1 I’m the entertainment industry’s resident villainess. Three steps, a slap. Five steps, a punch. After cooperating with David for the N-th time, the moment he saw me, his face subconsciously tilted toward my hand. I was utterly horrified. The internet was equally horrified. Wait, is this normal? How did a few projects train him into this? He’s practically a puppy! God, me next! Step on me, big sister! I had a reputation in the industry that everyone knew. The Go-To Bad Woman. I’d played the homewrecker running through a rainstorm for "love", the tyrannical duchess who slapped ten maids in a single scene, the toxic wife who ruined her parents, her husband, and herself, alongside a countless array of other wicked characters. Initially, my agent barely paid attention to me. It was only after I played so many villainesses that I went viral for being delightfully wicked, with my clips spreading like wildfire, that he finally realized I existed. My agent spent days pulling his hair out, staring at scripts without knowing which way to steer my career. Nurturing my talent had suddenly become an incredibly difficult puzzle. "How did you even land those past roles?" he asked. "I just went to open casting calls," I replied honestly. He looked suspicious. "Open casting calls?" He asked me to show him how I did it. Since I hadn't gone to drama school and lacked professional guidance, I had survived in the industry purely on my face and sheer luck. He still couldn't comprehend how I actually booked the jobs. "Which one do you want to see, boss?" I asked meekly. He pondered for a moment. "Show me that tyrannical duchess." I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, the atmosphere shifted. "You worthless tramp!" My agent flinched, his shoulders tensing. "I saw you lurking around the parlor earlier," I sneered, my voice dripping with icy venom. "What’s the matter? Looking for my husband?" I snapped out of it instantly, returning to my quiet, timid self. "Boss, I’m done." My agent wiped a bead of cold sweat from his forehead. "Right... great. Well, just take a look at the scripts we can get our hands on and choose whatever you like." 2 I was getting restless. A person couldn't play the villain forever. The past was the past, but now, if I had a choice, I wanted to play a good person. I couldn't wait to pick a 1920s Prohibition-era period drama, selecting the only character who was supposed to be a pure, innocent white lily. During the audition, the director didn't look particularly pleased. "Gemma, try it one more time." I was sweating bullets. I tried my absolute best to perform according to my understanding of the character, reading lines with another actress who was playing the antagonist. The director observed us closely. After a moment, he suddenly spoke up. "How about this? The two of you swap scripts and do it again." The other actress and I silently exchanged glances, then handed over our pages. Her character had roughly the same amount of screen time as mine. When we ran the scene again, a pure white lily and a fiercely calculating dark lotus came alive in the room. The director’s eyes lit up, and he slammed his hand on the desk, standing up. "Now that is what I’m talking about!" I had walked into the room carrying a lily, but I walked out holding nightshade. The other actress let out a long sigh of relief, quietly falling into step beside me as we left. "You’re Gemma, right?" she asked curiously. I nodded. She scratched her head, looking a little embarrassed. "Your acting was incredible. You were so deliciously wicked that it made my skin crawl. For a second, I thought we actually had some deep, ancient vendetta. You’re honestly born for these roles." I remained silent, weeping in my heart over my tragic fate. 3 The new project was officially announced. The comments section was in absolute chaos. There were fans supporting their favorite leads, people just watching the drama unfold, and then there were comments about me. Gemma is playing the villainess again. We’re used to it at this point. Honestly, it’s kind of hot. Look at that promotional poster. The way she looks down at us like we’re dirt... it’s amazing! I quietly closed the comments. My phone buzzed. It was a message from David. Looking forward to working together again. I let out a miserable sigh. To be honest, if I were David, I would run the other way the moment I saw my face. I had worked with David at least five or six times now. In every different project, I played the exact same brand of wicked. In every different project, he was always the exact same brand of saint. The ultimate golden boy of television. Devoted, gentle, and constantly getting slapped by me. Our scenes together consisted almost entirely of me slapping him, kicking him, or screaming at him. When I played the mistress, he was my devoted pursuer, getting kicked, beaten, and used. When I played the duchess, he was my sweet cousin, whom I manipulated until he was stripped of his title and exiled. And this time... Oh, no. It was the seductive stepmother. 4 It was incredibly awkward. In our last project, we were a detective and a criminal. This time, I had to sit on his lap and slap him. The moment the director yelled "Cut!", I scrambled off David’s lap as fast as my legs could carry me. "I’m so sorry, David!" David’s left cheek was flushed bright red. I was frantic, fussing over him with a bottle of water and an ice pack. "Did I hit you too hard?" David shook his head. The scene was intense, and we had agreed beforehand to make the slap real to get the best take, so I had put a bit too much force into it. The director was thrilled, but I was terrified of getting dragged by his fans. What if his fans outside the set saw this? I looked around guiltily, spotting a few young girls staring in our direction with glowing eyes. I silently shifted my body to block David’s reddened cheek, looking up at the sky and whistling casually. "Gemma," David called out suddenly. He wanted to discuss the slap we just did. "You can actually go a bit harder next time. It’d look more natural if my head snapped back more. It’ll make the scene pop." I was dumbfounded. Was he serious? Did he really have to be this dedicated to the