced, her palms were slick with sweat. She wanted to run, but her feet were glued to the pavement as she was surrounded by Tommy’s friends. She didn’t even know what happened next - just that she came home with a tear in her shirt and an ache in her shoulder.

Her father had pieced the story together without her saying a word, but instead of calling Tommy’s parents or the school, he’d gone straight to the garage, where the smell of steel, rubber, motor oil and sawdust mingled with the sharp tang of the old leather bag he’d brought out for her.

“Hit it.” he’d said, positioning her in front of the sandbag. “Fists up, tuck your elbows in.”
She’d frowned, unsure, lifting her fist hesitantly. “Like this?”
“Harder.” His voice was steady, encouraging. “You’re stronger than you think, Erica. Fight like the third lioness on Noah's Ark as it’s starting to rain. Always aim for where it’ll hurt most. And never let anyone make you feel weak.”

Back in the present, Erica’s jaw tightens as the memory fades. The sandbag swings gently in front of her, still rocking from her last kick. Her father’s words echo in her mind.

“You’re stronger than you think.”

That had happened long before she graduated from Harvard Law School and her father gave her the Rolex dive watch with the inscription “Stand for something or fall for anything” on the back of the case, but now as the memory of her father giving her lessons in effective self-defense came back to her, she realizes that it all tied together in his endeavor to forge her into a woman able to take care of herself – in any adversity.

She grabs her towel, wiping the sweat from her forehead and neck. The anger that had fueled her earlier feels more controlled now, tempered by purpose. She may not be able to hit Nathan directly, but she can fight him in other ways - with strategy, with resolve, and with the strength her father taught her to wield.

Her gaze drops to her gym bag, her mind already shifting to the next steps. Nathan may have shaken her earlier, but he hadn’t won. Not even close.

Erica slings the bag over her shoulder and heads for the locker room. Time to shower, regroup, and remind herself that she’s not that frightened girl anymore. She’s a woman who knows how to fight - and win.

[LunaDog]

One of Erica's sanctuaries has just been violated in her own mind. Nathan has ambushed her in one of her private places. But if he thinks he's won....

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, Erica knows that getting rid off Nathan won't be easy and that the carefully constructed walls around her privacy might not be as solid as she believed them to be. But she's not one to roll over easily.

[Jenny_S]

The elevator dings softly, its polished doors sliding open to reveal the entrance to Sinclair & Associates on the 25th floor. Erica steps out, her heels clicking sharply against the gleaming floor. Despite the release she’d found in pummeling the sandbag, an ember of simmering fury remains. There’s an issue that demands immediate attention.
Holly.

“My office. Now.” Erica’s voice slices through the quiet hum of the reception area, commanding and cold as steel.

Holly looks up from her desk, startled. The sharpness in Erica’s tone makes her heart sink. She knows instantly that something is wrong - very wrong. With a knot tightening in her stomach, she nods and follows her boss down the hall.

Erica doesn’t wait for Holly to catch up. As she strides into her office, she pauses only to glance at Claire. “No calls. No visitors.” she orders curtly before disappearing inside.

Holly trails behind, her steps hesitant as she casts a quick, helpless look at Claire.
By the time she enters the office, Erica has already shrugged off her coat and tossed her handbag onto the desk. She doesn’t bother to invite Holly to sit.

Erica settles into her chair, her piercing gaze fixed on Holly, who stands awkwardly by the door.
“Did you tell Nathan Asner where I work out during lunch?” Erica’s tone is deceptively calm, but the undercurrent of fury is unmistakable.

Holly’s breath catches, and her cheeks flush crimson. In that moment, the full weight of her mistake comes crashing down on her. Her gaze drops to the floor as guilt coils in her chest.
“He…he just wanted to give you a goodbye card.” Holly stammers weakly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Erica leans forward, her elbows resting on the desk, her eyes narrowing like a predator locking onto its prey. Her words are razor-sharp, cutting through the tense silence.

“Didn’t I tell you – explicitly - to stay out of my private affairs?” Erica’s voice is low, but each word lands like a hammer. “I don’t want anything from him, about him, or through him in my life. Ever. Is that understood?”

Holly flinches as if struck. “I…I’m so sorry, Miss Sinclair. I didn’t mean…”

“Intentions don’t matter, Holly. Actions do.” Erica’s tone sharpens even further, her anger controlled but palpable. “What you did was careless. You handed him access to me - again. You might have thought you were helping, but all you’ve done is enable a stalker. Do you even understand how dangerous that could be?”

