During the cold war with my Sugar Daddy, I accidentally slapped his childhood sweetheart. Overnight, the internet cancelled me. The hate was overwhelming. Meanwhile, my Sugar Daddy was silent. Dead silent. Like, actually deceased. In a fit of rage, I fired up a livestream and roasted him onto the Trending page. "Julian Black? Yeah, we dated. He's mid." "And for the record, I dumped him." "Oh, the reason? Nothing major. Just that he's old, bad in bed, and has the stamina of a sloth. I’m thinking of dating a college jock next. Someone with working knees." The internet said I was crazy. No one dares to drag Julian Black. Shortly after I killed the stream, my front door was literally removed from its hinges. Julian Black stood there, eyes dark and dangerous, loosening his tie as he cornered me against the wall. "Go on," he growled, "tell me about this college jock you're planning to date." Chapter 1 I’m known in Hollywood as the innocent "Sweetheart." Pure looks, sweet voice, heart of gold. I spent three years crafting this persona. It collapsed in a single night. Chapter 2 Recently, I’ve been filming a high-budget fantasy series. It’s the dead of winter, and I’m stuck wearing flimsy chiffon robes, flying around on wires, and filming underwater scenes. Work sucked enough as it was. Then she showed up. I was in the makeup chair when I saw the director bowing and scraping to a girl with immaculate makeup. He gave her the VIP tour and even let her sit in his chair behind the monitors. Crew whispered she was a rep from the investment firm. Her name was Chloe Summers. I didn’t care. until I started getting NG’d (No Good) constantly. If I messed up, I’d redo it a hundred times, no complaints. But this wasn’t that. Someone just wanted to watch me freeze to death on a wire. I did that outdoor scene twenty-three times. Finally, they swapped in a stunt double. One take. Done. The director looked embarrassed and told me to rest. My assistant wrapped me in a down jacket as we walked to the trailer. Passing the monitors, Chloe leaned back, looking me up and down with a sneer. "Hollywood really has zero standards these days. They let any trash become an actress." I was shivering too hard to fight back. Plus, I didn’t know who she was. You don't slap the money. Back in the trailer, I asked my assistant to dig up dirt on Chloe. Before I got answers, I had an underwater scene. Same playbook. No matter how I acted, it was an NG. Even when the director’s eyes lit up with approval, Chloe would claim the "emotion wasn't right" and demand a reshoot. This scene was a close-up. No stunt doubles. By the end, I was hypothermic and dizzy. I’m a pushover, sure, but everyone has a breaking point. I refused to go back in the water and walked straight up to Chloe. The director wisely cleared the set. I started polite. "Miss Summers, did I offend you somehow?" Chloe kept that arrogant look. "You? You’re not important enough to offend me." I smiled coldly. "Then why the hazing? I don't mind suffering for art, but wasting the crew's time and burning through the budget? That’s your money going down the drain." Chloe scanned me again, her eyes full of disgust. "There’s a wall between real talent and 'resource' girls like you, Stella." She paused, smirking. "To get to where you are... I wonder how many beds you had to hop through?" That was it. I hate slut-shaming. I don't care who she is. One more minute of this and I’d be in the ER anyway. I slapped her. Hard. Her face snapped to the side, a red handprint blooming on her pale skin. She stared at me in disbelief. "Stella Hart! You dare hit me?!" "Yeah, I dare. Since your mother didn't teach you manners, I’ll do it for her." I pulled my jacket tighter. "I don't know you. But if you insult me again or treat this crew's work like a game, I’ll hit you again." It’s 40 degrees out. You think you can freeze me and abuse me without consequences? I turned to leave. Chloe lunged to grab me. I shook her off. We were standing by the edge of the set pool. There was loose gravel. Chloe slipped and—splash—fell gracefully into the freezing water. Me: ... The set went into chaos. Filming was canceled. As the ambulance took Chloe away, my assistant came back with the intel. I finally understood the malice. Chloe Summers is Julian Black's childhood friend. She just got back from Europe. And Julian Black? He’s my Sugar Daddy. Chapter 3 I’ve been with Julian for three years. Never heard of a "childhood friend" or a "first love." This blindsided me. I called his phone. Straight to voicemail. Called his assistant. No