Chapter 3: Polygraph Panic and a Live Confession

Before the variety show, the stylist put me through five different looks.

She flitted around me like a hummingbird, pinning, brushing, and tweaking every detail. I felt like a Barbie in a makeover montage, each outfit more dramatic than the last. It was like a Project Runway marathon.

I spun in front of the mirror over and over, finally picking one I was barely satisfied with.

I settled on a sleek, navy jumpsuit—classy but comfortable, with just enough sparkle to catch the light. My reflection looked calm, but my insides were a mess.

Today’s show was a live broadcast, with edits to be uploaded later.

There were cameras everywhere, crew members buzzing around with clipboards and walkie-talkies. It was organized chaos. The energy backstage was electric, everyone trying to act cool while fighting off last-minute jitters.

Every strand of my hair had to be perfect—sleek and camera-ready!

The stylist spritzed one last cloud of hairspray, smoothing a stray flyaway. “There. Now you look like a star.”

I had to look like someone who’d never just call her idol ‘babe’ out of nowhere!

I practiced my most professional smile in the mirror, hoping no one could see the panic in my eyes.

Wish stood in front of me, his tall frame blocking the light.

He was even taller in person. Shadows played across his sharp features. I tried not to stare, but it was impossible not to notice the way he seemed to fill the whole room.

A fresh pine scent wrapped around me.

It was subtle, but unmistakable—a little woodsy, a little clean. The kind of scent that made you think of snowy mornings and warm flannel shirts.

I looked up slightly and saw his sharp features and fluttering lashes.

His eyes flicked down to meet mine, and for a split second, I forgot how to speak. He looked away first, the tips of his ears just a little pink.

When we shook hands, his warm, strong grip met mine.

His handshake was firm, steady. I tried to match it, but my palm was a little clammy. I hoped he didn’t notice.

My heart thundered in my chest, and I tried my best to hide it.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. This was just another stage, another performance. I could do this.

“Wish, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I put on my most gracious smile, voice as smooth as honey. My nerves were still jangling, but I didn’t let it show.

He met my eyes, then quickly looked away.

Was he nervous too?

His gaze flickered, and for a moment, I thought I saw a hint of a smile. Or maybe I was just imagining things.

“…Same here.”

His voice was quiet, almost shy. It made my heart skip a beat.

During the guest introductions, the host hooked each of us up to a polygraph.

The wires were cold against my skin, and I tried not to fidget as the technician adjusted the sensors. I felt like I was in a crime show. The audience murmured, eager for some reality-TV drama.

The script had mentioned that, in this segment, guests had to answer every question truthfully.

I glanced at my manager, who gave me a reassuring nod. This was supposed to be fun—nothing to worry about.

No lying—the polygraph would catch it.

A little green light blinked at my fingertip. Stay cool, Emmy.

But the questions were simple, nothing too personal.

I relaxed a little, grateful the producers weren’t out for blood. Yet.

Sometimes, the show would pull interesting questions from the live chat, but they’d always be carefully screened to keep things fun without invading privacy.

The chat scrolled across the big screen, emojis and usernames flashing by. I tried not to look, but curiosity got the better of me.

My manager and I had both agreed to it.

She’d made me promise not to freak out. I hoped I could keep that promise.

Ji Maddox reached over and gently—like a gentleman—fastened the polygraph to my finger.

His touch was careful, almost reverent. I caught a whiff of that pine scent again, and my pulse quickened.

His fingers were long, strong, and dexterous.

He worked with quiet efficiency, barely brushing my skin. It was the kind of touch that lingered, even after he let go.

I cleared my throat to cover up my nerves.

“Alright, all our guests are wired up.”

The host beamed at the camera, her voice bright and cheerful. I forced myself to smile, too.

“Here’s the first question.”

The studio lights felt hotter, the air thicker. I braced myself for whatever was coming.

“Is your idol or crush among those present?”

Ji Maddox seemed to glance at me.

His eyes flicked over, just for a second, then back to the camera. My heart did a little somersault.

Then he looked at the camera and smiled lightly. “How could there not be?”

His answer was smooth, almost teasing. The audience ooh’d, and the chat exploded with speculation.

Was he talking about me?

The host feigned surprise. “Ohhh~”

She drew out the syllable, milking the moment for all it was worth. I felt my cheeks go pink.

My heart pounded wildly.

I could hear the blood rushing in my ears, my fingers gripping the armrest a little too tightly.

I forced myself to nod calmly.

I kept my face neutral, lips curved in a polite smile. Inside, I was a mess.

The polygraph flashed green.

A tiny victory. I let myself breathe again.

“Second question: Wish, have you ever played a game with your idol or crush?”

Ji Maddox shook his head. “Not yet. But I hope the chance comes soon.”

His voice was easy, almost casual. The chat went wild, shipping us harder than ever.

Green light.

The little light blinked, confirming the truth. I wondered if he really meant it.

“And you, Miss Star?”

The host turned to me, eyebrow raised. I steadied myself, remembering to breathe.

I put all my acting skills into hiding my racing heart.

Fake it till you make it.

I smiled, hoping no one could see through me. Years of red carpet interviews had to count for something, right?