craft? David’s expression was completely earnest. He was incredibly handsome, and with his flushed cheek and dark eyes, there was something undeniably destabilizing about the sight. I silently opened my contacts and edited his nickname. I added a few words. David (The Ultimate Workaholic) David spent the entire afternoon either getting beaten or screamed at by me. He usually played noble, heroic characters, but this time he had chosen a rare, morally grey role. Our characters were partners in crime who also constantly double crossed each other. My character, naturally, was the more ruthless of the two. I could already visualize the grand premiere. It was going to be a beautiful symphony of internet outrage. My feelings toward David were complex, a mix of mutual respect and a tiny bit of jealousy. He had played so many virtuous heroes that all the fan edits of him on social media were set to romantic music, whereas mine were always compilations of me committing fictional crimes. When we wrapped for the day, David walked ahead while I lagged behind. The fans waiting outside the studio gates stood up in a massive wave. I ducked my head, chanting a silent prayer. You can’t see me, you can’t see me... "Gemma! Big sister!" I looked up. A few girls were waving at me, jumping up and down. They looked familiar, they were the same girls from earlier. They cupped their hands around their mouths like megaphones. "You’re so beautiful!" "Your acting is incredible!" "We’ll always support you, Gemma!" I froze in my tracks. They were my fans. I actually had fans waiting to see me after work. Taking advantage of the crew’s distraction, I ran over happily to squeeze their hands and say hello. They clearly hadn't expected me to actually approach them, and their faces were filled with shock. Before my agent dragged me away, I caught one of them whispering about how good I smelled. As I climbed into the car, they yelled in unison. "Gemma, you smell like heaven!" My face flushed a deep pink. 5 Work consumed my entire life. Having projects to shoot meant keeping food on the table. Discussing the script with David was always incredibly comfortable. He would teach me how to immerse myself in the emotions, helping me elevate my performance to a new level. He really was a trained theater actor. Do you have any thoughts on this scene? he texted. I thought about the stepmother character, letting my mind wander into the darker psychological elements of the role. I was thinking about her complex emotions, specifically her toxic, almost possessive hold over her stepson. David agreed. Yes, her childhood trauma makes her crave control over everything within her reach. The stepson was slowly being led astray by his stepmother. A naive young man stepping into a beautifully disguised trap, realizing too late that they would both sink into ruin together. This kind of taboo dynamic was always a bit controversial, but David had his own perspective. Don't worry, the script is tight, the pacing is fast, and the characters are complex. She isn't just evil for the sake of being evil. She wasn't just evil. I was only now reaching a level in my career where I could actually land these layered, complex roles. In the beginning, I only booked one dimensional, cartoonish villains. Three steps, a slap. Five steps, a punch. I’d have no real emotional connection to the main characters, I just existed to make their lives miserable because the writer felt like it. I often wondered what went through those writers' heads. Even so, playing those roles had been oddly therapeutic. David had high hopes for this new project. He comforted me. I trust the audience will see the depth in your performance. I rubbed my nose. The audience would definitely see my hand connecting with his face first. I typed back cautiously. Are you absolutely sure those slaps don't hurt? It took a while for David to reply. They’re fine. Maybe you can send me some soothing face masks? Then, David sent a voice message. I tapped it, and his soft, low chuckle filled the quiet room. "It’s fine. Your hands are sweet. It doesn't hurt." Smooth. Too smooth. Our chemistry on set grew more natural with each passing day. One afternoon, he casually asked, "We’ve worked together five or six times now, which means we’ve known each other for years. Since we’re such good friends, do you want to grab dinner after we wrap?" I scratched my head. Since when were we such good friends? A smart actress who maintained a healthy dose of caution in the industry knew better than to easily agree to private dinners with co-stars. "I don't think—" David spoke in a calm, breezy tone. "I know a really fantastic, private bistro downtown." "Actually, I really should—" "My treat. Private car, door-to-door service, and the food is legendary." My mouth took a sharp detour. "What time are we leaving?" "Now." I couldn't help but wonder how David knew my exact weakness. I had no expensive hobbies, I just loved good food. 6 The project finally wrapped. I had finished playing another villainess, and I felt completely refreshed. There was something about tapping into that dark energy that left me feeling energized, as if years of pent-up frustrations had been safely released through the character. I recalled the early days of my career, when I dragged myself through countless failed pilots before finally catching a break with a minor villain role. It was a brilliantly wicked character, and I had poured my absolute soul into making her as terrible as possible. The audience hated her with a passion. Even though some reasonable viewers tried to separate the actress from the character, it didn't stop a massive wave of online hate from crashing down on me. As a small-time actress with no backing, my comments section was quickly overrun. Countless people begged me to stop acting. But I couldn't do that. I watched the chaos unfold, and immediately signed on for my next villain role. With the algorithm pushing my name, I had to strike while the iron was hot. Soon, directors realized they had a go-to actress for their worst female antagonists. If they could write it, I could play it. By the time I was twenty-six, I had played almost every variation of a bad woman on the studio lots. My performances were so memorable that the audience’s attitude slowly began to shift. Gemma is amazing, but why does that gorgeous face only play evil characters? Eventually, even casual viewers started defending me. The moment her face appears on screen, you know someone is getting slapped! She’s too pretty. I can’t even stay mad at her characters. Let’s count how many times she slaps someone in this episode. The audience had slowly leaned into the absurdity of it all. I lounged on my couch, reading a message from David. There’s a role in a new drama that would be perfect for you. I recommended you to the director, do you want to audition? I sat up straight, sniffing back a wave of emotion. David, how did you know I was running out of money? 