Chapter 2: Trending Trauma and Old Wounds

The next morning, my agent's call woke me up.

My phone buzzed like a jackhammer on my nightstand. I groaned, reaching blindly, eyes barely open. "Hello—Tina?"

"You can still sleep?" Tina's anxious voice jolted me a little. Before I could say anything, she barreled on:

Tina sounded like she’d already had three cups of coffee and a panic attack. I sat up, rubbing my temples, trying to piece together reality.

"Was Mason Whitlock's meltdown your doing?"

Her words hit like a cold shower. I blinked, suddenly wide awake. "What? No! I mean—what?"

Me: "Huh?"

I heard Lauren laughing in my head: "You’re always the last to know when you start drama."

Of course, Tina knew we’d dated.

She’d been there through the whole mess—late-night phone calls, teary-eyed auditions, the time I tried to quit the industry for good. She always said, "You two are like gasoline and a match."

After hanging up, I instinctively checked the trending topics.

I scrolled with dread, half expecting to see my own face. Instead, it was all Mason. His name was everywhere, like a bad penny you can’t get rid of.

My eyes lit up, then dimmed. I almost went back to sleep.

The initial thrill faded fast. I was just a footnote in his story, if that. Still, I couldn’t look away.

#TheColdMovieStarBreaksDownOnSet

#MasonWhitlockCriesSoBeautifully

#WhoMadeMasonWhitlockCryLikeThis?

The hashtags were relentless, each one more dramatic than the last. Fans had theories, charts, even timelines. I felt like a ghost watching my own funeral.

The attached photo showed Mason crying, tears streaming down his face. Even through the pixels, the pain was obvious. My stomach twisted.

It was a gut punch, seeing him like that. I remembered the way his shoulders shook when he cried—how he hated being seen as vulnerable. The internet, of course, ate it up.

In the blurry candid shot, a young general in dark blue Civil War uniform knelt on the ground, clutching a handful of dirt. The broken sash and faded bloodstains made his stormy eyes look both fragile and stubborn. That single teardrop hanging from his chin? Brutal.

Even through the grainy filter, you could see the pain. He looked like he’d lost everything, and maybe he had. For a second, I almost forgot it was just a role.

Even the iciest heart would melt seeing that photo. I silently saved it.

I snorted, then hit save before I could second-guess myself. Old habits die hard. Lauren would tease me for weeks if she found out.

So it really was him who called last night.

A weird sense of relief washed over me. At least I wasn’t hallucinating. Mason had reached out, even if it was just for a second.

I was still thinking about how to deal with Tina when a few new trending topics popped up.

#MasonWhitlockNewDramaWraps

#LookingForwardToYoungGeneralHarrison

#MasonWhitlockSaysInWrapInterviewHeWontLetHerGo

The hashtags multiplied like rabbits. Fans were already shipping him with his co-star, with the director, with anyone who’d ever looked at him sideways.

My eyebrow twitched. I clicked into the last topic.

I braced myself, half-expecting to see my own name. Instead, it was just Mason—looking tired, eyes rimmed red, but still putting on a show for the cameras.

Mason had already changed into regular clothes. His expression was back to that half-dead look. But everyone called him the cold movie star. Honestly, it's just deadpan. That’s all it is.

He always looked like he was about to fall asleep or start a fight—no in-between. Fans thought it was mysterious. I knew it was just his resting jerk face.

I smirked and clicked on the interview video.

Lauren texted, "Bet you five bucks he mentions you."

The reporter asked, "This wrap-up scene is one of the drama's highlights. I heard you couldn't get into the right headspace during filming. How did you finally manage it?"

That was a big scene. The young general and his father went to war together, but because he messed up, his father died on the battlefield. It would look amazing on screen.

I remembered Mason running lines in my apartment, pacing holes in the rug. He’d mutter, "It’s not enough. It has to hurt." He always wanted to make it real.

I sighed quietly.

I pressed my forehead to my knees, feeling the ache of old memories. It was easier to watch from a distance, easier to pretend I didn’t care.

Then I heard Mason say, "Nothing much, I just made a call to an old acquaintance."

He said it so casually, like it didn’t mean anything. But I knew him too well. That was his tell—downplaying what mattered most.

The reporter's eyes lit up. "Must be someone very important to you, right?"

They leaned in, hungry for gossip. The whole room seemed to hold its breath.

"No, I can't stand her."

He spat the words out, but his eyes flickered. I recognized the look—half dare, half plea.

Me, staring at my phone: "..."

I made a face at my reflection in the black screen. "Real mature, Mason."

The reporter looked like he'd just landed a huge scoop, trying to smooth things over while digging for more.

They shuffled their notes, trying not to look too eager, but you could tell they were dying for more drama.

"Hate is a strong emotion too. Do you have anything you want to say to this person?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. I held my breath, waiting.

Mason paused, raising the mic closer to his mouth, as if afraid it wouldn't pick up his words.

His hand trembled, just a little. He looked straight at the camera, eyes burning.

"I'm not letting her go. Not in this lifetime."

He said it like a promise and a threat all at once. My heart thudded in my chest, memories bubbling up—late nights, whispered arguments, the way he’d hold on even when he should’ve let go.

Then he slammed the mic down in anger. He looked fierce, gritting his teeth, but I noticed his trembling hand and the faint sob in his voice at the end.

The sound echoed through the studio, and for a second, everyone just stared. The mask slipped, and the world saw what I’d always known—Mason was a mess, just like me.

The interview ended there, moving on to other cast members. A bit of a shame—if they'd kept the camera on Mason for a few more seconds, they would've caught him crying.

I almost wanted to call the producer and beg for the footage. The world deserved to see the full meltdown.

Who would believe the cold movie star was actually a crybaby?

I grinned, remembering the first time I saw him cry—over a lost dog in a movie. He’d tried to hide it, but I caught him wiping his eyes on my sleeve.

Honestly, I used to love watching him cry.

It made him real, vulnerable. It made me feel like I had a piece of him no one else got to see.

But our breakup was really ugly.

We’d said things you can’t take back. Doors slammed, voices raised, tears shed. I still had the voicemail he left, but I’d never dared to listen to it.

I sighed, exited the interview, and messaged Tina:

"Tina~"

I added a string of sad emojis, hoping she’d take pity on me. Maybe she’d let me off the hook this once.

Tina replied:

"I know, shut up. I got you a spot on a variety show. Go make an appearance."

She always texted like she was half-asleep, but I knew she was probably juggling three phones and a latte.

"What variety show?"

I tried to sound casual, but my heart pounded. I hadn’t done live TV since college, and even then, I’d tripped on my own shoelaces.

"Oh, Mason and his team are starting promo for the drama. There's an opening on the show. I squeezed you in."

She made it sound like no big deal, but I knew she’d probably bullied three assistants and a producer to make it happen.

Me: "Huh?"

I pinched my nose, finally waking up.

I stared at the ceiling, counting the cracks, trying to make sense of it all. "This can’t be happening," I muttered.

"Tina, if you want to get rid of me, you don't have to go this far."

She snorted on the other end, the sound of typing in the background. "You’re not that easy to get rid of. Just go, smile, and don’t say anything dumb."

Tina snorted. "What's there to be afraid of? Your ex is such a ratings magnet, might as well ride his coattails. Just be a background prop."

I could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "You’ll be fine. Just don’t start a food fight."

And I actually believed her!

I groaned, but deep down, I knew she was right. Mason drew attention like a magnet. If I played it cool, maybe no one would notice me at all.