MasukBy noon, the internet had decided who Serena Rivera was.She watched it happen in real time, the way one watches a tide come in—helpless, clinical, faintly fascinated by the violence of it.She didn’t scroll. She didn’t need to. The headlines had weight now. They pressed against her ribs even with the phone face-down on the café table, even as Lucian’s presence anchored the air across from her.He hadn’t touched his coffee.That bothered her more than it should have.“You’re not angry,” she said suddenly.Lucian blinked, just once. “That’s not true.”“No,” Serena said. “You’re… resolved. Angry people react. You’re already ten moves ahead.”He studied her like she’d said something worth filing away. “And you?”She exhaled. “I don’t know yet.”That was the truth. Anger felt too clean for what she was carrying. Hurt felt indulgent. Fear was useless. What she felt was something murkier—like being pushed into a role she’d spent her whole life avoiding, and realizing the script had already
The internet didn’t sleep.By the time Serena woke up, the headlines had already changed shape.Last night, she’d been the ingénue caught in the wrong orbit.This morning, she was a temptress with bad timing.> “Wolfe and Rivera: Midnight Drives or PR Diversions?”“Rivera’s Rise: The New Starlet Who Can’t Stay Out of Trouble.”“Seraphina Silent Amid Rumors—Lucian Vale Seen Leaving Gala Alone.”Her phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. Mentions, tags, half-hearted statements from PR teams who didn’t belong to her. Her name sat just below #LucianVale and #SeraphinaDevacraux, separated only by a thread of outrage.The public didn’t want nuance and didn't care for it. They wanted hierarchy. Seraphina: divine, untouchable, betrayed. Serena: young, ambitious, disposable.A story told before. A script she hadn’t even auditioned for. But one the world will make her a part of nonetheless.She turned her phone facedown on the counter and exhaled, her breath shaky and uneven. Her untouched coffee ste
The drive back from the restaurant was quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against the windows of the car like fog.Eliora sat in the front passenger seat, scrolling through her phone with occasional bursts of laughter at whatever reel had caught her eye. Serena drove, hands tight on the wheel, eyes fixed on the winding canyon road. She insisted driving alone and Eliora choose to stick with her. "Why did we take seperate car again?" Eliora murmured, like someone who already knew the answer. "Are you two fighting or something?"Serena took a deep breath. "No."They'd have to talk for that. But in some ways, she guessed they are fighting. Lucian followed in his own car—she’d caught a glimpse of his taillights in the rearview mirror once or twice, a silent escort she hadn’t asked for.He hadn’t protesred when she said she'd like to drive alone. Just a nod when they parted in the valet line, his hand brushing Eliora’s shoulder in that protective way he’d adopted lately. To Serena, not
Eliora Rivera arrived exactly like a storm that thought it was sunshine.She burst onto the studio lot in a flutter of linen and over-accessorized enthusiasm, ignoring the assistants who tried to stop her at the entrance. By the time she reached Serena’s set, half the crew was staring, half in confusion and half—well—didn't care.“Jesus Christ,” Serena muttered as she spotted her. “What are you doing here?”Eliora beamed, unbothered. “Surprise!”“Eliora—”“I told you we are going to go out today.”“I am shooting!”“So I came in. You can finish your shooting, wrap it up soon since I'm here," This was directed at the director who chuckled nervously. "Problem solved.”The crew smiled in amusement. Eliora had that rare, impossible energy that made resistance futile. She turned to wave at Eli, who stood behind the monitor, looking halfway between fond and exasperated.“Jonatham didn't warn her?,” he asked under his breath to Serena. She gave him a look. He muttered to himself, "Right." J
The morning arrived softer than it had any right to be.Sunlight was scattered over the balcony tiles of Fallon Crowne’s loft, a pale, washed gold that seemed like it belonged to another city—some quieter, slower Los Angeles that didn’t trade on blood and buzz. The espresso machine wheezed in the background, grinding its protest while Fallon paced barefoot through the open living area, hair pinned up with two pencils. Serena sat at the kitchen counter, her phone in hand, scrolling through the industry notifications she’d tried—unsuccessfully—to ignore all morning. She had fallen asleep and found herself too tired to go back home and Fallon had graciously allowed her to crash in her place for the night. She scrolled her phone, annoyed and irritated. Three new scripts from three different production houses. Two requests for brand collaborations. One tentative offer for a feature role in a series that had spent years trying to court Seraphina Devarrcaux.The irony was as cruel as it w
Inside the Panic: Why Hollywood Is Quietly Turning Its Back on Seraphina Devarcaux Byline: Exclusive | Inside the chaos, confusion, and cold strategy of the industry’s quiet revolt. --- For an industry that thrives on illusion, Hollywood has a unique way of punishing those who make their power too visible. Seraphina Devarcaux’s name has been trending for three straight days, attached to hashtags that oscillate between sympathy and schadenfreude. The leaked gala clip — a moment of laughter and skin contact framed as corruption — has been dissected by everyone from PR analysts to teenagers on TikTok. But behind the performative chaos of social media, a quieter, far more strategic storm is unfolding. According to multiple insiders across agencies, production houses, and brand partnerships, the real reason for the industry’s sudden distancing isn’t the leak itself. It’s something older, more structural — and infinitely more dangerous to the system that once crowned her. --- “She b







