Chapter 2: When Best Friends Trend for All the Wrong Reasons

When Autumn Rivera handed me the reality show invite, I was hunched over my laptop, elbows deep in Photoshop, editing her latest batch of jaw-dropping photos, and letting out my millionth sigh:

"Absolute beauty! How does anyone have such a flawless face?"

"Seriously, Mason Price is so lucky!"

Her latest shoot glowed on my screen, sunlight setting her hair on fire, every angle a masterpiece. I zoomed in, hunting for a single flaw, but nope—she was basically a real-life Disney princess. I spun my chair around, grinning like a total dork.

That's right—Mason Price is the certified heartbreaker who managed to snag my best friend's heart. And no, that's not an insult. It's just—look, the guy is everywhere, all the time.

He was plastered on every magazine cover, the kind of dude who could make a Target hoodie look like it belonged on a Paris runway. I still couldn't wrap my head around the fact that he and Autumn were actually together. Sometimes, watching them, it felt like I'd stumbled into a TMZ headline and forgotten to leave.

Autumn’s smile was soft but a little nervous. "So, will you do the travel show with me? I recommended you to the producer."

She slid the invitation across the table, tapping the envelope with her finger, trying to play it cool but her nerves showing. There was a little jitter in her voice, like she really wanted me there—not just as a plus-one, but as her wingwoman. I bit my lip, weighing it. Reality TV? Not my comfort zone. But for Autumn? I’d walk barefoot through a cactus patch, no question.

"A travel show?" I blinked, stalling.

I tried to act chill, but my heart was in my throat. The idea of being on camera, for all of America to see my awkwardness? Yikes. I fiddled with the edge of my mousepad, wishing I could just disappear into my hoodie and never come out.

And let's be real—even though Autumn is a top-tier celebrity, I’m just... me. The nobody who gets roasted online for being her friend. Why would anyone want to see that?

My claim to fame? That viral video where I tripped over a lighting cable during one of her red carpet interviews. The world loves a good train wreck, and apparently, that's my role. Classic.

It’s simple: when Autumn and Mason went public—Hollywood royalty, basically—the internet lost its mind. As her behind-the-scenes bestie, I got shoved right into the spotlight whether I liked it or not.

Suddenly, my DMs were a circus. Strangers demanded gossip or told me to back off "their" Mason. I went from invisible to infamous overnight, just for standing in the background of one paparazzi shot.

Interview requests started pouring in. "Who’s better—Autumn or Mason?" they asked, like it was a game show.

I answered honestly. "Autumn’s won the Golden Laurel Award for Best Actress three years running. I’ve seen her grind. I really care about her. So, to me, Autumn is more outstanding."

I said it with pride. Rookie mistake. I didn’t realize the internet would twist it into something ugly. My words got chopped, diced, and suddenly I was trending for all the wrong reasons. Lesson learned: never give the tabloids a free snack.

And of course, it morphed into one headline: I thought Mason wasn’t good enough for Autumn. Great.

Now every headline screamed, "Best Friend Throws Shade at Mason Price!" My phone blew up nonstop. I was the villain in a soap opera I never auditioned for.

Mason’s fans decided I was public enemy number one.

They stormed my socials with angry emojis and snake GIFs. I even got a DM from someone claiming to be Mason’s cousin, telling me to "stay in my lane."

The shippers? They had a field day.

They spun conspiracy threads about how I was secretly in love with Autumn, or that I was paid off by Mason’s ex. Honestly, the theories got wilder by the day. I couldn’t even keep up.

Autumn’s fans? They thought I was just clout-chasing.

The nicest comment I got was, "Let Autumn shine, stop making it about you." Ouch. But I tried to brush it off. I know who I am—even if the internet has no clue.

So, yeah, I got flamed from every direction and basically faded into background noise.

I muted notifications, deleted apps, and shrank into the background. My world got smaller, but at least it was finally quiet for a change.

Thank goodness Autumn kept booking gigs and tossing me work, or else I’d be living off instant ramen.

She always had my back, sending little jobs my way—editing, behind-the-scenes photos, even wrangling her fan mail when things got out of control. She never let me feel like a burden.

But this time? The show was going to be live…

Live TV. No do-overs, no hiding my awkward pauses or weird faces. My palms started sweating just thinking about it. Seriously, who invented live TV and why did they hate introverts?

Autumn must’ve sensed my panic because she slid over, nudging me with her shoulder. “Nina, please. I’m begging you. It’s such a long trip, and I’m scared to go alone—pretty please?”

She hit me with those puppy-dog eyes, voice all soft and pleading. For a second, she looked less like Hollywood royalty and more like the college roommate who once bribed me with pizza to help her move. I couldn't help but grin.

...

I tried to hold out, but come on. She knew my weak spots. One more look and I was toast. No contest.

This is the same girl who hiked the entire Appalachian Trail solo—she used to say she was a lone wolf, never needed anyone… until reality TV, apparently.

I remembered the photos: Autumn, mud-streaked boots and windblown hair, grinning at the summit sign. She’d sent me a postcard from every state line, bragging about her latest adventure. She was fearless—except, apparently, when it came to being on reality TV.

But faced with this gorgeous woman pulling her best "please come with me" act, I just groaned and buried my face in my hands. "Fine… I’ll go."

I tried to sound annoyed, but in my head, I was already making a packing list. No way was I letting her go through this circus alone.

"Sea Breeze Letters" was the name of the travel reality show on Citrus TV. The premise? Guests spend seven days in Silver Harbor, soaking up the local flavor and pretending it’s all spontaneous, romantic fun.

The promo video was pure vacation porn: soft sunsets, salt air, couples laughing over bonfires, friends clinking glasses on a porch. Looked dreamy—if you ignored the fact that reality TV is never just a vacation. There’s always a catch.