The calls had become a maddening ritual, each one ending with the same hollow promise from the studio. After loaning them Sunshine for what was supposed to be a career-making role for Hollywood’s golden boy, Julian Croft, the line had gone cold. Filming had wrapped months ago. The movie was already in theaters. And my dog was still gone. “I’m sorry, Ms. Vance,” the production assistant would chirp, her voice dripping with insincere sympathy. “He’s just not available to be returned yet.” A knot of dread had been tightening in my stomach for weeks, a cold serpent coiling around my heart. But I’d trusted Julian Croft. I had to. His on-screen vulnerability, the raw emotion he could summon in his piercing blue eyes—it felt too real to be faked. So, I pushed the fear down and bought a ticket for opening night, my hands trembling as I found my seat in the dark. The film, titled A Dog Named Sunny, was designed to be an Oscar magnet. It told the story of a man, played by Julian, whose profound loneliness is thawed by the unconditional love of a Golden Retriever. My Sunshine. The first half was a balm to my anxious soul. There he was, my beautiful boy, his coat gleaming like spun gold under the studio lights. He looked healthy, happy, his tail a constant, joyful metronome. In scene after scene, he’d nudge his head into Julian’s hand, lick away his performative tears, and slowly, patiently, draw a smile onto the actor’s famously stoic face. He’s okay, I told myself, a wave of relief washing over me. They took good care of him. Then, the camera cut. Sunshine was sitting patiently at a crosswalk, the picture of a good boy waiting for the light to change. Green. He sprang forward, his tail wagging furiously, a happy gallop carrying him across the street toward a school. He was going to meet his master. The entire audience held its breath, ready for the heartwarming reunion. A semi-truck blared into the frame without warning. The massive grille, a chrome monster, swallowed the screen. For one horrifying, suspended moment, the joyful, golden blur of my dog was eclipsed by its shadow. The squeal of tires was deafening. Sunshine’s small body was thrown into the air, a terrible, graceful arc against the mundane backdrop of the street, before it crashed back to the pavement with a sickening finality. Dark, crimson blood began to seep from his beautiful fur, staining the asphalt. He let out a soft whimper, a sound so full of confusion and pain that it stole the air from my lungs. My mind went completely blank. CGI, I thought, a frantic prayer. It has to be CGI. But it was too real. The way the light faded from his eyes. The way the blood pooled, so dark and thick. I could see the bewilderment in his gentle face, the hurt, the unasked question. His tail, which had never stopped wagging in his entire life, gave one last, weak thump against the ground and then was still. He was gone. Beside me, a young woman whispered to her friend, her voice filled with awe. “Oh my god, Julian’s performance is just… shattering. That look on his face when he sees the dog? He’s winning the Oscar for this. Guaranteed.” “The raw anguish,” her friend agreed. “He’s a genius. I just want to hug him.” No one cried for the dog. They only saw the art in the man’s grief. My blood ran cold. My phone slipped from my trembling fingers, clattering to the sticky floor. To win an award… did Julian Croft kill my dog? For a golden statue? 2 “I want to see Sunshine. Right now. Now.” I stumbled out of the theater, the movie’s cheerful credits music a cruel joke. My hands shook so violently I could barely dial the number for Julian’s agent, a man whose smarmy voice I’d come to despise. A sliver of hope, fragile as glass, remained. It could be a trick of the camera. Hollywood magic. Please, let it be magic. Let my boy be waiting for me, safe and sound. The agent’s voice crackled through the phone, thick with annoyance. “Ms. Vance, I’ve told you repeatedly. The dog is with Mr. Croft, shooting some behind-the-scenes content for the Blu-ray release. We can’t return him yet.” He hadn’t even listened to the terror in my voice. “I just want to see him,” I said, my voice cold and sharp. “That’s not too much to ask, is it?” A derisive snort. “He’s at Julian’s private residence. You can’t just show up.” Seeing my silence as an opening, his tone softened into a patronizing coo. “Look, I can send you a video. He’s doing great. Tearing the place apart, the little monster. Okay, Ms. Vance?” My breath hitched. The lie was so blatant, so careless, it was like a slap in the face. “Sunshine,” I said, my voice trembling, “has never torn anything apart in his life. He’s the gentlest dog I’ve ever known.” Silence on his end. I pressed my advantage, the adrenaline turning my fear into steel. “I don’t want a pre-recorded video. I want a live video call. Now. You can find a blank wall somewhere in the house that doesn’t compromise Mr. Croft’s precious privacy.” I had cut off his every excuse before he could make it. The silence stretched, heavy and damning. “Ms. Vance,” he finally said, his voice dropping the facade and turning to ice, “don’t push your luck.” The line went dead. My heart plummeted into a black, empty space. The sheer arrogance of it—the idea that a video was a gift, a favor, and that asking for proof of life was ‘pushing my luck’—it made me physically sick. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I caught my reflection in a store window. My face was a ghostly white mask. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it. The truck. The blood. My boy. My Sunshine. They would not get away with this. If they refused to communicate, I would find another way. I would make them listen. That night, I went online. Leveraging the buzz from the movie’s premiere, I wrote a post that would rocket to the top of Twitter’s trending topics. 3 #JusticeForSunshine #JulianCroftDogAbuse #LetMeSeeMyDog As an ordinary person going up against a Hollywood machine, my only weapon was public opinion. I laid it all out in a long, detailed thread: the story of the loan, the endless excuses, the refusal to allow a single visit or even a live video call. I asked the questions they refused to answer. Why was I barred from visiting for over a year of filming? Why was a simple video call an impossible request? Why, after the movie was released, did my dog still need to be with the actor for “extra content”? And the final, terrible question: Was the death scene in A Dog Named Sunny an effect, or was it real? My only demand was simple and clear: let me see my dog, either in person or on a live call. If Sunshine was alive and well, I would issue a public apology and pay for any and all damages to the production. The post exploded. The velocity was unnatural; an army of bots and trolls descended almost immediately, their comments dripping with venom. It was clearly a counter-move by Julian’s team, but it was too aggressive. Their heavy-handedness sparked a backlash from genuine users. 【Give me a break. The moment Julian gets Oscar buzz, the haters crawl out of the woodwork.】 【This is ridiculous. Julian Croft rescues strays. He’d never hurt a dog for a movie!】 【Lady, have you heard of CGI? They can create entire worlds from scratch. You think they can’t fake a car accident? You have zero proof, just a conspiracy theory.】 My phone rang, shrill and demanding. It was the agent. “Eliza Vance, do you have any idea what you’ve just done?!” he screamed, his voice raw with fury. I spoke calmly, my voice a stark contrast to his rage. “Get Sunshine back to me, safe and sound. I’ll apologize to the entire world and pay for every penny of your ‘damages’.” He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “You? Pay for our damages? Do you have any idea how much that would be? You couldn’t afford it if you sold your organs.” He took a breath, his tone shifting to one of magnanimous command, as if offering a royal pardon. “Julian is willing to be generous. Delete the posts, admit this was all a misunderstanding, and he won’t press charges.” Press charges? Against me? The audacity was breathtaking. “You seem to have things backward,” I said slowly. “I’m the one making the accusation. The burden of proof is on you to refute it. I’m waiting for your statement to make me look like a fool.” He didn’t know that, in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be proven wrong. I would have gladly accepted global humiliation to have Sunshine back, alive and wagging his tail. The agent’s voice turned into a low snarl. “You’re just some nobody. Who do you think you are, challenging Julian Croft?” he threatened. “Get ready to be sued into oblivion, Eliza.” Thirty minutes after he hung up, Julian Croft’s official studio account released a statement. And a cease and desist letter from his high-powered legal team landed in my inbox. 4 【First, for everyone concerned, here is a brand-new video of Sunny, happy and healthy!】 The statement opened with a video. In it, a golden retriever panted happily, tail wagging, wrestling with a large chew bone. But my blood ran cold. I recognized it. They had sent me this exact video a year ago. This was my proof. 【During production, while set access was restricted to protect creative integrity, we maintained regular contact with Ms. Vance, providing frequent video updates of Sunny’s well-being.】 