[This Chapter is dedicated to Hsdcfammy! And Dawn_Holmes_7985! Thank you for your golden ticket.]
Lauren shrugged, her voice flat and smug. "Because that’s what the scene called for. Even if it wasn’t part of the script, real actors improvise, stupid. And maybe... maybe you deserved it." She gave a tight, fake smile as her eyes scanned the set and the faces watching them. She quickly shifted back into character. "My deepest apologies, everyone. Just acting, you know."
Most of the crew seemed to accept her explanation. Lauren was always like that—she never apologized when she was truly in the wrong.
She could fool the crew, sure, but she couldn’t fool Heather. Heather had known Lauren too long, too well. She could see the truth behind the mask.
As the crew began to disperse and the moment seemed to pass, Lauren leaned close to Heather, her voice suddenly hushed.
"Do you think the baby’s still alive?" Her tone was eerily casual, eyes blinking innocently. "I’m not sure."
She didn’t need to say more. Heather already knew what she meant. Lauren knew what she had done. And she deserved what was coming to her.
Heather’s hand moved before she could think. The slap cracked across Lauren’s face, echoing through the soundstage.
Lauren’s head snapped to the side, her mouth parting in shock. She hadn’t seen that coming.
Gasps rippled through the set. The crew whispered, voices rising with curiosity and confusion. Heather turned calmly to the people watching, her face unreadable.
"It’s just acting," she said with a shrug, then looked back at Lauren with ice in her voice.
"You stupid bitch!" Lauren screeched, raising her hand to slap Heather back.
But before she could make contact, Heather caught Lauren’s wrist mid-air.
Lauren’s eyes widened. She was stunned. No one had ever dared to stop her before.
"What’s wrong, Lauren?" Heather asked sweetly. "Why are you trying to hit me? I thought we were acting. Why are you taking it so personally?" She fluttered her lashes in mock innocence.
Lauren was shaking with rage. Her eyes darted to the crew still watching, and she slowly lowered her hand.
But Heather could see it—the bite of her lip, the twitch in her jaw. She was on the edge of snapping.
Heather just smiled wider.
"That wasn’t part of the script, Heather," Lauren hissed.
"I improvised. Isn’t that what good actors do?" Heather replied, her tone light but sharp.
Lauren’s eye twitched like she was about to lose control.
The director clapped from behind the camera. "That," he said with awe, "was incredible. Heather, that was raw. Phenomenal work."
Heather didn’t react. Her gaze stayed locked on Lauren. She was waiting, daring Lauren to crack.
The perfect persona she presented to the world was slipping, and Heather wanted everyone to see the truth.
"We’ve got one small problem," the director added, pulling off his glasses. "The camera missed the fall. Nixon was so stunned by the acting, he forgot to hit record." He laughed nervously.
"So... we’re redoing the scene?" Lauren asked, glancing at Heather.
"That’s exactly what I’m saying," the director replied, avoiding Heather’s eyes. "It was... a technical issue."
"Get a stunt double," Heather said flatly. "I’m done."
"No, no, Miss Heather." The director softened his voice. "A stunt double can’t capture the emotional depth you brought. You were the character, and that’s rare. That’s talent."
There was a long silence. Heather didn’t speak.
"I need a break," she said finally.
Heather turned and began walking toward the exit.
"Thirty minutes!" the director called after her.
She kept walking. She was seconds away from showing him her middle finger, but she didn’t. He had no idea what he was asking. That scene had almost destroyed her.
He thought she was acting.
But the truth was, she was breaking.
Even though she hadn’t lost Alex that day, the fall—the one from years ago—had never left her.
The physical wounds had healed, but the pain was still there, buried deep in her memory.
And now, she might have to fall again. With Lauren. A Lauren who was even more furious than before.
Heather wouldn’t be surprised if she decided to cut the rope next time, just to make sure she didn’t survive.
Manager Sheng looked up from his computer and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Come in."
Heather stepped in, closing the door behind her. She dropped onto the sofa in the corner of his office, feeling exhausted.
"Someone did something," Sheng said simply.
She made a face, then shook her head.
Another nod. She sighed. "She changed the script. Now she has to push me."
Sheng sighed, removing his glasses and placing them on the desk. "There’s nothing I can do about Lauren."
"There has to be a way to get her off my back."
"The only way that happens is if the script is changed again. And honestly? I doubt that’s going to happen. You know what kind of power she holds in this company."
Heather sat in silence, gnawing on her nail. She had no idea how she was supposed to get through the scene without breaking down every five seconds.
"What if I don’t challenge Lauren’s script?" she asked quietly.
Sheng leaned forward, curious. "What do you mean?"
"I mean... Heather doesn’t have to do anything. But Miss H can."
His brows lifted slightly. "I’ll make the right call," he said with a small smile.
Heather checked her watch. "My break’s over. I have to go."
Sheng nodded and lifted his phone just as she left. As she stepped out, she saw someone approaching from the hallway.
She hadn’t seen him since yesterday, when she refused to sign anything and walked out on him. From the look on his face, she could tell it had gotten to him.
Her expression turned cold.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Out of my way. I need to talk to Sheng."
"He’s busy. Whatever you need to say, you can say it to me."
Caius half-smiled. "You’ve grown a pair. That’s... cute."
"I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but I’m not signing anything."
"As soon as I’m done with Sheng, I’m heading to Holly-Daily."
Holly-Daily—the biggest celebrity gossip blog on the internet. If Caius gave them anything juicy about Miss H, it would be front-page news within minutes.
"Why are you going there?" she asked, lowering her voice.
"I’ve got something they’ll want. Information about Miss H’s real identity."
Heather’s eyes flicked around the hallway. She pulled him aside.
"You don’t have any proof."
Caius reached into his pocket and showed her a flash drive.
"Security footage of you in the parking lot. When you took off your mask."
Her breath caught. "How did you get that?"
"After you left, I wiped the cameras... but after what happened yesterday, I realized you’re not who I thought you were. You’re an evil person, Heather. So I figured, why protect you?"
She clenched her fists. Caius was blackmailing her. She didn’t know she had doubts that he couldn’t go this low, but this? This was a new kind of petty.
"You know what to do to make this—" he waved the flash drive "—go away."
Heather stared at it. Every part of her wanted to snatch it and crush it. "Can I see it?"
"Why would I hand it to you?"
"Because I’m not sure it’s real."
He tossed the flash drive into her palm. The moment it landed, she shoved it into her mouth.
Caius stared. "Did you just—?"
"Now you don’t have any proof," Heather mumbled around the drive, her words muffled and ridiculous.
Caius sighed, clearly unimpressed. He pulled out another flash drive. "I knew you’d do something dumb. That’s why I made fifteen copies. Stored on flash drives and a hard drive."
Heather spat the drive out into her hand and groaned. "Fuck."