Chapter 1: The Queen, The King, and The Setup

Everyone knows me as the drama queen of American reality TV. The whole country’s just waiting for me to crash and burn on this wild survival show, shot on some storm-battered island off the coast of Maine. But here’s the kicker—my boyfriend? He’s the OG Sea King, the original Lord of the Deep, straight out of legend (and, honestly, out of my dreams).

Honestly, the irony is almost too good. Can you believe it? They stick me out here with a bunch of wannabe adventurers, all hoping I’ll melt down on camera. Meanwhile, I’m just soaking up the salty air, grinning inside because I’ve got the ultimate cheat code. The locals whisper about old sea gods, but if they only knew I was dating the main event himself…

While the other contestants are sweating it out, trying to catch fish with makeshift rods, I’m just chilling while king crabs line up at my feet under a beach umbrella. The chat’s losing it: “How is this real?!” “Did production rig this?”

I can practically hear the production crew whispering in their earpieces, trying to figure out if I’m cheating. But nope—it’s just me, a pink flamingo floaty, and a bucket full of crabs. The chat is blowing up with conspiracy theories, and honestly, I’m here for the chaos.

When word got out online that I was joining the show, the hate poured in. What else is new? I scrolled through the comments under my latest Instagram post—a tsunami of snark.

There’s always that one girl from middle school who still follows me just to leave a nasty comment. I picture her, sitting on her couch with her cat, furiously typing out, “She’s gonna last, what, a day?! 😂 #DramaQueen”

“Has Autumn Reed lost her mind? With that skinny frame, she can’t lift a thing. What’s she doing on a survival show? 🤦‍♀️”

“My Marissa’s going too, right? That drama queen will totally make Marissa take care of her. #NotSorry”

“Ugh, I hope Marissa finally stands up for herself and stops being so nice. 🙄”

It’s like the greatest hits of my haters, just scrolling endlessly by. Sometimes I wonder if these people even watch the show or just live for the drama in the comments. Classic.

Marissa Lane is my arch-nemesis. She’s the reason everyone calls me the drama queen. Once, we were on a travel show together. I was sick and asked her to help me ask for a day off. She spun it, telling everyone I was just too lazy to hike and didn’t want to join the group. The other guests thought I was skipping out and kept knocking on my hotel door. But I’d taken some cold medicine—courtesy of Marissa—and slept through it all. That’s when the drama queen label stuck. No matter how I tried to clear things up, people thought I was making excuses and dragging Marissa down with me. Figures.

The way she played the victim, you’d think she was auditioning for a Hallmark movie. I tried to explain, but it was like shouting into a hurricane. Once the internet calls you out, forget about a comeback.

But this time, I’m not here to fix my reputation. I’m here to see my boyfriend—the Sea King. (Yeah, you read that right.) He’s been busy lately, and hasn’t had time to visit. So, joining this survival show is basically a company-sponsored date. After all, this island is his turf. Priorities, people.

If reality TV taught me anything, it’s that sometimes the best revenge is just having a good time. Let them talk—I’m here for the ocean, the chaos, and my supernatural boyfriend. Sorry, haters.

There are six celebrities on the show, three men and three women, split into two teams. Team captains are chosen by drawing straws. Of course, both Marissa and I draw captain. (Shocker.) Judging by her calm little smile, she knew the show was rigged for her. I’m the infamous drama queen—her perfect foil. Like Batman and the Joker, but with more mascara.

It’s so on the nose, I almost want to laugh. The producers must think they’re subtle, but anyone watching knows it’s classic good girl vs. bad girl. Subtlety? Never heard of her.

Marissa beams, all sweetness: “Anyone want to team up with me?”

Her voice is so sweet, it’s practically giving me a cavity. She gives her signature little head tilt, and the guys eat it up.

“Me, me, me…”

All three male contestants raise their hands. The island’s covered with live cameras, so viewers see everything. The chat explodes:

It’s like high school gym class all over again, only this time the stakes are national humiliation. Yay me.

“Our Marissa is so popular!”

“LOL, Autumn’s reputation is so bad, no one wants to team with her.”

“Isn’t there still Riley?”

“Does Riley not want to join Marissa’s team? She’s always a diva, not much better than Autumn. Maybe she’s just afraid of being rejected.”

Even the chat can’t resist stirring the pot. I swear, some of these people must be paid trolls. Probably get hazard pay for the drama.

Riley Brooks? Total pro—and another one of Marissa’s casualties. She can’t stand Marissa. No way she’d join her team. In the end, Riley picks me.

Riley doesn’t even hesitate. She walks over, arms crossed, and plants herself at my side. If looks could kill, Marissa would be a pile of ashes.

Marissa glances at us, feigning concern: “Will you two girls be okay?” She looks at her three male teammates—pop idol Brandon Lee, up-and-coming singer-songwriter Jordan Myers, and Best Actor Carter West. “Any of you want to switch to Autumn’s team?”

She says it with that perfect blend of fake worry and showmanship. I almost want to give her a slow clap. Bravo, girl.

But all three guys are Marissa’s simps—they’re here for her, not us. Silence.

One of them even shuffles his feet, like he’s embarrassed to be seen with the unpopular kids.