They attached screenshots of our past conversations, carefully curated to make them look accommodating and me seem needy. Then came the condescending jab: they could afford the best special effects artists in the business. The implication was clear: I was just an ignorant woman who didn’t understand how movies were made. The final blow was the link to the legal notice. They were suing me for defamation. The comments section became a victory party for his fans. 【OWNED! This is what you get for messing with a class act like Julian.】 【Waiting for the apology tour, lady. Better start a GoFundMe for those legal fees.】 【Honestly, Julian’s team has been more than patient. This woman is a professional victim. Probably some psycho fan trying to get his attention.】 I scanned the legal document. Defamation, not libel. It was a subtle but important distinction. They weren’t accusing me of lying, which would require them to prove the truth. They were accusing me of damaging his reputation. Was it a strategic choice to avoid a court battle they knew they couldn't win? Then, a line at the end of their public statement caught my eye, and my stomach twisted into a knot of confusion and hope. 【We will be arranging a formal reunion for Ms. Vance and Sunny in the coming days. The event will be live-streamed to ensure full transparency.】 My head spun. Was I wrong? Had this all been a terrible, paranoid delusion? They wouldn’t dare promise a live-streamed reunion if they didn’t have the dog. They couldn’t be that stupid. Could they? The tide of public opinion had turned completely against me. My social media was a toxic wasteland of insults and threats. 【LMAO, you tried to cancel Julian and got your ass handed to you. Pathetic.】 【When are you apologizing, you clout-chasing witch? We’re not going anywhere.】 【Hope you saved up enough to pay Julian. Maybe you can start an OnlyFans.】 The sheer volume of hate was suffocating. I pushed back from my laptop and looked around my silent apartment. On the rug lay a half-chewed wooden dowel, Sunshine’s favorite. He would always bring it to me, tail helicoptering, his eyes begging for a game of fetch. His little bed in the corner, with its worn-out fleece blanket, still held the faint, comforting scent of him. A few golden hairs clung to the fabric, the last physical proof that he was ever here. I picked them up, closing my fist around them. If they really returned him to me, I would take it all. The public humiliation, the apology, the crushing debt. I would endure anything. All that mattered was getting him back. 5 The “reunion ceremony” was a full-blown media circus, staged in the atrium of a glittering downtown shopping mall. The space was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with press, fans, and curious onlookers. The online live-stream viewership was already in the millions. 【Can’t wait to see this psycho get what she deserves.】 【Not gonna lie, she’s kind of pretty. Maybe this was all a stunt to get famous.】 【Dude, have some standards.】 Julian Croft himself, no longer hiding behind his agent, approached me. He was perfectly coiffed, his expression a masterclass in concerned sincerity. He leaned in, his voice a low, apologetic murmur for the cameras. “Ms. Vance, Eliza. I am so deeply sorry. Sunny is such a professional, a true artist on four legs. We just wanted to give him the spotlight he deserved with some extra features. I never imagined it would cause you this much distress.” The crowd swooned. 【OMG, he’s such a gentleman! How could anyone accuse him of something so horrible?】 【Apologize! You owe him an apology right now!】 I took a deep breath, the air thick with the scent of perfume and flashbulb ozone. “If this is all a misunderstanding,” I said, my voice steady, “then I will apologize to you and your entire crew.” Julian flashed a devastatingly handsome smile, the one that sold millions of tickets. He clapped his hands lightly. On cue, a golden retriever bounded onto the stage, barking joyfully. It ran straight to me, circling my legs, then jumping up to plant its paws on my chest. 【See? It’s her dog! She knows him! I knew Julian would never do something like that.】 【What a colossal waste of everyone’s time. Now she has to eat her words on live television. This is gonna be good.】 I wrapped my arms around the dog, burying my face in its fur, tears of overwhelming relief streaming down my cheeks. And then I froze. Every muscle in my body went rigid. The wave of joy receded as quickly as it had come, replaced by an icy, horrifying certainty. A cold so profound it felt like death itself. This was not my dog.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "394220", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel