I’m a B-list actress with a benefactor. And recently, my benefactor ran into a little trouble. He was outed as the wrong baby, swapped at birth—a fake heir to a fortune. The day the news broke, his adoptive parents kicked him out. He had to move in with his biological family. Seeing him so lost, I couldn’t stand it. In a moment of grand, heartfelt impulse, I threw my arms wide and declared, "Don't worry. I'll take care of you." Later, after I’d graduated from benefactor-protégée to actual girlfriend, I went with him to meet his parents. That’s when I finally understood what "moving" meant for him. It meant leaving his adoptive father's mansion in the Hollywood Hills… for his biological parents' sprawling, gated estate in Montecito. That son of a bitch. He played me. 1 I first saw the news about Ethan being switched at birth where everyone sees everything: online. The gossip blogs were ruthless, claiming in breathless, self-assured posts that Ethan Prescott, the "fake heir," had been cast out of the family, left with nothing. I didn’t believe it. Not at first. But I waited at home until late, and when Ethan finally walked through the door, the exhaustion was written all over him. He moved like a man carrying an invisible weight, his usual confidence replaced by a hollowed-out look in his eyes. A cold knot formed in my stomach. I softened my voice. "What's wrong? Rough day?" He folded onto the couch beside me and leaned his head on my shoulder. It was a gesture of pure vulnerability, a silent plea for support I had never, not once, seen from him before. "I moved," he said, his voice flat. Those two words were all the confirmation I needed. The tabloid headlines flashed in my mind. "Is it true?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "What they're saying online... about the mix-up at the hospital?" "Yeah," he murmured into my shoulder. "I guess my last name is Hayes now." His voice was so deflated, so unlike him. I could feel the blow this had dealt to his entire world. And who could blame him? The people who had raised you for over two decades suddenly weren't your parents. It was a seismic shift that would shatter anyone. I gently ran my fingers through his hair, trying to offer some small comfort. "You know," I said, forcing a light tone, "Ethan Hayes has a nice ring to it. Maybe even better than Ethan Prescott." He managed a weak, fleeting smile. "Maybe." Seeing him struggle to keep it together, I swallowed the hundred other questions I wanted to ask. It wasn't the time. "Go get some sleep," I said softly. "Try not to think about it too much." Ethan nodded and pushed himself up, heading for the bedroom. But after a few steps, he stopped and looked back at me, his eyes full of a raw uncertainty. "Chloe," he said. "Can you... stay with me?" "Of course." I crossed the room in a heartbeat. He took my hand, his fingers lacing tightly with mine, and led me into the bedroom. 2 Ethan likes to hold me when he sleeps. Tonight was no different. Except it was. Tonight, he held me tighter, with a desperation that felt like he was trying to meld me into his own body, as if he were trying to anchor himself to the only solid thing in a world that had turned to liquid. My face was pressed against his chest, the familiar scent of him all around me. On any other night, I would have been blissfully nuzzling into him, drunk on the closeness. But tonight, I just wrapped my arms around his waist and gently patted his back, trying to soothe him into sleep. I understood. His life had been upended. He needed comfort, a pillar to lean on. And seeing him in so much pain made my own heart ache. Which was a problem. He was my benefactor, not my boyfriend. He was now the "fake heir." The smart thing to do would be to worry about my career in this cutthroat town, not his emotional state. My future in Hollywood, which he had so carefully paved, was now a dead end. That’s what I should have been thinking. But instead, I found myself gently smoothing the frown lines from his forehead with my thumb. My career was built on Ethan’s influence—I’ll be the first to admit it. Yes, I worked hard. I’m tenacious and I don’t give up. But Hollywood is a place where hard work alone gets you nowhere. You need opportunities. You need luck. And if you don’t have those, you need a powerful patron. When I started, I had nothing but raw energy and a burning ambition. Then, at the wrap party for some forgettable film, someone with a grudge slipped something into my drink. The next thing I knew, I was being led into the penthouse suite of a luxury hotel—Ethan’s suite. I was dizzy, my limbs felt like lead. A single, foggy thought, It's over, drifted through my mind, but I was powerless to fight it. Sometime later, Ethan came back to his room. As fate would have it, he was drunk too. He apparently mistook me for a body pillow and slept soundly, holding me all night. The next morning, I woke up in the arms of a strange man and nearly screamed the hotel down. But before the scream could escape, I was struck by the impossibly handsome face just inches from mine. Well… damn. It wasn't that I was opposed to him, specifically. I was just, you know, morally against the whole predatory casting-couch culture of the industry. I studied his face. His eyes were closed, framed by impossibly long lashes. That strong jawline, that perfect nose… how did all the best features end up on one person? As I was lost in my critical analysis, his eyelashes fluttered. A moment later, his eyes opened, meeting mine directly. My heart stopped. 3 Ethan sat up, rubbing his temples. He seemed to be replaying the night, and after a moment, he said with absolute certainty, "I was drunk. I wouldn't have... done anything." I looked at his wrinkled shirt, unbuttoned just enough to reveal the smooth skin of his chest and the faint outline of abs beneath. I nodded. "I know. You just held me all night." We showered separately and then sat on opposite ends of the sofa, observing each other in the quiet morning light. With his hair still damp and dressed in fresh clothes, he looked sharp and serious. He broke the silence. "I'll find out who was behind last night. As for us… I’m sorry. I'd like to offer you some form of compensation for the trouble." "It's okay if it's not long," I blurted out. Ethan just stared at me. "?" My brain caught up with my mouth. "Oh! Compensation. Right." To be fair, Ethan was blameless in this. He was just a drunk guy who came back to his own room to sleep. I was the one who shouldn't have been there, even if it wasn't my choice. But he felt he had wronged me and wanted to make it right. Who was I to refuse a helping hand? Sometimes, the right stepping stone is worth more than a thousand steps taken on your own. I thought for a moment. "There's a TV series I want to audition for." 4 I told him the name of the show and the director. Ethan was efficient. "That's easy. I'll call the director." And just like that, I was on the cast list. I wasn't even a top-three character, but I was ecstatic. I packed my bags and moved onto the set, ready to work. Ethan, probably worried I was just some freeloader wasting his recommendation, started showing up on set to "supervise." He’d ask the director how my performance was, if I was being cooperative. He’d ask me if I was surviving the director’s notoriously tough style. Terrified he’d change his mind and have me replaced, my answers were always a variation of, "The set is great, the director is great, and the director says I’m great, too!" I’d put extra emphasis on that last part. Ethan would just give a little "hmph" and say, "Keep it up." It was only later that I found out he was the show’s executive producer. During that shoot, Ethan’s visits became more frequent, and his attitude toward me softened. He started asking about my day, sent flowers and a gift for my birthday, and even started driving me home after late-night shoots. I knew this wasn't just about making sure I was working hard. He wanted to make me his mistress. His kept woman. So, being me, I decided to just ask him. Ethan was silent for a long time, then looked at me with a baffled expression. "Is that what you think this is?" "Just tell me if I'm right or wrong." I was so sure of my own deduction that I didn't even wait for his answer. "Look, I'm not that kind of girl... unless you let me feel them first." Ethan looked completely lost. "?" He smirked, a real smile finally breaking through his serious exterior. "Feel what?" "Your abs, obviously. Got to inspect the goods first." He actually laughed, a real, throaty laugh. "I have to say, this is the first time I've ever heard of a benefactor having to pass a physical inspection." But even as he said it, he took my hand and guided it to his stomach, pressing it against his shirt. The sudden warmth and hardness of the muscle beneath the fabric made my hand tremble. I was all talk; when it came to actually doing anything, I was a complete coward. He took a slow breath, his voice dropping low. "Well? Are you satisfied?" I gave a tentative press and nodded wildly. "Very satisfied. We're good." I mean, look, I’m a person of principle. I can't be bought with money or swayed by power. But. Everyone has their