We were playing a fake couple on Coupled, the biggest reality dating show in the country. When the finale wrapped, Liam, the A-list movie star I'd been paired with, had a million dollars quietly transferred to my account. That night, his manager sent me a warning. "Take the money and be smart. Don't get any ideas about this being real. A million bucks is a king's ransom for a D-lister like you." The next day, he and my best friend, Ava—the show's other female lead—went public with their real relationship. The shippers went wild. Amid the nationwide celebration, I sat down for a live interview. I held up my phone, letting the camera catch the glint of the audio recorder app. "Toast number one: To me," I said, my voice steady. "For falling for the act and ending up the punchline." "Toast number two: To being the smokescreen, the perfect cover for his real love story." "And toast number three: To the two of them, for not even waiting 24 hours to slap me in the face with their official announcement." Liam and Ava blew up my phone, their threats frantic. "If you release that, you'll disappear from this town for good!" I smiled. Who said I was just some D-lister? 1 The camera flashes in the interview room were relentless, searing spots into my vision. Reporters, smelling blood in the water, shoved their microphones toward my face. "Chloe, what did you mean by those 'three toasts'?" "What's on that recording? Is it about Liam and Ava?" "Is this just a case of a woman scorned? If you can't have him, you'll ruin him?" In my pocket, my phone vibrated violently. The screen lit up with the two names I knew better than my own: Liam. Ava. I didn't answer. I let the frantic buzzing hang in the air, a jarring counterpoint to the tense silence of the room. I looked straight into the camera lens and curved my lips into a smile—the perfectly calibrated, media-trained smile I'd practiced for three months on the set of Coupled. "You want to know what's on the recording?" I held up my phone, my thumb hovering over the play button. The entire room held its breath. Suddenly, my agent, Sarah, burst through the door and snatched the phone from my hand. "I'm so sorry, everyone. Chloe's a bit emotional today. This interview is over!" She grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong, and hauled me toward the exit. "Chloe, are you insane?" she hissed under her breath. "You think you can take on Liam Carter? With what army?" She shoved me into the back of a black SUV and slammed the door, cutting off the cacophony of the press. Sarah tossed my phone back at me, her face a mask of fury. "Liam's team just called. They want you to post a retraction on social media right now. Say it was all a joke." I glanced down. A new text from Liam had come through. Chloe, don't push it. I can make sure that recording of yours never sees the light of day. It was followed by a voice memo from Ava, her voice thick with fake tears. "Chlo, aren't we best friends? Why are you doing this to me? Liam and I are in love. Can't you just be happy for us?" In love? An image flashed in my mind: the final night of filming Coupled. Ava, hiding in a corner of the green room, her eyes red-rimmed. "I'm so jealous of you, Chlo," she'd whispered. "Getting to be with Liam. I just have to watch from the sidelines." I had actually comforted her, telling her it was all just for the cameras. Looking back now, I realized she wasn't jealous. She was auditioning. She should have gotten an Oscar for that performance. I turned off my phone, leaned my head back against the leather seat, and closed my eyes. "Sarah, pull over." "What for?" "I'm terminating my contract." Sarah slammed on the brakes, and the SUV screeched to a halt in the middle of the street. She stared at me in the rearview mirror, her eyes wide with disbelief. "You're what?" "I'm leaving you. And the agency. Effective immediately." The news that I'd unilaterally broken my contract shot up the trending charts even faster than Liam and Ava's relationship announcement. #ChloeQuits #ChloeBlackmailsLiam The two tags sat side-by-side at the top of the Twitter trending list. The comments were a cesspool. "LOL, this D-lister really thinks she's somebody. Threatening her way to the top?" "Does she not get how reality TV works? It was a script, honey. He was never into you." "Poor Ava, being backstabbed by her own best friend. My heart goes out to her." "Chloe Parker has such a bland face but such a nasty heart. Get her out of Hollywood!" The termination agreement from my agency arrived in my inbox moments later. The penalty clause: thirty million dollars. For a small-time actress like me, it was an impossible sum. They were sure I couldn't pay. Sarah's last call came through, her tone dripping with condescending pity. "Chloe, why are you doing this to yourself? Just come back, apologize to Liam and Ava, post a retraction, and the agency will forget this ever happened. You can't afford thirty million dollars." I hung up on her. Then, a call I didn't expect came in. It was Leo Maxwell, the second male lead from Coupled. A quiet, indie musician who was always scribbling lyrics in a notebook or strumming his guitar. We'd barely interacted on the show. "Are you okay?" he asked. His voice was gentle, cautious. "I'm fine." There was a pause. "I believe you," he said. Those three simple words sent a flicker of warmth through my chest. "Thank you." I hung up, only to have a video call request from Ava pop up. I accepted. Her face filled the screen, makeup perfectly applied, eyes artfully reddened. The background was unmistakably Liam's minimalist L.A. penthouse. "Chloe, why would you break your contract? Don't you know that just makes everything worse?" she asked, her voice oozing with concern. "Just delete the recording, okay? Liam said… he said he can give you another two million if you do. We can go back to being best friends." I looked at her face, a beautiful portrait of deceit, and let out a soft laugh. "Ava, what do you think a recording of this conversation would be worth?" The color drained from her face. "Chloe! Don't be a bitch!" Just then, Liam's face shoved into the frame. He pushed Ava aside, his eyes dark with rage. "Chloe, this is your last warning. Delete it, or I'll make sure you can't get a job as a waitress in this city." "Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "I'm so scared." Then I ended the call. Within the hour, the "dirt" started appearing online. Stories about me being a diva on set, pulling rank because I was classically trained. Stories about my "messy" private life, implying I'd slept with directors and producers for roles. Conveniently angled paparazzi photos were "leaked." A picture of me talking to a director at a cast dinner, cropped to look intimately close. A photo of me helping a drunk co-star to his car, framed as me throwing myself at him. Smear campaigns were their specialty. My social media was a war zone. My DMs were flooded with death threats. And just as the hate campaign reached its peak, they announced the kill shot. Liam and Ava would be appearing together on the country's biggest live-streamed talk show: The Pulse Live. They were going to "set the record straight" in front of the entire world. The Pulse Live was the flagship program of the largest media conglomerate in the country: Starstream Entertainment. A smug text arrived from Sarah. "You're finished this time, Chloe. Starstream itself is coming for you. Not even God can save you now." I looked at the text and smiled.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "384536", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel