Chapter 2: Challenging Hollywood’s Queen

I screamed into my pillow and dove under the covers, wishing I could just disappear.

Before filming even started, I’d already managed to tick off both the Oscar queen and king. Wow. Who else in showbiz could say they’d pulled off that particular miracle?

Bad news: the hate comments almost buried me alive.

Good news: I gained half a million new followers overnight, all tuning in to watch me crash and burn. You win some, you lose some. Honestly, I was weirdly thrilled.

After calming Carla down (barely), I started prepping for the afternoon’s live broadcast: the mentor challenge round. Showtime.

The format was simple: actors could audition for a mentor’s team—win, and you’d join them; lose, and you were out. High stakes, high drama.

Vivienne and Mason definitely weren’t my biggest fans right now. Playing it safe, I planned to pick Walter Chen.

But Carla texted: “Pick Mason Grant. No arguments.”

Aaaaaah, I just wanted to coast under the radar, not get thrown to the lions for ratings!

That afternoon, ‘Screen Legends’ season two went live.

Nine contestants drew lots for performance order. Lucky me—I pulled number five.

By the time I got on stage, Walter Chen’s team was already full.

That left only Vivienne Lane and Mason Grant. Of course.

I was doomed. Was I about to get roasted on live TV?

I put on my best innocent act and stood center stage:

“Mr. Grant, I’d like to challenge you!”

Mason just smiled, shooting a glance at Vivienne.

On the big screen, the live chat was blowing up:

“Mason’s checking with his girl—he’s so whipped.”

“The ship is real, I’m crying.”

“Look at that eye contact, I can’t take it.”

“Cassidy Monroe, don’t even try. Mason Grant will never like you.”

“Scheming nobody playing innocent—the mentors see right through her.”

“So much drama, can we just eliminate her already?”

...

I wanted to shrink down to the size of a pea. The embarrassment was real.

Mason shook his head. “Sorry, but I don’t poach what someone else already has.” Even his rejection came with a side of cryptic cool.

That left only Vivienne.

She stood there in a red dress, her wavy hair spilling over her shoulders, eyes sparkling with mischief and something softer underneath. She was so gorgeous, I almost forgot how to breathe.

For a second, the word ‘wife’ hovered on the tip of my tongue.

After a deep breath, I turned to Vivienne:

“Ms. Lane, may I challenge you?”

Vivienne straightened, her face suddenly serious: “I’ve been waiting for you—for a long time.”

The room went silent, tension thick as LA smog.

Hollywood’s reigning queen was out for blood.

I was toast.