Chapter 1: Betrayed by the Spotlight

By the third year of sneaking around with the girl next door, my so-called secret was still safe—but that was the year she took home Best Actress at the Silver Hollow Flick Fest.

I can still picture that night, as if it’s burned behind my eyelids—the theater jam-packed, buzzing with that wild, electric energy that makes your skin tingle. Honestly, you could feel it in your teeth. She was dazzling under the spotlights, every single person in the room locked onto her like she was born for this. My heart thudded with pride—and something sharper, a warning I tried to drown out.

In the middle of the ceremony, the real Callahan kid—the actual Callahan son—suddenly stormed the stage, grabbing the mic and blurting out his love for the world to hear.

For a split second, the whole place just froze. Then it blew up—cameras flashing, people buzzing, the kind of chaos that sticks to your skin. I stayed rooted to my seat, my stomach dropping like I’d swallowed a stone. Right then, under the stage lights and the city’s eyes, everything started to come apart.

And me? I was just the stand-in. The so-called Callahan kid—never really one of them. Pushed forward to go through with some old promise and marry into the most powerful family in Maple Heights: the Hawthorne clan.

I didn’t have a choice. It was a part I never asked for, like being cast as the understudy in somebody else’s life. The Callahans never let me forget it—a placeholder, a name on a contract, nothing more. But around here, the Hawthornes were legend, and when they spoke, everyone listened.

Rumor had it, the Hawthorne family’s oldest daughter was supposed to be ugly. Dangerous. Maybe even crazy—or so everyone said. They claimed more than one guy had wound up in trouble because of her, and I was just the next name on the list.

Stories about her drifted through school hallways and all-night diners like ghost stories told around a campfire. I tried to laugh it off—yeah, right—but deep down, I wondered if I was just the next pawn in some twisted family chess game.

Honestly, I barely noticed the cameras as the spotlights from the awards show faded. I shoved through the crowd, heart banging in my chest, and made a beeline backstage, desperate for answers.

I remember pushing past clusters of reporters and makeup artists, the thick smell of hairspray and fresh-cut flowers hanging in the air. My palms were slick with sweat, my mind spinning. I needed answers, even if they hurt.

The door was cracked open.

Laughter floated out, bright and careless.

"Your idea really worked. Miles really lucked out," my mom said, her voice practically dripping with pride. "The Hawthornes are a mess… Noah can take his place. After all, our family raised him for eighteen years—he owes us this much."

She sounded so offhand, like she was talking about trading cars, not swapping lives. There was this brittle snap to her words, a satisfaction that made my stomach twist. I pressed closer, careful not to make a sound.

Then Jenna Harper chimed in, sweet as pie: "You’re so right, Mrs. Callahan. Honestly, I’ve had a thing for him for three years. Compared to what Miles has been through, Noah’s already come out ahead."

Jenna sounded almost proud, like she was reciting a speech she’d rehearsed a hundred times in the mirror. The words hit harder than I thought they would—each one a fresh reminder that I was just a piece in their game.

So, that was it. Their plan all along.

The realization smacked me hard. Every weird conversation, every sideways look, every little favor—it all made sense now. I felt like I’d been living in a stage play, reading lines from someone else’s script.

My mom didn’t want Miles to get hurt, so she threw me to the wolves instead. Just like that.

Now it was all so obvious—her real son was off-limits, but I was the one she could spend. The way she talked about me, you’d think I was just a debt she needed to settle.

Jenna—the girl next door, the one I’d loved for three years—acted like being the focus of her affection was the best thing that could ever happen to me.

She always acted like I should be grateful, like her love was some kind of blue ribbon I’d won at the county fair. Sometimes I wanted to shake her and ask if she’d ever really seen me at all.

"But you’re not still hung up on Noah, are you?" my mom pushed.

There was a pause—a single heartbeat of silence that stretched out forever. My breath caught, waiting for her answer, even though I already knew.

Jenna let out a light, confident laugh: "Don’t worry, Mrs. Callahan. I was just looking for something new, just having some fun. Miles is my real love. He’s just so real—I hate seeing him hurt."

Her words were like ice water down my spine. I could picture her flipping her hair, flashing that practiced, sugary-sweet smile. The girl I thought I knew was gone, replaced by a stranger.

It felt like someone punched me right in the chest. Like I was being squeezed from the inside out.

I couldn’t breathe. My heart pounded so loud I was sure they could hear it. Everything I’d trusted—the girl, the family, those late-night promises—crumbled in a blink.

Before all this fake-son mess, Jenna was just a struggling extra, bouncing from set to set, barely landing a line here and there.

I remembered the ramen dinners in her shoebox apartment, her endless auditions, the nights she’d call me in tears after getting cut from yet another scene. I really thought we were in it together, fighting for a shot at something real.

I’d put up with the Callahans’ cold shoulders and stuck by her side, helping her climb from bit parts to where she was now.

I’d driven her to sets before sunrise, waited for hours in coffee shops, sent her late-night pep talks. I thought my loyalty meant something. Turns out, I was just a stepping stone.

The Callahans never let her forget where she came from, and my mom had even humiliated her face-to-face: "Miss Harper, our family isn’t for just anyone."

I’ll never forget how those words sliced through the room. The look on Jenna’s face—hurt, embarrassed, but stubborn as ever. Back then, I thought we were a team, just us against the world.

Back then, she’d curled up against me, eyes shining with tears: "Noah, you’re all I’ve got."

Those words had anchored me. I believed her, clinging to the hope that love could be enough, even when everything else was against us.

Now she was the star, all eyes on her, soaking up the glow of the lights.

It was like watching someone step into a spotlight and never even glance back. She belonged to everyone now, and I was just a shadow she’d left behind.