7 David was practically my lucky charm. We were in entirely different leagues, as he was a permanent fixture in A-list leading roles. During our very first project together, I played an assassin disguised as a maid whose sole job was to choke David with a wire before he managed to overpower me. I had smiled weakly when I read the script. The entire main cast was on set that day, all of them established stars, while I was the only fresh face. I had taken a deep breath. "Mr. David, please forgive me in advance." David had been incredibly gracious. "Don't worry about it. Just do whatever feels comfortable for you." Under the watchful eyes of the entire crew, I had performed the scene seamlessly. The director later described my physical acting as highly professional. We got it in one take, no resets needed. There was a popular young starlet named Phoebe whose acting was frequently criticized by viewers. She had quietly approached me in private to ask for advice. I had comforted her. "You think I’m doing well, but the truth is, I’m just stuck in this villain comfort zone. If you threw me into a heroic, sweet role, I’d probably look completely lost." She gasped. "A comfort zone? A villainess comfort zone?" I nodded. "Exactly. You, on the other hand, are perfect for those beautiful, tragic characters who get written off quickly. A few minutes of screen time, and the audience will remember you forever." Phoebe actually took my advice to heart. From then on, she became the go-to beautiful casualty in various dramas. She arrived quickly, and her characters died quickly. The audience’s complaints about her acting began to dwindle, replaced by discussions about her tragic characters. I felt quite proud of her. She was a quick learner. Phoebe was thrilled and we became close friends. She started sharing casting opportunities for villain roles with me, becoming my other lucky charm. We grew so close that she would regularly crash on my sofa to watch my dramas with me. "My god, Gemma, you are so evil." She grabbed a handful of chips, pointing dramatically at the TV screen. "If I didn't know you in real life, I’d be terrified of you." I crossed my arms. "That is the power of a professional villainess." She giggled, leaning over to nudge my shoulder. "Let me rephrase that. Sister, you smell amazing." I immediately retreated three feet, rubbing the goosebumps on my arms and pulling out a prop wooden stake from under the cushion. "Who possessed you? Get away from me." Phoebe rolled her eyes, waving her phone in front of my face. "You’re so boring. Look, your after-work video is going viral, and you haven't even noticed. Where did you even get a wooden stake?" I tossed the stake aside and took her phone. It was indeed the video of me with my fans from the other day. The audio was a bit muffled, but one loud, enthusiastic shout of "Gemma, you smell like heaven!" echoed clearly through the speaker. My hand trembled. A viral video of me. "I actually have a viral video," I murmured, feeling a rush of warmth. "That’s not the point. The point is how sweet you are in real life." I quietly pretended not to hear her, but that night, after slipping under my covers, I secretly scrolled through the comments. The comments were flooded with people asking what perfume I used. To be honest, Gemma’s beauty often makes you forget how awful her characters are. She actually makes me want to protect her... I think I’m falling for her. She’s so cute in real life! One second she’s a ruthless villainess, and the next she’s speaking so softly to her fans. The duality is insane. Following her seems so rewarding... It seemed I was actually starting to gain some real traction. 8 My previous brush with viral fame had been a brief spark that went out quickly. This time, however, felt different. The warmth was steady and growing. David sent a message soon after. Congratulations. I quickly replied. It’s just a temporary trend. People are probably just curious and will move on soon. Not that I’m trying to curse myself, of course. I was just trying to be humble. David sent a voice note, his voice light with amusement. "I understand." He didn't understand. I was nervous out of my mind. Over the years, I had played so many unhinged characters and endured so much criticism, and I had learned to handle all of it with a thick skin. But suddenly being embraced by the public made me feel incredibly vulnerable, as if my private self was being exposed. I had only ever seen famous actors get mobbed by fans, recognized everywhere they went. I wondered what that felt like. Wait. The perfect source of information was right in front of me. I opened our chat and nudged David. David replied almost instantly. ? David, rumor has it you’re incredibly famous, I wrote. There was no response from his end. I grew impatient and nudged him again. David? Where did you go? You’re going to make me lose my mind, he finally replied. He had a decent sense of humor. If you suddenly got a massive wave of attention, how would you feel? I asked. Exactly how you’re feeling right now, he wrote. I tried to deflect. I’m not talking about myself. I’m asking for a friend. Tell your friend to get ready. The internet is about to dig up her entire past. I stared at the screen in silence. I had almost forgotten the golden rule of the entertainment industry: the moment you start getting popular, the internet begins digging up your history.
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