I shoot them a look. “No need. Riley, let’s go.”

I make sure to toss my hair for the camera, giving off that unbothered energy. If I’m going down, I’m going down in style.

“Alright.”

Riley’s voice is sharp, but I catch the little grin she tries to hide. Solidarity, sister.

Just as I thought, Marissa, the show’s golden girl, already knows where all the useful resources are. Soon, she finds an abandoned beach cabin. It’s rundown, but inside there are pots, pans, and everything you’d need.

It’s almost too convenient. If there were a script, Marissa would be reading from it.

“Wow, we have a place to stay!” She acts genuinely surprised—no trace of acting.

She even gasps, hand to her chest, like she’s on The Price is Right.

She turns to us, apologetic: “Sorry, the cabin’s small, only room for four. Why don’t you two crash under the porch eaves for the night? At least it’s shelter from the wind and rain.”

Her voice trembles just enough to sound sincere. If she ever gives up acting, she could teach a masterclass in fake empathy.

Marissa is just so kind. I could cry.

I consider dabbing at my eyes with a palm frond, just for dramatic effect. The sarcasm is almost too much to contain.

I lift my chin, cool and aloof. “No need.”

I make sure my voice is flat, just this side of icy. If she wants a show, I’ll give her one.

Marissa’s eyes fill with tears. “Autumn, I’m not targeting you. The cabin’s just too small, really. How about this: I’ll move out, and you two can move in.”

She’s so good at playing the martyr, it’s almost impressive. I half-expect her to start composing a sad ballad right there.

Cue the flood of hate in the comments. Her three simps pounce:

I can practically feel the digital tomatoes flying my way.

“Autumn, don’t push your luck. Marissa’s already being more than nice to you!”

“Someone like you can’t handle hardship—why even join a survival show? You think this is a vacation?”

“Stay if you want, leave if you don’t. No one’s going to pamper you here.”

The mob mentality is real. If I had a dollar for every time someone called me spoiled, I could buy my own island.

I catch the smug look in Marissa’s eyes. I’m about to clap back when Riley beats me to it:

Riley’s not here to play nice. She jumps in, voice sharp as a whip.

“Did you guys even graduate elementary school? Autumn said ‘no need,’ and you spun that into a whole drama.”

“Even a third-grader’s reading comprehension is better than yours.”

“Are you all brainless? Wait, are any of you even college grads? You know what JSTOR is? Ever write your own thesis?”

Riley’s mouth is like a machine gun, firing nonstop. Marissa’s simps can’t get a word in; their faces go beet red.

I want to give her a standing ovation. In another life, we’d be running a podcast together, roasting reality TV villains.

If I had confetti, I’d throw it. She’s the only person here who can out-snark me, and I love her for it.

Finally, Marissa pipes up, all weak and soft: “Riley, don’t scold them. They don’t mean any harm to Autumn, they’re just worried about me.”

She dabs at the corner of her eye, voice trembling. Give her an Emmy already.

Riley snorts: “Oh, so me stating facts is scolding, but when they go after Autumn, you don’t say a word? I’m not falling for your fake innocent act. I know you’re about to cry—go ahead, let’s see who cries harder!”

Riley cusses her out while crying, her acting skills absolutely next-level. Marissa’s tears are right there at the corners of her eyes, but she forces them back.

The tension is so thick you could slice it with a butter knife. I almost want to grab popcorn.

I can’t help but laugh. “Marissa, don’t be upset. Riley just speaks her mind, she’s not targeting you. Don’t take it to heart.”

I say it sweetly, but everyone can hear the edge. If Marissa wants to play the victim, I’m happy to play along—on my terms.

Trying not to break character, Marissa clenches her fists but still manages a strained smile. “It’s fine.”

Her smile is so tight, I’m surprised her teeth don’t crack. She’s seconds away from losing it, but the cameras are still rolling.

Riley and I are feeling great. Marissa’s fans in the comments must be fuming—but whatever, we can’t see them anyway.

It’s freeing, honestly. If you can’t hear the haters, do they even exist?

As we leave, Brandon calls out: “You two better not come crawling back later.”

He tries to sound tough, but his voice cracks. I almost feel bad for him—almost.

Riley fires back, “Not in this lifetime.”

She doesn’t even look over her shoulder. The confidence is real.

Once we’re away from Marissa’s group, Riley starts to regret it: “Sorry, Autumn. I was too impulsive. I just can’t stand Marissa’s fake innocent act.”

She’s pacing, rubbing her arms, but I can tell she’s still fired up.

I wave it off. “Don’t blame yourself. If you hadn’t said something, I would’ve. Honestly, you said exactly what I was thinking.”

I nudge her, and she finally cracks a smile. It’s nice having someone in my corner for once.

“There’s only that one abandoned cabin around here. Looks like we really have to sleep on the beach.”

She glances at the sky, probably picturing us huddled under a tarp in the rain. Been there, done that—never again.

I say confidently, “No way. Let’s keep looking—we’ll find a place.”

I flash her a wink, channeling all the confidence I can muster. After all, my Sea King boyfriend wouldn’t leave me stranded.