exceptions. And apparently, mine were a killer set of abs and a handsome face. 5 Ethan was a man who took his responsibilities seriously. He meticulously planned my career path, guiding me from an unknown nobody to a solid B-lister. I wasn’t a viral sensation, but I was a working actress who never lacked for quality roles. It was only after I was with him that I realized what it was like to be treated fairly, to not have to constantly fight off petty attacks or backhanded sabotage. For the first time, I was filled with a genuine confidence, a hope for the future. I even started to believe I could make a real run for an Oscar someday. And then, just as I was getting ready to really hit my stride, my foundation crumbled. My Oscar dream shattered with a silent, sickening crack. 6 Mourning the death of my Oscar dream, I eventually drifted off to sleep. When I woke up the next morning, Ethan was already out of bed. He emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, another one ruffling his dark hair. God, he was beautiful. That body, that face. Lying there on my side, watching him, I realized with a jolt that I had no desire to cut him loose and save myself. So I said it. "Ethan… from now on, let me take care of you." He froze, towel in hand. "What?" "I said, I'll take care of you," I repeated, sitting up and making a grand, sweeping gesture. "So what if you're not a Prescott anymore? So what if you're broke? Don't be scared. I can make money. I'll support you!" Ethan just stood there, silent. He was probably overwhelmed with emotion, touched by my loyalty. Finally, after a long moment, he raised an eyebrow. "You'll support me?" he asked, a strange glint in his eye. "You’re sure you don’t want to break up with me? After all, I'm just your benefactor. Not your boyfriend." My eyes darted away. Okay, so maybe the thought had crossed my mind for a second. To cover my guilt, I raised my voice. "What kind of question is that? I'll have you know, Ethan Hayes, you are seriously underestimating me! I'm not the kind of person who only sticks around for the good times!" A slow smile spread across his face. "So?" "So! From now on, I'll be out there making a living, and you can stay home and be beautiful!" He tossed the towel aside and walked toward me. In one smooth motion, he lifted me out of the bed and settled me onto his lap, so I was straddling him. He peppered my face with soft kisses—my cheeks, my eyelids, my lips. "You're really something," he murmured against my skin. "Like a princess from a fairy tale. How could I ever repay you?" I was genuinely trying to think of what I wanted in return, but his lips found mine again, deep and consuming. He kissed my eyes, the tip of my nose, and returned to my mouth. His hand tangled in my hair, giving a gentle tug that made me tilt my head back, surrendering completely to the kiss. By the time he finally pulled away, I was breathless, my face flushed and my eyelashes damp with involuntary tears. Through the haze, I heard him whisper with a low chuckle. "My good, kind-hearted girl. How about I offer myself in return, hmm?" 7 After breakfast, I transferred one hundred thousand dollars to Ethan's account. My heart ached with every zero. It wasn't that I wanted to give him that much. But when I thought about everything he’d done for me—the roles, the jewelry, the designer dresses—it was the least I could do. He had been generous with me, and I couldn't be stingy with him now. Still, it hurt. "You have to be careful with this," I lectured, channeling my inner financial advisor. "You know I'm a very frugal person. From now on, we need to spend wisely." I ticked off the points on my fingers. "Those old friends of yours, the ones who still treat you like a brother? Take them out for a decent meal, keep those connections alive. You never know who might be able to help you down the line. But the ones who ghosted you, who kicked you when you were down? Forget them. You got that?" I was trying to think of what other sage advice I could offer when he leaned in and kissed me again, cutting me off mid-sentence. I went still, my brain short-circuiting. I pushed lightly against his shoulder. "Hey—mmph—you need to listen to me." He pulled back just enough to look at me, his expression utterly sincere. "I'm sorry. You're just so cute when you're earnestly planning my future. I couldn't help myself." I… damn it. He was a cunning bastard. He knew I was a shallow creature, that a single piece of praise could turn my brain to mush. I tried to look stern. "Even if you say that, I'm still going to be a little bit mad at you." A girl had to maintain