It’s a broad question—nodding should be safe, right?

I weighed my options, deciding honesty was the safest bet.

There are so many guests here.

I reminded myself that I was just one of many. No way they’d connect the dots.

Who’d guess I was the mid that day?

I tried to convince myself it was impossible. Still, my palms were sweaty.

I smiled and nodded.

A small, confident nod. The audience murmured. Approval, maybe.

Green light.

I let out a breath.

Relief flooded through me. So far, so good.

“Third question, from our enthusiastic viewers. When you played together, did the other person know who you were?”

Ji Maddox shrugged. “Looks like this one’s not about me.”

There was a beat of silence. The host wasn’t having it.

The host covered her cue cards. “It’s what the viewers want to know.”

She winked at the camera, as if letting the audience in on a secret.

Ji Maddox definitely doesn’t know it was me.

I could see it in his eyes—he hadn’t put two and two together. Yet.

If I say no, the polygraph won’t catch anything.

I tried to steady my breathing, reminding myself to keep my story straight.

I shook my head firmly.

A decisive shake. I willed the polygraph to believe me.

Green light.

Little polygraph, you’re no match for me!

I resisted the urge to do a victory dance. One step closer to surviving this.

“Fourth question, also from the chat. This one’s really popular.”

The host grinned, her eyes twinkling. I braced myself.

“Miss Star, in the game you played together, which heroes did each of you pick?”

My mind went blank.

Panic clawed at my chest. Of all the questions, why this one?

Why pick such a pointed question?!

I shot a glance at the chat, heart sinking as I saw my brother’s username spamming the feed.

On the big screen, the chat scrolled nonstop.

[WG.Star: Miss Emmy Star, which heroes did you and your idol pick in that game?] +142701 +142701

The numbers ticked up, the question rising to the top. There was no escape.

I ground my teeth inwardly.

Damn you, Cody! He was clearly doing this on purpose!

I pictured him cackling at home, watching the chaos unfold.

His fans had flooded the chat, spamming +1, forcing this question onto the showrunners!

I made a mental note to get him back, somehow.

My heart started racing. “Diana and Lance.”

I blurted out the first two names I could think of, hoping it would be enough.

“Beeeeep—”

The red light flashed furiously.

My stomach dropped. I tried to play it cool, but my hands were shaking.

The host tried to smooth things over. “Maybe you misremembered? Want to try again?”

She offered a sympathetic smile, but I could tell she was loving the drama.

I closed my eyes. “Mage and Lance.”

I got half right! That should count for a green light, right?

“Beeeeep—”

Another red light. I wanted to sink into the floor.

The host looked bewildered. “No need to lie about this, Emmy. You must be confused, take your time, don’t worry.”

Her voice was gentle, but the pressure was mounting. I took a deep breath.

I steeled myself. “Mage and Hunter!”

I crossed my fingers under the table, praying for mercy.

Green light.

The relief was instant. I managed a weak smile for the camera.

When Ji Maddox heard those two hero names, he raised an eyebrow.

His gaze sharpened, and I could feel him studying me, like he was putting the pieces together.

His gaze swept meaningfully over the light above my head.

Did he just figure it out?

He didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes said plenty. My heart skipped a beat.

The chat was full of question marks.

[Those two heroes seem normal, but together…]

[Lately, whenever those two show up together, it’s got a real gay vibe.]

[It’s probably nothing, but Emmy Star keeps getting red lights—could it be?]

[Hard to say. Let’s keep watching.]

[WG.Star: As a wise man once said: “That game wasn’t me.”]

The chat went wild.

Messages flew by so fast, I could barely keep up. The speculation was out of control.

[Host, please ask Emmy Star right now if she’s ever played on Cody’s account!]

[Wait, Cody, Emmy Star…]

[Could Emmy Star be Star’s legendary sister?]

[Was it really Emmy Star who called Wish ‘babe’?]

[I always thought Cody was super straight, no way he’s gay!]

[Host, what are you waiting for, ask her!]

The host looked at her cue cards, then at the chat.

She hesitated, caught between the script and the chaos. I could see the producers waving frantically behind the cameras.

Torn between decency and ratings, she hesitated.

Please don’t.

She bit her lip, clearly tempted to go off-script. The tension was palpable.

Ji Maddox stepped forward and politely asked the host, “Can we ask each other the last question?”

His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of determination. The host looked relieved, grateful to pass the spotlight.

Hearing the director’s instructions in her earpiece, the host nodded eagerly, like she’d just tossed away a hot potato.

She handed him the mic, her hands shaking just a little. All eyes were on us.

Ji Maddox walked up to me.

He moved with quiet confidence, his presence commanding the room. The audience fell silent, holding their breath.

With his back to the camera, he quietly adjusted the mic.

His fingers brushed my collar, gentle but sure. I could feel the heat radiating off him, my nerves jangling all over again.

Get it together, Emmy.

He leaned in close, his voice low and magnetic:

“Did you ever call me ‘babe’?”

The words sent a jolt through me. My heart hammered. I was sure the mic would pick it up. The world seemed to shrink to just the two of us, the lights, the cameras, and the audience fading away. I swallowed, caught between terror and exhilaration, knowing that this was the moment everything might change.