Chapter 1: Secrets Beneath the Spotlight

I'm a new assistant, and yeah, I fell for my high-powered boss. Which is so cliché, I know.

Honestly, I never thought it would go down like this. Not for me. But every morning, when I walked into Meridian Media’s glass-and-chrome lobby, my nerves would twist up just a little tighter. I watched him, iced over, as he cycled through girlfriends—plotting ways to make him fall for me.

It was a game, or so I told myself. I kept my face neutral, always the reliable assistant. But deep down, I kept score—every laugh, every lingering look, every careless toss of his perfect hair. And then we got kidnapped by a stalker—when the first thing he did was check if I was safe,

—he didn’t even hesitate. His hand found mine in the dark, and for a second, the world just stopped. This was my shot at avenging my sister.

I got into the company using my sister’s ID—her credentials, really, and a temp contract and a referral smoothed it. HR never caught it.

The guilt was a constant hum under my skin, but I pushed it down. Survival, I told myself. Meridian Media’s golden boy, Tyler Ashcroft, looked me up and down, reading the name on my badge in a mocking tone.

"Emily Jacobs? She looks like this? Kind of plain."

He said it like he was reading a grocery list—like I wasn’t even there. I smiled; as expected, he’d forgotten the name.

Yeah. Eight years ago, in the hallway of Maple Heights High,

a girl with the same face as mine had confessed to him. My dead sister—he’d completely forgotten her.

His manager coaxed him: "It’s exactly because she’s ordinary that the fans won’t mind. No scandals."

The manager, a wiry guy in a Yankees cap, shot me a sympathetic glance, like, Don’t take it personally, kid. Tyler’s features were sharp and striking, all sculpted beauty.

But there was also a cold, masculine edge to his gaze.

He nodded, all arrogance. "That’s true."

Back then, he’d worn the same expression when he told my sister:

"Have you ever looked in a mirror?"

"Has no one told you to fix your teeth? I don’t like ugly girls."

"Especially fat and ugly girls."

The students around burst out laughing.

Their laughter echoed in the tiled hallway, bouncing off the lockers like gunfire—slamming locker doors, the faint smell of stale bleach in the air. My sister had a bit of baby fat, she knew it.

Before confessing, she’d nervously asked me,

"Em, am I really fat? Will he like me?"

After our parents divorced, we weren’t even in the same city anymore.

A girl barely over a hundred pounds in high school—how is that fat?

I encouraged her over the phone.

"Our Em is the cutest girl in the world. How could anyone not like you?"

"Be brave and go for it!"

I did. I really did.

Later, back then, her voice hoarse on the phone, she told me,

"Tyler Ashcroft said we’re not right for each other, but Em, I still don’t want to give up. I want to try again."

I hated that she couldn’t see through him; her crush on Tyler was too strong. Even after being treated like that, she still thought he was perfect—the dream guy every girl wanted.

After being his assistant for three days, I was sure he was just shallow.

He loved pretty girls, Instagram models, and watching cringey TikToks.