Holly’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as she nods, her voice trembling. “I…I didn’t think…”

“No.” Erica interrupts coldly. “You didn’t. And let me be clear: if you ever help him invade my life again - intentionally or otherwise - you can start looking for a new job.”

The words land with the weight of a gavel, final and unyielding. Holly’s face crumples, and she whispers, “I understand. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

Erica leans back in her chair, her expression softening just slightly, though her voice remains firm. “You need to learn, Holly. Good intentions don’t excuse bad judgment. Especially not here. This isn’t a mistake I can afford to tolerate.”

Holly nods again, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her blazer. “I…I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I promise.”

Erica takes a long, measured breath, the fire in her chest finally beginning to ebb. She waves her hand toward the door.

“That’s all. Get back to work.”

Holly hesitates for a moment, as if she wants to say more, but instead she nods silently and slips out of the office, closing the door quietly behind her.

Left alone, Erica presses her fingertips against her temples and leans back in her chair. The confrontation had been necessary, but it hadn’t done much to soothe her frustration.

Nathan’s intrusion at the gym had left her rattled, and Holly’s naivety had only made it worse. Trust is a fragile thing, and in her line of work - and her personal life - it isn’t given lightly.
She couldn’t afford to be reckless. Neither could the people around her.

With a sigh, Erica straightens in her chair, already refocusing. There’s no time to dwell. Not when the fight with C4 is just beginning.





Later that afternoon, Claire catches Holly in the break room, standing by the coffee machine with slumped shoulders and an air of defeat around her.

Claire approaches her younger colleague with a gentle smile, holding her own mug of tea. “Rough day?”
Holly flinches slightly, clearly still shaken by Erica’s words. She nods, her eyes glued to the swirling coffee in her cup. “You could say that.”

Setting her mug on the counter, Claire leans against the wall, crossing her arms. “I saw Erica pull you into her office earlier. Want to talk about it?”

Holly hesitates, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. “I messed up. Big time.”

Claire tilts her head, inviting her to elaborate.

“It’s Nathan.” Holly finally admits, her voice barely audible. “He met me at the corner store yesterday during my lunch break, asked me how he could meet Erica away from the office to give her a card with an apology…and I told him where she works out. I didn’t think it would hurt. I thought he just wanted to apologize, you know? I thought I was helping.”

Claire’s brows lift slightly, but her expression remains kind. “And Erica wasn’t too happy about that, I take it?”

Holly lets out a shaky laugh. “Not exactly. She basically said if I helped him stalk her again, I’d be out of a job.”

Claire nods thoughtfully, taking a sip of her tea before speaking. “That does sound like Erica. She likes to protect her private life.”

Holly’s gaze drops again, guilt written all over her face. “I didn’t mean any harm. I just… I feel bad for Nathan. He seemed so sad, and…” She trails off, unsure how to explain herself.

Claire places a reassuring hand on Holly’s arm. “I get it, Holly. You’ve got a good heart, and you wanted to help. But sometimes, wanting to help isn’t enough. You’ve got to think about the bigger picture - the consequences.”

Holly nods slowly. “I know. I just…” She exhales deeply, struggling to put her feelings into words. “I hate that I made things worse for Erica. She doesn’t deserve that.”

Claire smiles gently. “You’re right. She doesn’t. But you’ve learned something important today, haven’t you?”

Holly looks up at her, a flicker of hope in her eyes. “I think so. I just… I want to fix it somehow.”

Claire squeezes her arm lightly. “The best way to fix it is to stay professional and respect Erica’s boundaries. Show her that you’ve learned from this, and that you can be trusted.”

Holly gives a small, determined nod. “I will. I promise.”

Claire’s smile widens, a touch of warmth in her tone. “Good. You’ve got potential, Holly. Don’t let one mistake define you. Learn from it and keep moving forward.”

As Holly straightens her posture, some of the weight seems to lift from her shoulders. Claire watches her leave the break room with a renewed sense of determination, silently hoping that this would be a turning point for the young assistant.

[LunaDog]

It might have the 'hard way' but young Holly seems to have last learnt her lesson. She is, after all, a decent and caring person, if young and totally naive. Unlike Nathan.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, Holly is such a good person, but young, naive and romantic which makes her easy prey for someone like Nathan. Yet, Erica definitely needs to figure this situation out.