answer. Checked WeChat. Our last text was two days ago. Then I remembered. Before I left for the shoot, we had a fight. I had just finished a press tour and had two rare days off. Julian asked me to clear my schedule for next April to go to Northern Europe. But I had already locked in an arthouse film for April. Huge director, Oscar bait. I refused to drop it. His face had gone dark. "Stella, does everything come before me?" "I have to book an appointment four months in advance just to see you now?" "Am I just an accessory to your career?" He sounded bitter. I was exhausted. I cleared two days just to see him, and he was being passive-aggressive. I snapped. "Julian, you said you wouldn't interfere with my work." "I told you, I will never give up my career for a man." We ended on bad terms. He took a call and left in a hurry. Then I went to film. Looking back, I regretted it. I should have explained better. Usually, he’s the one who compromises. This total radio silence? That was new. I felt a pit in my stomach. I called again. Off. I texted him: Ignoring me? You think you're cool? I accidentally slapped your little childhood friend today. Thoughts? Still nothing. Fine. I’m annoyed now. I went to sleep. Chapter 4 My agent’s scream woke me up. "Stella Hart! When did you declare war on the Summers family?!" "They are blacklisting you! Do you understand?!" "How are you sleeping right now?!" I groggily checked my phone. The internet was a dumpster fire. Fake diva. Green tea bitch. Bully. Escort. Every dirty label imaginable was trending next to my name. I explained the situation to my agent. She sighed. "The fake rumors, we can sue. But the endorsements and scripts... I’ve gotten ten cancellation calls this morning. Summers Corp is crushing us." "We can't fight them, Stella. Can you... call Mr. Black?" I scratched my messy hair. "Can't. We’re in a cold war. He’s ghosting me. Consider us broken up." "Plus, I slapped his childhood bestie. He’s probably on her side." Agent: ... She hung up to do damage control. I lay in bed, exhausted. This was my second time being cancelled. The first was when I was a rookie. I had no background, just luck and a pretty face. Then a nepo baby named Justin Banks tried to "buy" me. I refused. He tried to blacklist me. I was young and reckless. I figured if I couldn't act, I’d quit. But before I quit, I waited outside his VIP club, threw a hoodie over his head, and beat the crap out of him in the parking lot. As I was dusting off my hands, I saw Julian. He was leaning against a Maybach, white shirt unbuttoned, unlit cigarette in his fingers. In the dark, he smirked. "Nice right hook." I knew who he was. Untouchable. But I had a crazy idea. If I needed a backer in this town, I should pick the biggest one. "Mr. Black, I’m in the market for a Sugar Daddy. Interested?" He paused. "Sugar Daddy?" He tapped the car window. "Any other titles available?" I shook my head. I just needed someone to get me gigs. He was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Deal." That’s how we started. With him, Justin Banks ran away with his tail between his legs. For three years, Julian never interfered with my work. He was open about us, even if I tried to hide it. Once, I refused his resources to avoid gossip. He told me: "Stella, don't play the martyr. Refusing my help to suffer on your own isn't noble, it's stupid." "Besides, am I embarrassing you? Am I not presentable?" Julian was very presentable. But now he was ignoring me. So he was useless. Chapter 5 Maybe I was sick from the pool incident, but I slept all day. When I woke up, it was dark. Called Julian. Voicemail. Checked texts. Nothing. Opened Twitter. The company issued a statement, but then Justin Banks—that trash—went live. He insinuated I tried to seduce him back in the day and failed. He claimed I found a new backer, but now the backer was getting married, so I was kicked to the curb. Celebrities started liking his post. The hate comments surged. I knew she looked too innocent to be real. Hollywood mattress. Get out of the industry, Stella. She was a mistress trying to wreck a marriage? Gross. Justin Banks raised my blood pressure. Opportunistic weasel. He saw Julian was quiet and came back for a bite. Fine. He kicked the wrong iron plate. You want a livestream? I can do that too. I have receipts on all of them. Before I started, I texted Julian one last time. Julian Black, keep playing dead if you want. Just remember, I dumped YOU. Then I blocked and deleted him. And hit "Go Live."
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