Chapter 38

After signing the management contract, Liana had her driver take me home. I didn’t think much of it at the time—it was a simple ride in a black SUV from her gated villa community. I never expected that brief exit would be caught on camera by a Shadow Wolf.

By Monday morning, I was back on set, ready to film the next episode of the reality show. But the moment I walked in, I felt it—eyes on me. The crew whispered behind their clipboards, and even the boom mic guy kept glancing over like I’d grown horns overnight.

And then there was Josephson. Smug. Predictably cruel.

“Some people,” he drawled loud enough for everyone to hear, “even with a sugar daddy funding their career, should know better than to drag others down when their own mess leaks online.”

I stopped cold, brows drawing together. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play innocent, Mia,” he sneered. “Your private visit to a sugar daddy’s villa has been trending all night on X. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it.”

That explained the icy stares and snide looks. Still confused, I reached for my phone, only to realize it had been dead since yesterday. After leaving Liana’s, I hadn’t even glanced at it—not with the rush to get to film on time.

Giselle leaned close and whispered, “Mia… check X. It’s bad.”

I powered up my phone. Messages from Gill poured in like a dam breaking:

GILL: Check X. You went viral. Shadow Wolf caught you entering a luxury villa.

GILL: It’s negative buzz—but buzz is buzz. Don’t respond yet.

GILL: Right now, you need exposure more than a squeaky-clean image.

GILL: Let the public wonder. I’ll step in when it dies down.

ME: Copy that. I trust you.

I meant it. If there was anyone who could spin chaos into gold, it was Gill.

Curious, I opened X.

The hashtag #MiaInjuredBySugarDaddy was trending at number three.

My stomach tightened as I clicked on the top post. It was from Photographer Cili, one of the most notorious paparazzi online:

Photographer Cili: "Was waiting to catch a film queen outside a luxury villa yesterday and, surprise—Mia shows up. She’s picked up in a fancy car and driven in. An hour later, she came out with her right hand bandaged. What happened inside that villa?"

Attached was a grainy video. It showed me entering the gated community, window down for the ID check. My face was captured crystal clear. The exit clip caught my bandaged hand.

One hour inside. That’s all it took for netizens to lose their collective minds.

The theories were instant. Rabid. Ugly.

“She must have a sugar daddy! Explains why she’s suddenly trending everywhere!”

“Did he beat her? Or did the wife catch them and go off?”

“She’s always injured. I saw her at Apple Hotel once—there were bloodstains on her shirt.”

“Guess getting hit is just part of the price for fame.”

“Who’s the sugar daddy? Must be some big-shot in a luxury villa—bet it’s the same guy who abused his ex.”

“No, it’s probably XXX. Total creep vibes.”

I sighed, disgusted, and shut my phone. “Well,” I muttered, “guess I’m famous now.”

The crew went silent. They didn’t expect me to brush it off. Josephson, red-faced and bitter, snapped, “God, you really are shameless. You think having a sugar daddy is something to brag about?”

He leaned closer, sneering. “Especially a violent one. Aren’t you afraid he’s gonna hit you so hard you don’t wake up next time?”

I smiled sweetly. “Worry about your own hemorrhoids bursting before you die from stress, Josephson.”

His mouth dropped open. The color drained from his face. He looked like he might explode. “You—!”

Before he could launch another insult, the director strode onto the set. His face was tight, serious. “Mia,” he began, “this trending scandal… it could ruin this episode. If it gets any worse, we might have to cut you from the shoot.”

He glanced toward the production tent where the live stream had already started rolling. The last thing he wanted was another public relations nightmare.

Josephson folded his arms smugly. “Director, if we keep a trash-tier influencer like her on the show, it’s going to pull everyone down. We should just cut our losses.”

Before I could speak, Giselle stepped forward. “Director, I trust Mia. Let’s hear her out.”

I turned toward the corner where Justin stood, silent as a ghost. A man who’d said nothing for days. I raised my voice just enough for the mic to catch it.

“I don’t owe anyone an explanation about the villa. But if you’re wondering about my injury—” I held up my bandaged hand “—you should ask Justin. He knows exactly how I got it.”

The set froze.

Then—chaos.

A camera operator accidentally left the stream running. Viewers flooded the live chat.

“Wait, what?! Did she just say Justin injured her?!”

“No way… are they secretly involved?”

“So their on-screen beef was all fake? Cover for an affair?”

“OMG, is Justin her sugar daddy??”

“Shut up. Justin doesn’t even live in a luxury villa!”

“This bitch Mia is slandering Justin to stay relevant. I can’t—”

Thankfully, I couldn’t see the flood of hate. If I had, I might have thrown up.

Everyone’s eyes turned toward Justin—and Lilith, who stood quietly beside him, clutching his pinky finger like her life depended on it.

Her face was pale, lips tight.

I knew exactly what she was thinking: Don’t lose Justin. Not him too. She could handle losing Avery. But Justin? He was her ticket to power. To fame. To everything.

Justin hadn’t been the same since I saved his life. He’d disappeared for a commercial shoot right after the incident and hadn’t checked in once. He didn’t know how bad my injuries had been. Or maybe… he didn’t want to know.

That was fine.

Because the world was about to find out anyway.