[Jenny_S]

Erica sits at her desk, the warm aroma of her morning coffee curling into the air.
The last few days had been busy, filled with client meetings, emails, and the occasional flare of irritation from Holly’s awkward attempts to stay out of her way. But today, Friday morning, it feels different – lighter even – mostly, Erica muses, because there has been no Nathan for the last few days.

Claire reminds her that feedback from C4 Entertainment is due today by close of business as well.

She takes a sip of her coffee, scrolling through her emails, her sharp eyes skimming subject lines for anything urgent. A sudden buzz from her desk phone interrupts her focus, and she glances at the screen. The number is unfamiliar, but the area code rings a bell.
Los Angeles.

Setting down her mug, she picks up the receiver, her tone official but curious.
“Erica Sinclair.” she says, leaning back in her chair.

“This is Kyle Brennan, Legal Affairs at C4 Entertainment.” the voice on the other end replies smoothly. “Miss Sinclair, we spoke earlier this week about the copyright claim you filed on behalf of your client.”

Erica instantly recognizes the voice, her posture straightening. “Yes, of course, Mr. Brennan. What can I do for you?”

There’s a brief pause on the line before Brennan continues, his tone carefully measured. “Miss Sinclair, I wanted to inform you that we’ve reviewed your claim in detail, including the supporting evidence you provided. It took us a little longer than expected to get in touch with Mr. Harbinger, the scriptwriter for Permanent Scars, but we’ve now completed our internal review.”

Erica leans forward slightly, her elbows resting on her desk as her fingertips drum a soft rhythm against the polished wood. She can hear the cautious professionalism in Brennan’s voice, the telltale hesitation of someone weighing every word.

“And?” she prompts, keeping her tone neutral but firm.

“Well,” Brennan begins, “we couldn’t help but notice the striking similarities between your client’s story and the screenplay. After much deliberation, I’ve been authorized to open a dialogue with you - or your client - regarding compensation.”

“Compensation.” Erica echoes, her voice sharpening just enough to let him know she’s not impressed with the euphemism.

“Yes.” Brennan says, clearing his throat. “We believe the similarities are, shall we say, significant enough to warrant recognition of your client’s role in inspiring the production.”

Erica suppresses a wry smile. Inspiring? Try outright stealing. Instead, she keeps her response crisp. “Your production is an exact copy of Miss Neely’s story, Mr. Brennan.”

“If you insist.” Brennan replies, his tone hinting at mild annoyance. “The point remains that we’re prepared to address this matter amicably. We’ve drafted a proposed agreement. It includes a licensing arrangement retroactively recognizing your client’s work as the basis for the screenplay. We’ve also calculated compensation, which I think you’ll find quite generous.”

Erica’s fingers tighten slightly around the receiver. “And?”

“And,” Brennan continues, “we’re willing to adjust the end credits of the film to include your client’s name, giving her proper attribution. Naturally, we’ll also cover her legal expenses. I’ll email the draft to you for your review. If you find the terms agreeable, we’d like to resolve this matter quickly and without further escalation.”

Erica allows a brief pause before responding, her voice steady and deliberate. “That’s a step in the right direction, Mr. Brennan. I’ll review the draft and schedule a meeting with Miss Neely to discuss it. If the terms are acceptable to her, we’ll proceed from there.”

“Of course.” Brennan says with the faintest hint of relief in his tone. “Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Sinclair. You’ll have the document shortly.”

“Thank you for following up, Mr. Brennan. I’ll await your email.” she says before ending the call with a practiced click of the receiver.

For a moment, Erica remains seated, her hand resting on the phone as the significance of the moment washes over her. A flicker of satisfaction curls at the corner of her lips, and she tucks her fist in silent triumph beneath her desk. The battle isn’t entirely over, but this victory feels tangible - a testament to her relentless drive and meticulous preparation.
Now, she thinks, it’s time to let Selina know the good news.





The steady hum of machines fills the gym, blending with the rhythmic clinking of weights and the occasional grunt of effort from nearby lifters. Erica is in her zone, earbuds blasting a driving beat as she pulls the rowing machine cable at a controlled rhythm. Her body moves with precision, sweat trickling down her temple, her breath measured. These are moments she treasures - a reprieve from the loaded hours at the office.

Then she senses it: the prickling awareness of someone nearby, lingering.

At first, she doesn’t look up. People pause all the time, sometimes to chat, sometimes to comment on form. But when the shadow doesn’t move, when the presence seems to hover uncomfortably close, a ripple of unease breaks her focus. Erica pulls out one earbud and glances up.

Her chest tightens.

Nathan.

He stands there, a faint, smug smile playing on his lips, a sports bag slung casually over his shoulder, as if he belongs here. Except he doesn’t.

“Hi, Erica.” he says smoothly, his voice soft, intimate. Familiar in the worst possible way.

“What are you doing here?” she snaps, sitting upright. Her tone is clipped, cold. Her hands let go off the the handles of the rowing machine, her heart pounding harder now than during her workout.

“I just wanted to see you.” His eyes linger on her, his gaze uncomfortably proprietary. “After our little chat the other day, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Figured you’d be here.”

Her stomach knots. This is my fault, she thinks bitterly. I should’ve reported him sooner. I should’ve stopped this before it got to this point.

“Leave, Nathan.” she says firmly, her voice steady. “Now.”

He doesn’t move. Instead, he steps closer, his tone softening like honey dripping over steel. “You don’t mean that. You used to love it when I surprised you. Remember?”

Erica stands, reaching for her towel to create a barrier between them. Her pulse thrums in her ears. “I said, leave. Don’t make me repeat myself.” Her voice, cold and commanding, is loud enough now to attract the attention of other gym members, to let them know that this man’s presence is unwanted.

But Nathan ignores her, closing the distance between them with calculated ease.
“Come on, Erica. Don’t be like this. You’re better than this cold act - you used to be so warm. Soft. So…affectionate.”

His hand lifts, fingers brushing her cheek, sliding down toward her neck.

The touch sends a jolt like 10.000 Volts through Erica’s body and just like that, something inside her snaps. Her father’s voice flashes in her mind, clear and commanding: “If someone ever lays a hand on you – unwanted - don’t hold back. Defend yourself with all you’ve got.”

Her body moves before she can think. She grabs his wrist in a vice grip, twisting it sharply away from her face. He yelps in surprise, his smug composure faltering. But he doesn’t back off - instead, he reaches for her with his other hand.

Big mistake.
“Fight like the third lioness on Noah's Ark as it’s starting to rain.”

Erica’s right fist shoots forward, delivering a precise jab to the tip of his sternum. Nathan grunts, deflated, stumbling back a step.
She doesn’t give him time to recover. Closing in and pivoting, she drives her knee into his ribcage, then finishes with a powerful blow that sends him crashing into a nearby weight rack.

Dumbbells clatter to the floor with a metallic clang, drawing startled glances from the few gym-goers nearby.

Nathan’s face twists with a mix of fury and disbelief as he scrambles to his feet, clutching his side. “Erica, what the hell…”

“No.” Her voice cuts through the air, low and venomous. “You don’t get to do this. Not anymore. Don’t you ever touch me again.”

Nathan raises his hands in surrender, but his eyes still burn with defiance. “You’re overreacting.” he mutters, rubbing his wrist. “I just wanted to talk…”

“Get. Out. Before I really overreact.”
Her fists are still up, elbows tucked in, her body coiled, ready to strike again if he dares.
“If I ever see you anywhere near me again - I won’t stop. I’ll take you apart piece by piece! You hear me?”

Nathan hesitates, his bravado crumbling under the weight of her glare. For a moment, it looks like he might argue, but then Brian, the gym owner, steps into view. Flanked by one of his trainers and two women from the treadmills, he crosses his arms, his massive frame radiating quiet authority.

“You heard her.” Brian says, his voice calm but firm. “Get out of my gym before I call the cops.”

Nathan’s gaze darts around the room, his posture shrinking under the combined scrutiny of the onlookers. Muttering something incoherent, he slinks toward the exit, cradling his bruises. The door slides shut behind him, and a tense silence lingers in his wake.

Erica exhales sharply, her hands trembling slightly as the adrenaline begins to wear off. She wipes her face with her towel, her chest heaving.

“You okay?” Brian asks, his tone softer now.

She nods, though her voice is tight. “Yeah. Thanks for coming to the rescue.”

“This dude sure needed rescue – from you.” he replies with a faint smile. “You handled yourself just fine. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

A small laugh escapes her, though it’s more out of relief than humor. “Noted.”



Erica heads to the locker room, her father’s words echoing in her mind like a protective mantra as she drops onto the cold bench, her gym bag slumping at her feet.