And I was the cast-off. The stand-in nobody wanted.

There was a bitter irony in it—I’d spent my life playing someone else’s part, and now, even the girl I loved had written me out of her own story. Figures.

She’d picked my mother’s side without a flicker of hesitation, tossing me aside like a pair of worn-out sneakers.

I felt cheap. Used. Disposable. The kind of guy you keep around until something better rolls in. I guess I finally understood my place.

My fists clenched so tight my knuckles cracked.

I pushed open the door—the laughter in the dressing room cut off like a needle scratching across a record.

The room went dead quiet.

Jenna spotted me. Panic shot across her face, but she snapped on her Best Actress smile, all sweetness and light.

She slipped into character so fast it made my head spin. You’d never guess she’d just thrown me under the bus.

She glided over, voice soft, almost coaxing: "Noah, don’t overthink it, okay? That whole thing at the awards show was just some company PR stunt. Seriously, trust me—deep down, you’ll always be the one for me."

Her words oozed honey, but I could see the calculation in her eyes. She reached for my hand like nothing had happened, as if she could smooth it all over with a few sweet lines.

"Just give me a couple more years—once I’m really established, we’ll go public, okay? Promise."

She always had a plan, always another excuse. The promise dangled in front of me, just out of reach.

She reached out to take my hand, but I pulled away.

I couldn’t let her touch me—not now. The distance between us felt bigger than ever.

She’d said things like that before.

Every time she needed something, every time she wanted to feel safe, she’d say the same words. It finally hit me—I’d been listening to echoes, not the truth.

She said it back when she was a nobody, when she took home Best Newcomer, and now again as Best Actress.

It was always the same script, just with higher stakes. The more she rose, the more I faded into the background.

How much more did she need before she finally felt safe?

I wondered if there was ever a finish line, or if I’d just keep running in circles, chasing a future that was never really mine.

For the first time, I didn’t agree. I just looked at her, cold.

I let the silence stretch, refusing to play my part. The look on her face said it all—she wasn’t used to anyone pushing back.

Her smile froze, then her eyes flashed with irritation: "Noah, why are you acting like such a kid? You’re not even close to Miles’s league. He knows how to see the bigger picture, you know?"

There it was—the truth, sharp and ugly. She’d picked her side, and it wasn’t me.

Yeah, Miles was better than me at everything now. I was the one everyone had given up on.

I felt it settle on me, heavy as a cinder block. No matter what I did, I’d always be second best.

I left, empty and numb.

I barely felt my feet on the floor as I walked out. The world spun past in a blur, voices and lights fading to static. For the first time, I didn’t look back.

Just as I hit the hallway, my agent called: "Guess what, Noah! The company got you a spot on an A-list reality show—a wedding series called ‘Countdown to Heartbeat.’ You’re on the cast tomorrow!"

Her voice was breathless, buzzing, like she thought this was the break I’d been dying for. I stared up at the ceiling, struggling to even process her words.

I’d signed with this agency just to be near Jenna, but honestly, I was a nobody—barely scraping together enough gigs to pay rent.

Most days, I was lucky to get a walk-on role or maybe a commercial for car insurance. The idea of landing a spot on a big show felt unreal—almost like a setup.

How did I get this kind of break?

It didn’t make sense. I’d spent years as background noise, and now suddenly I was being handed a front-row seat?

"Tracy, I… I’m really not feeling up to it…"

I tried to sound chill, but my voice shook. All I wanted was to crawl into bed and disappear.

"Doesn’t matter! You’re going," my agent shot back, not missing a beat. "Not up for debate, Noah. The company just got scooped up by the Hawthornes—they asked for you, specifically."

Her words smacked me right in the gut. The Hawthornes—again. My fate was being shuffled around in boardrooms, and nobody cared what I wanted.

The Hawthornes.

Just hearing the name made my skin crawl. In Maple Heights, the Hawthornes didn’t ask—they ordered. If they wanted you, you showed up. End of story.

Maple Heights’ most powerful family—the very same one I was supposed to marry into in Miles’s place.

It was all tangled together, every string in the same knot. I felt trapped, like I was being dragged downstream and couldn’t fight the current.

The rumors about their oldest daughter were everywhere: hideous, mean as a snake, maybe even off her rocker, with a trail of bad luck nobody wanted to count.

People swapped stories about Ivy Hawthorne over beers at the local bar, each one crazier than the last. Some claimed she’d torched a rival’s house, others whispered she kept a gun under her pillow. Nobody really knew, but everybody was scared.

Miles didn’t want to go, so that awards-show circus went down.

Now I finally got it—he’d made his scene and found his way out. I was the one left holding the bill.

My phone buzzed—a friend request.

The notification blinked at me, stubborn and bright. My hand hovered over it, nerves jangling. I almost ignored it, but curiosity got the better of me.

The profile picture was nothing but endless black.

No name, no face—just a patch of darkness. It felt like a warning, or maybe a dare.

I hesitated, then hit accept.

My finger shook as I tapped the button. Each second that ticked by felt heavier than the last.

A message landed instantly, cold and straight to the point:

"I'm Ivy Hawthorne. I'll be on the show too. We're getting married on the seventh day. If you try to run, you'll deal with the consequences."

Her words were blunt, almost surgical. No greeting, no intro—just a fact. My stomach twisted into knots.

The Hawthornes ruled Maple Heights with an iron grip. After Ivy took over, she became infamous for being ruthless, ice-cold—nobody messed with her.

People said she could ruin a guy’s life with a single call, that she’d had a rival blacklisted from every studio in town. I’d heard enough to know she was not someone you crossed.

I didn’t have a choice.

I told myself I’d tough it out, like always. But deep down, I wondered if I was way out of my league this time.