her authority as head of the household, after all. 8 Even though I was pretending to be mad, seeing the familiar light back in Ethan’s eyes made me genuinely happy. With his mood lifted, I could head to work without worrying. I was currently filming a major historical drama. The director was a legend in his late fifties, at the peak of his creative powers. There are no secrets on a film set. Everyone more or less knew about my connection to Ethan. He’d never tried to hide it, visiting me openly on set before. But because he was so young and handsome, no one was quite sure what our relationship was. Some guessed we were dating, others thought we might be cousins. The ones who guessed correctly—that I was a gold-digger who’d landed a powerful benefactor—kept it to themselves. Whatever they thought, they had always treated me with a polite, professional distance. But now, with the scandal swirling around Ethan, the whispers were getting louder. As soon as I arrived on set, I heard them. "Is it really true? I saw the story trending and then it just… vanished." "The Prescotts must have killed it. A family like that controls the narrative." "I wonder what’s happening with Ethan now." "It's Ethan Hayes now. And what do you think is happening? He got kicked to the curb, obviously." "My money's on Chloe dumping him by the end of the week." I pretended not to hear, walking past with my head held high. But inside, I was fuming. Why did everyone assume the worst of me? Not only had I not dumped him, I had pledged to support him! Ethan himself said I was like a fairy-tale princess! Just as I was mentally defending my honor, a particularly sharp voice cut through the chatter. "Well, well. So the golden boy of Hollywood turns out to be a cheap knock-off." I stopped and looked up. Rick Donovan. In all my years in the industry, I’d lived by a simple code: don’t start trouble, and always be polite. I didn't have many enemies. Except for one. Rick Donovan. 10 The year I broke into the business, I landed the fourth female lead in a fantasy series. "Fourth lead" was a generous title; I was basically a glorified extra. Rick, a veteran actor, was playing the main villain. He had a decent reputation—good actor, no scandals. Since we had scenes together, we got to know each other. At first, he was kind, like a mentor. He gave me tips on finding my light and connecting with the camera. I respected him and saw him as a kind-hearted senior colleague. Toward the end of the shoot, we had a stunt scene on wires. My character, a reformed demoness, was supposed to die with his villain. The script called for us to fall from a height onto a crash pad below. The visual effects team would handle the "souls dissipating" part in post. But as we fell, just as we hit the mat, Rick’s hands squeezed me. Twice. On my lower back, just above my ass. Our costumes were bulky, and he must have thought no one would see. But I felt it. Crystal clear. I’ve always had a short fuse, and back then, I was young and reckless. In a flash of pure humiliation and rage, I shot up from the mat and swung my arm, slapping him square across the face. The crack echoed through the suddenly silent set. Rick, utterly humiliated, has held a grudge against me ever since. Funny. I never even complained that he made me hurt my hand on his thick-skinned face. Later, I found out he was the one who had me drugged and sent to Ethan’s room. He probably thought someone of Ethan's status would ruin me for the intrusion. He never imagined I’d grab onto that golden branch and soar. Instead, his own career nosedived. His roles dried up, his fame faded. Now, he was stuck taking bit parts in other people's projects, like this one. I knew Ethan was behind it. He was a fiercely protective man. If someone tried to screw me over like that and he did nothing… he’d have to be possessed. 11 I hadn't seen Rick in years before starting this film. It never even occurred to me we’d end up on the same set. Here, he was playing a minor character who gets killed off in a few episodes. I get it. Directors don't usually care about actors' personal beefs as long as they can do the job. And I didn’t care either. Now, my name carried more weight than his. I wasn’t afraid. And in our history, he was the one in the wrong. I had the moral high ground. If anyone was going to be forced out, it shouldn't be me. He wasn't scared, so why should I be? So we coexisted on set, ignoring each other. It was a kind of cold peace. But now he was insulting Ethan, and that, I could not tolerate. I stared him down, my voice laced with ice. "It’s always the dogs in the