The adrenaline that propelled her through the confrontation is ebbing away now, leaving behind a raw, vibrating energy coursing through her veins. Her towel trembles slightly in her hands as she routinely wipes her face, staring blankly at the metal lockers ahead.
Except for the faint echo of weights clanging in the distance and the occasional shuffle of feet the room is quiet.

The confrontation replays in her mind, not in the frantic blur she expected, but in sharp, deliberate snapshots: Nathan’s smug smile, his hand grazing her cheek, her fist connecting with his solar plexus, the gasp of the gym-goers around her. She clenches the towel tighter, the fabric twisting between her fingers.
It’s over. Finally.

But it doesn’t feel like triumph - not yet. Her father’s words flicker in her memory, steady and unyielding, as if he were sitting beside her now.

“If someone ever lays a hand on you – unwanted - don’t hold back. Defend yourself with all you’ve got.”

She closes her eyes, letting those words settle over her like a protective shield. Her father’s face comes into focus: calm, certain, and unflinchingly supportive. That memory - him teaching her to strike the sandbag in their garage, his strong hands wrapping her knuckles with tape - was supposed to be just that: a memory. She never thought she’d need to call on those lessons. Yet today, they saved her.

“I’ll always have your back.”

Her father’s promise feels more real now than ever, even though he’s not here.
For years, this life lesson had been a crutch, something to fall back on. Today, for the first time, she realized they weren’t just his - they were hers. She had lived them, embodied them. The strength she carried wasn’t borrowed; it was her own.”

Her fingers loosen their grip on the towel, the trembling slowing to a stillness. She takes a deep breath, letting it fill her chest, grounding her in the present. Her reflection in the metal locker door catches her eye - a mixture of sweat, defiance, and something new. Strength.

Two women, the ones who had called Brian about that fellow molesting Erica, hover a few feet away, clearly hesitant to interrupt her thoughts. One of them steps forward cautiously, her voice soft. “Are you okay?”

Erica looks up at them, noticing the genuine concern etched into their faces. She straightens, folding the towel neatly in her lap.

“I’m fine.” she says, her voice firmer than she expects.

“That was… something.” one of the women says, admiration flickering in her voice. “Not many women would’ve handled it like that. It’s so…inspiring.”

Erica feels a strange warmth at the compliment but keeps her tone steady. “I’ve had enough practice.” She doesn’t feel the urge to go into greater detail.

The other woman nods, glancing at her friend before adding, “We saw everything. If you need witnesses for a police report or…anything, just let us know.”

For a fleeting moment, the idea tempts her. She could press charges, expose Nathan for what he’s done, make him face real consequences. But she knows the toll that would take - dragging herself, and others, through the legal process, airing the pain and humiliation in public. Nathan’s already taken too much from her. She won’t let him take her peace, too.

“I appreciate it.” Erica replies after a pause. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

The women exchange a look, then retreat, sensing Erica needs space. As they leave, the locker room settles into quiet again. Erica leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. The trembling in her hands has finally stopped.

She doesn’t feel like a victim anymore. For the first time in years, she feels like herself - like the Erica her father raised: strong, capable, and unwilling to yield to fear.

Today she has reclaimed an important part of her identity, put a crucial part of the puzzle that had been missing for years, back in its place, making her whole again.

Gone is the shadow of doubt that has been hanging over her like the sword of Damocles and Erica smiles savoring how good - how liberating - it had felt when she hit Nathan – when she literally kicked him out of her life.
It is a genuine smile. One that feels like the first breath of fresh air after long years of suffocation. It isn’t just relief – it’s freedom.

With Nathan gone, the fear – that underlying fear that continued to rear its ugly head in her heart – is gone.

She pulls her gym bag closer, unzipping it with steady hands. Time to shower, time to start fresh and to take charge of her life once and for all.

[Caesar73]

Dear @LunaDog, Erica knows that getting rid off Nathan won't be easy and that the carefully constructed walls around her privacy might not be as solid as she believed them to be. But she's not one to roll over easily.

I am confident Erica will prevail. Loved the Scene of her Workout. Nathan still has no clue how much Erica has changed. That might surprise him .... but he is too full of himself to think of that possibility. And indeed: Holly has learned an important Lesson. She got play cleverly by Nathan. Not that does exuse her lack of Judgement.

Erica´s harsh reaction is totally understandable.

That C 4 is open for a Settlement is good News.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @Caesar73, I guess that Nathan learned a valuable lesson: he should have stopped when he had the chance to. This isn't the Erica he remembered.