Fuck.

On top of that, I had completely lost my cool! I couldn’t even remember who else was in the room! After that scene, I couldn’t go back in there. I just kept going, walking with mismatched steps until a few people gave me strange looks, forcing me to take off the shoe and rush to the elevator. I blew my chance. How long did that take? Five minutes with Noah, and I was already acting like a crazy person. Whenever he was around, even when we were kids, I always lost it.

What is wrong with me?

 “Wait!” Someone yelled as the elevator doors closed. My first instinct was to push the “close doors” button, but I didn’t want to be like him. So I wiped the corner of my eye and pushed the “open doors” button.

“Ms. London, congrats.” Some woman with red hair came to me with my heel in her hands. That alone made me want to kiss her.

“‘Congrats?’” I questioned slowly.

“The director wanted me to tell you that you’ve got the part. We want you to be Blair Hawthorne. We’ll contact your agent by morning. We would like to announce this by the end of the week, so be prepared. Things will be happening fast after that. Your life is about to change. The fans for this movie…are intense, to say the least.” She smiled, waving at me before backing up.

The door closed, and I stood there, stunned. And then it hit me: for the next year, Noah and I would be playing lovers.

Lifting my hand, I placed it over my chest. My heart was still racing, and we hadn’t even started yet.

Chapter Two

Amelia

It had only been three days since they had announced the cast list, and to say people were taking it a bit too seriously was an understatement.

This is not our Blair Hawthorne! Sign this petition to change Midnight Empire’s mind! Don’t screw up our movie with this random kid actor! Blair is our almighty heroine guys, don’t let her be treated this way! Sign now! WE CAN DO ANYTHING GUYS, ANYTHING!

Under the caption was my name and the worst photo they could possibly find anywhere of me, complete with frizzy hair and glasses. On it was a giant X along with ten thousand signatures. I knew I shouldn’t, and everything within me said not to, but I couldn’t help it: I scrolled down to the comment section.

“She’s so fucking ugly.”

“I don’t mind her, it’s just that Amelia is kind of like your big sister...I can’t picture her in this movie at all.”

“She can’t even act! She was cute when she was young but all of her stuff now is shit.”

“OMG I laughed so hard at her serious face in Deep End.”

“She still makes movies?”

“I seriously hope they reconsider this or else I’m going to be so upset.”

“Leave it to Hollywood to screw up.”

“She probably got this job because of her mother anyway.”

“Does anyone think she’s kind of fat now? She looks like she’s about to give birth in some pictures.”

“Hey at least we got Noah! He’s going to kill it as Damon. I’m hot just thinking about it.”

Slamming down the screen, I pushed the laptop off to the side of my bed and rose to my feet. I wanted to scream. My whole body shook with rage and frustration. Then I froze when I saw the bag of popcorn I was preparing to eat. Clutching it, I stomped out of my bedroom, down the stairs, and into the kitchen of my apartment before I ripped up the bag and threw it away.

“She’s fat.”

“She looks pregnant right?”

“So fat.”

No matter what, I couldn’t get the words out of my head. Moving to my fridge, I tugged it open, preparing to throw away everything “fatty,” but I realized there was nothing there to throw away. Salads, water, soups, and seafood my chef had made for me previously and returned to my mother’s mansion…the popcorn was my only treat.

“What is wrong with you, Amelia?” I whispered to myself, closing the refrigerator door and sliding down to the ground.

I was not fat.

I could act.

And my mother did not get me this role.

I knew that, yet seeing their words still got under my skin. I was still waiting for the moment where I would “toughen up” about this type of criticism. But it never happened. If I ate a salad and someone caught me on camera, the tabloids said I was worried over my weight. If I ate a hamburger, somehow I was letting myself go. It was fucked up. It was beyond fucked up, and yet it was my life.

Just when I thought my night couldn’t get any worse, I heard the doorbell, followed by the very last voice I wanted to hear.

“Amelia!”

Oh no…No. No. No.

Slowly I sat up, crawling on my knees to peek at my now-opening front door from behind the kitchen island.

Who the hell gave her a key?

“Amelia, darling, you can’t be sleeping—”

Sighing, I pushed myself off the ground and stood up straight. “I’m right here, Mom.”

“There is my new super star!” She somehow managed to grin despite the obvious new round of Botox she had gotten while away. She ran to me, wrapping her arms around me and jumping up and down. “I flew in the moment I heard. Why didn’t you call me, sweetheart? This is huge! Not as big as when Spielberg made me his leading lady in The Beast Within, but still!”

“Mom, I can’t breathe.”

“Oh sorry. Say, do you have any wine? We need to celebrate!” She let go of me, walking toward the wine cooler. “So…”

I drowned her out at that point. My mother, Esther London—four-time Oscar winner, two-time Tony Award winner, and three times divorced—was pretty much an old-school Hollywood legend. She was known for being a femme fatale, with her classic blue eyes and black hair, which now had turned pure silvery white thanks to old age and a box of dye39. Between her failed marriages, poor management, and her love for the finer things in life, she went broke around the same time I started acting. Since then, I was her daughter, therapist, and most importantly, her ATM. To pay me back for my hard work, she adopted two younger sisters for me: one from South Korea, Mayko, and another from Nigeria, Antigone. They would both be starting their freshmen year at Stanford soon, but I’m sure she wouldn’t remember to call them until she needed something. I loved them both, but sometimes I wondered why my mother even bothered. We saw each other more now as adults than we did when we were kids because when we were kids, I was always gone, always working.

“Amelia. Amelia?”

“Huh? Sorry,” I said brushing my hair back behind my ears.

She looked me over and placed her hand on my forehead, holding a wine glass in the other hand. “You look pale. Amelia, I swear, you better not get sick. Not now!”

“I’m fine, Mom.” I pulled her hand off of my head. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be back so soon. What happened to Clément and running away to Paris?”

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes, moving to my couch. “Who needs men when my daughter is about to make her breakout role?”

That was code for “he dumped me.”

“Mom, it’s hardly my breakout role—”

“Everyone is talking about it. Where is the script? I can run lines with you, just like old times. Oh! I heard you’re working with that sexy Noah Sloan? Didn’t you guys hate each other as kids? When is your flight? It’s not shooting here in LA is it? Have you made sure to get everything waxed? I know this great Vietnamese woman—she will having you looking ten again—”

“MOM!” I yelled, putting my hands out. I felt like I was about ten right now. “Breathe. I’ve got everything handled. I have an early morning flight to catch, so please giving me some space. If I need anything, I’ll ask. I promise.”

She frowned, no longer drinking. “You want me to leave?”

“Mom, it’s just—”

“No, I get it. You’re not a child. I just wanted to celebrate with you because this is a big moment. Sorry for bothering you.”