cheapest kennels that bark the loudest." Rick blinked, then his face flushed with anger. "What did you just say?" I clicked my tongue. "I'm talking to you. Who else? Have you really fallen so far that the only way you can feel good about yourself is by mocking someone else? That's just sad." That shut him up. 12 Seeing Rick speechless put me in a great mood. I had a fantastic day of shooting, and even went out for amazing Korean barbecue with Ava, the actress playing the female lead. When I got home that night, Ethan had already cooked dinner. After washing my hands, I sat down at the table and saw all my favorite dishes laid out. I couldn't help but tease him. "So this is the life of a kept man? Do you actually know how to cook all this? Or is it just fancy takeout? It's not poisoned, is it?" Ethan placed a glass of warm milk in front of me. "One hundred percent homemade, organic, and gluten-free. Care to try?" I cautiously picked up a piece of slow-braised short rib. After a few chews, I gave him a big thumbs-up. "Delicious!" After a long day at work, coming home to a delicious meal served by a handsome man was exactly what I deserved. As I ate, I asked, "So, what did you do all day?" "Checking up on me?" Ethan smirked. It had been a casual question, but his response made me feel a flicker of benefactor-like power. "Yep!" I said, getting into the role. "I'm exercising my rights as your provider. Report on your daily activities, stat!" Ethan laughed. "Alright, here's the summary. I met with Liam Prescott." "Liam Prescott?" "The real Prescott son." I immediately tensed up. "He asked to see you? What did you guys do? He didn't give you a hard time, did he?" Ethan propped his chin on his hand, a playful smile on his lips. "And if he did? What would you do?" 12 I was baffled. What kind of question was that? "What else could I do? Swallow my pride and take it, of course." Ethan just stared at me. "?" "I mean, we can't afford to make enemies with people like that right now," I explained reasonably. "If he looks down on you, you just have to... look down at the floor and walk away." Not wanting to crush his spirit entirely, I added, "Revenge is a dish best served cold, you know." Seeing the frustrated look on his face, I circled back to the original question. "So, what did you and Liam talk about?" "Just... family stuff," Ethan said. "I wanted to get a better sense of my biological parents, to make it easier to fit in with the new family." "And did you? Have you met them yet? What are they like? Are they easy to get along with?" Ethan seemed unsure. "They seem... okay? My father is very serious, doesn't say much. My mother is more of a politician, very smooth. Every word is carefully chosen." They both sounded like a handful. I couldn't help but worry. "You need to be on your best behavior with them. Keep that temper of yours in check, you hear me? But if they're not good to you, don't force it. You still have me," I said, patting my chest proudly. "If you get tired, you can always rest on my broad, supportive bosom." 13 I finished my speech and looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to praise my beautiful, kind soul. But that idiot Ethan completely missed the point. He raised an eyebrow. "Keep my temper in check? What temper, exactly?" I started to think. What temper did Ethan have? I honestly couldn't think of anything. I chewed on my fork, racking my brain. The only scenarios that came to mind were the ones in bed where I'd end up cursing at him and kicking him away playfully. Or the countless nights he’d driven to pick me up from the airport or a remote set in the middle of the night. Or that one time I’d tried to cook for him and ended up breaking three plates and two bowls, and he just cleaned up the mess without a word of complaint. The more I thought about it, the more shocked I was. How was this possible? I couldn’t remember him having a temper, but I could suddenly recall plenty of instances of my own. This was not how the power dynamic was supposed to work! Feeling a wave of guilt, I shot him a few sheepish glances. "You know what? Let's just drop it," I said, my voice suddenly much smaller. "I'll save you the embarrassment. Let's just eat." Ethan just smiled and, with a swift move of his fork, stole the last piece of my favorite short rib. 14 That weekend, I had to attend a gala hosted by my agency's CEO. At these kinds of events, swarming with industry moguls and investors, actors and pop stars aren't the main characters. We're just part of the decor, adding a bit of color to an otherwise boring affair. As far as I could tell, I had about as much functional purpose as the floral arrangements at the entrance. I couldn't participate in the conversations about investments, market trends, or IPOs, nor could I just relax and enjoy the food. All I could do was stand there, holding a glass of champagne with my back straight, drifting through the crowd and exchanging meaningless pleasantries with familiar faces. After a few rounds of forced small talk, I found a quiet corner to hide in and texted Ethan. "Everyone here is talking about such complicated stuff. I don't get any of it, but I can't leave. I'm so bored." He replied almost instantly. "Seriously. Don't they know that a princess has to shower, do her makeup, curl her hair, and pick out a gown? Such a boring party is hardly worth all of Princess Chloe's effort." I frowned at the screen. That was a weird thing to say. It felt… sarcastic. Was he making fun of me for being high-maintenance? I sent back a GIF of a cat throwing punches. "I'm docking your allowance!" Ethan: "?" Ethan: "What time can you leave? I'll come pick you up." I estimated the time. "Another hour, maybe." 15 I kept checking my phone, and after about an hour, people started to trickle out. Figuring Ethan must be close, I started walking toward the exit. Just as I neared the ballroom doors, a foot shot out from the side. My long dress blocked my view, and my high heels made me unsteady. Before I could even register what was happening, I was crashing to the ground. A sharp, searing pain shot through my knee and elbow. The only saving grace was the thin carpet covering the floor, which probably saved me from a broken bone. Tears welled in my eyes from the pain, but I looked up, my voice fierce. "Who the hell did that?" Rick and his manager, Angela, were standing over me, covering their mouths as they snickered. "Oh my, what a klutz," Angela said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Did you hurt yourself?" Angela was a middle-aged woman who had been with Rick since the beginning of his career. I used to admire her loyalty for sticking with him through his decline. It’s easy to find people who will celebrate with you, but hard to find those who will weather the storm. But tonight, that same woman had just tripped me and was now taunting me. I blinked back the tears and spat back, "What bad luck. Feels like I just stepped in something nasty." 16 Rick’s face contorted with rage. "What did you just say?" Angela put a restraining hand on his arm. In the process, her wine glass "accidentally" tilted, spilling red wine all over my dress. "Chloe, this isn't the place for you to throw a tantrum," she said coolly. "This may look like a big party, but there's only one person who really matters here tonight: Liam Prescott." She gestured around the room. "Since taking over the Prescott empire, he's been managing some massive projects. Everyone here tonight is trying to get on his good side, hoping for a piece of the pie. And you, who's been playing house with the fake heir, have the nerve to show your face here?" She looked down at my stained dress and laughed. "Look at her, Rick. She's a mess." I'm not a patient person by nature. I'm impulsive and I hold grudges. Being with Ethan, who constantly coddled and praised me, had only made my temper worse. And okay, maybe Ethan wasn't a powerful heir anymore. But I was still a B-list actress, wasn't I? Did they think they could humiliate me like this without consequences? Normally, after a fall like that, I would have just stayed on the floor and waited for Ethan to come rescue me. It really, really hurt. But I couldn't let them get away with this. In my book, the headline "Actress Gets in Fight at Gala" was ten times better than "Actress Gets Bullied at Gala." Fueled by pure rage, I forced myself to my feet. I walked right up to Rick and Angela and, with all my strength, slapped each of them across the face. "You're nothing," I seethed. "But you sure act like you're something special. I was trying to ignore you, but you just had to push it. You're trash. You should try being decent people for a change. You wouldn't want your bad karma passed down to your kids, would you?" Angela, clutching her cheek, lunged at me. But Rick held her back, his face a mask of fury, his voice low and menacing. "Chloe, this is Liam Prescott's event. Don't push your luck. Get out of here while you still can, before Mr. Prescott has security throw you out." His words grated on me. I opened my mouth to fire back, but a calm voice cut in from behind me. "I don't believe I said anything of the sort."
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