Chapter 1: Bargain-Bin Stand-In on Live TV

They called me Grayson Pierce’s bargain-bin replacement for his dream girl, Lila Monroe. Yeah, that’s what everyone said—like I was some off-brand knockoff in a clearance aisle, all because I wasn’t her. But lately, I can’t help but wonder if the story everyone tells about her is missing a few chapters—or maybe the best parts are just hidden between the lines.

On a live-streamed paranormal reality show, Lila ran straight into my arms, sobbing like the world was ending. Her whole body shook, and I could feel her tears soaking through my shirt, making my heart race with confusion and something I didn’t want to name.

Grayson, the Oscar winner, confessed to her on camera. But instead of answering, Lila spun around and kissed me—right on the lips. No warning, no hesitation, just a jolt of electricity that left me breathless.

I froze. For a split second, the world stopped spinning. Then Twitter exploded, melting down in real time.

Live chat: [So, who’s really the second choice here?]

"With your reputation shot, you should be grateful for any gig. Stop acting like you’ve got options."

My manager, Marsha Wu, snapped at me, her voice sharp enough to slice through my last shred of patience.

But my so-called bad reputation? That’s all Grayson Pierce’s fault. Every bit of it.

A few months back, I was filming with Grayson. He put on the perfect boyfriend act online, claiming he’d never gotten over Lila Monroe, his high school sweetheart—the one that got away. Off-camera, though, he wouldn’t stop hitting on me. When I finally slapped him, he bribed the tabloids to say I was obsessed with him. His rabid fans dug up old photos of us in matching jackets, spinning it as three years of me pining for Grayson.

Just like that, my career tanked. I went from rising starlet to Grayson’s desperate knockoff—an imitation of Lila Monroe, or so the headlines screamed.

The director of "Ghost Files," a buzzy new paranormal reality show, saw the drama and cast both me and Grayson. I was so mad I hurled the contract across the room.

Then Grayson’s backers offered me two hundred grand.

I clenched my fists, fought a bitter smile, and picked up the contract again. My cheeks burned—not just with embarrassment, but with a stubborn kind of anger.

Come on, what’s a little pride compared to that kind of money? I could pay off my credit cards, eat more than ramen, maybe even buy a mattress that didn’t poke me in the ribs.

But the day filming started, I regretted everything.

I never expected Lila Monroe herself to show up, fresh off a red-eye flight, right as we began. And I was there just to be her shadow, a background blur in her highlight reel.

I could’ve screamed. Two hundred grand suddenly felt like chump change, like I’d sold my soul for a coupon.

To set the mood, the director picked an abandoned high school on the edge of town. The crumbling halls, mannequins with bloodshot eyes, and blood-streaked walls—props team going way too hard—sent shivers down everyone’s spine, including mine.

Lila Monroe stood at the entrance in a long dress, fragile and almost ethereal, totally out of place against the haunted backdrop. No wonder she was Grayson’s dream girl—the kind you put on a pedestal and never dare to touch.

She sneezed, and Grayson instantly whipped off his jacket, draping it over her shoulders like some hero in a teen drama.

For the record, when I was freezing in a dress in the dead of winter with him, he didn’t even blink. Not even a shiver of concern.

What a hypocrite.

Lila frowned, her face practically dripping with disdain, but her voice came out soft and gentle, a weird mix that made me want to laugh.

"Thank you, but I’m fine. You keep it."

I snorted, unable to help myself. The sound echoed in the dusty hallway.

Now I get why people say I’m just a stand-in for Lila. Her mouth? Just like mine. I almost admired her for it.

I mean her attitude, obviously. Not her lips. God.

Rumor had it, Lila was famous for playing both sides. I didn’t expect her to come back from three years abroad a totally different person, but here she was—full of surprises.

Since the show was live, the chat was blowing up, comments flying faster than I could read.

[LOL! Grayson looks like a sad puppy.]

[CEO and his ice queen with a soft center, I’m shipping this!]

[Is Nora Quinn okay? What’s she laughing at—her years of chasing Grayson?]

[Nora looks so tough compared to Lila’s delicate vibe. My eyes can’t handle it.]

[Just saying, not a fan, but you can tell from her photos Nora’s thin as a rail. How’s that ‘big and rough’?]

Besides me, Lila, and Grayson, the crew had invited two more guests: comedian Riley Brooks and Marcus Flores, a pop idol fresh off a talent show.

All four turned to look at me as I laughed. Grayson shot me a glare. The director frantically gestured at me, eyes wide with anticipation—like, come on, give us some drama!

I got it—they wanted a love triangle explosion. Showtime.

I cleared my throat, bracing for drama, and tried not to roll my eyes too hard.