Vanessa's POV
I watched Jesse look at Isla through dinner, and I wanted to throw my wine glass at the wall.
He thought he was being sly. He wasn't.
Every two minutes, his eyes would move to the end of the table where that nobody actress sat picking at her food. Every time she moved, his shoulders would tense. Every time someone spoke to her, he'd stop eating and listen.
Jesse Moreno was supposed to be looking at me. Not her.
"More bread, Vanessa?" The guy next to me—some TV star whose name I'd already forgotten—held out a basket.
"No thanks." I smiled my camera-ready smile. Twenty teeth showing. Eyes sparkling. The smile that had won me sixteen million Instagram followers.
The smile that was going to make me famous.
I'd worked too hard to get here. Too many paid posts. Too many fake connections. Too many nights wondering if I'd ever be more than just a pretty face on social media.
This show was my ticket. Win Jesse's heart on camera, become America's sweetheart, get offered real acting parts. Maybe even marry him for real if he was useful enough.
I had a plan. A good one.
And some washed-up lady with bad press and desperate eyes wasn't going to ruin it.
Isla stood up from the table. "Excuse me," she mumbled. "I'm not feeling well."
She practically ran from the room.
Jesse watched her go. His jaw was tight. His hands were fists.
Oh, this was bad. This was very bad.
"Poor thing," I said loudly enough for the cameras to catch. "She looked really upset. Should someone check on her?"
"I'll go," Jesse said, beginning to stand.
I grabbed his arm. Hard. "Actually, maybe give her space? Girl problems, you know." I laughed like we were sharing a secret. "Besides, I wanted to talk to you about our date tomorrow."
Jesse sat back down, but his eyes stayed on the door Isla had disappeared through.
Focus on me, I wanted to scream. Look at ME.
But I kept smiling. Kept my voice light and bubbly. Kept playing the part of the sweet, perfect girlfriend.
That's what reality TV was. Playing a part. And I was very good at playing parts.
Dinner ended. People scattered. I followed Jesse toward his room.
"Jesse, wait up!"
He turned around. Smiled. But it wasn't a real smile. I could tell the difference.
"Hey, Vanessa. What's up?"
"I just wanted to say tonight was really fun. Our date was amazing." I stepped closer. "I think we have something special."
"Yeah. It was nice." He was looking past me. Down the hallway. Toward Isla's room.
Anger burned in my chest, but I pushed it down. Smiled bigger.
"Get some rest," I said sweetly. "Big day tomorrow."
I went to my room and closed the door. Then I stopped laughing.
My phone—the one the producers let me keep because I "needed it for my brand"—buzzed with texts from my agent.
"You're trending on Twitter! #Janessa is the top ship name! Keep it up!"
Janessa. Jesse and Vanessa. Our couple name.
Good. That was good.
But then I looked through Twitter and saw other posts. Lots of them.
"Did anyone else see how Jesse looked at Isla?"
"Forget Vanessa. Jesse and Isla have HISTORY."
"Jesse looked like he saw a ghost when Isla walked in lol"
My grip tightened on my phone. No. No, no, no.
I couldn't let this happen. I couldn't let some nobody steal my stage.
Someone knocked on my door. I opened it expecting a producer.
Instead, Marcus Webb stood there. The head writer. The man who managed everything on this show.
"We need to talk," he said.
"About what?"
"About Jesse. And Isla. And the problem you're going to help me solve." He walked into my room without being invited. "Close the door."
I closed it.
Marcus turned to face me. "You want to win this show, right? Become famous? Get real playing jobs?"
"Of course."
"Then you need to understand something. This show isn't about finding love. It's about making drama. And the biggest drama we have is Jesse and Isla's past."
My stomach dropped. "History? What history?"
"They dated three years ago. It ended badly. And now they're trapped in a house together with cameras everywhere." Marcus smiled like a shark. "America is going to eat it up."
"But I'm supposed to end up with Jesse. That's the plan."
"Plans change." He pulled out his phone and showed me something. A video of Jesse and Isla from earlier. Jesse calling her a liar. Isla crying.
"This," Marcus said, "is gold. Real feeling. Real pain. The kind of content that makes people binge-watch full seasons in one night."
"So what? You're just going to let them get back together on camera? What about me?"
"You're going to be the victim. The sweet girl who got caught in the middle. The one America roots for." He put his phone away. "And when Isla inevitably breaks Jesse's heart again—because that's what I'm paying her to do—you'll be there to pick up the pieces. Win-win."
"That's not what I signed up for."
"Really? Because I remember you signing a deal that says you'll do whatever I tell you to do. Or did you forget the part where I can edit you to look like the enemy instead?" His smile got colder. "Your choice, Vanessa. Play along and become America's sweetheart. Or fight me and become the most hated woman on television."
He was blackmailing me. And he was good at it.
"What do you want me to do?" I asked.
"Tomorrow, Isla is going to stop your date with Jesse. It's in her writing. When she does, I want you to play the victim. Cry a little. Make her look like the bad guy. Make Jesse feel bad for even looking at her."
"And then?"
"Then you sit back and watch them destroy each other. When the smoke clears, Jesse will need someone stable. Someone kind. Someone who isn't Isla Chen." He headed for the door. "That's your part, Vanessa. The good girl. Play it well, and you'll get everything you want."
He left.
I stood in my empty room, shaking with rage. This wasn't how it was going to go. I was supposed to be the star. The winner. The one everyone loved.
Not some supporting figure in Jesse and Isla's love story.
My phone buzzed again. Another text. Unknown number.
"Want revenge on Isla? Want Jesse to actually see you? I can help. Meet me in the garden in five minutes. Come alone. Don't tell Marcus. -J.K."
J.K. Who was J.K.?
This was probably another trap. Another trick. Another way for someone to use me.
But I was tired of being used.
Maybe it was time to start using other people instead.
I grabbed a jacket and headed for the yard. The cameras wouldn't follow me there—it was one of the few blind spots in the house.
A woman stood in the dark. Early thirties. Sharp suit. Sharper eyes.
"Vanessa Bright," she said. "I'm Jade Kim. Jesse's agent."
My blood went cold. "What do you want?"
"To make you an offer." She stepped into the moonlight. "Marcus Webb is playing all of you. Jesse, Isla, you. Everyone. He has dirt on everyone, and he's using it to make his perfect show."
"I know. He just told me."
"Did he tell you about Isla's sister? About how she's dying in a hospital right now while Marcus keeps Isla trapped here?"
I went quiet. No. He hadn't mentioned that.
"Did he tell you about the blackmail footage he has on Jesse? Or the real reason Isla left three years ago?" Jade pulled out her phone. "Marcus Webb destroys people for numbers. And unless we stop him, he's going to destroy all of you."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're smart. Ambitious. And you understand how this world works." She showed me her phone. Documents. Videos. Evidence. "I've been collecting proof of Marcus's trickery for months. When this goes public, it'll expose reality TV fraud and destroy his entire production company."
"But it'll kill the show too. And my chance at fame."
"Maybe. Or maybe it makes you famous for a different reason." Jade's smile was sharp. "The girl who exposed reality TV corruption. The tipster. The hero. That's a story creators will actually respect."
I thought about Marcus's threats. About being changed into a villain. About playing second fiddle to Isla forever.
"What do you need from me?" I asked.
"Evidence. Footage. Anything that shows how Marcus manipulates contestants. And tomorrow, when Isla stops your date, I need you to go off-script. Don't play the victim. Expose the whole thing on camera."
"That's insane."
"That's revolution." Jade held out her hand. "So what do you say? Help me take down Marcus Webb?"
I looked at her hand. At the proof on her phone. At the choice between bein
g Marcus's slave or writing my own story.
I shook her hand.
"Let's burn it all down," I said.