The new Zoe

Arman’s POV**

That was the last day I saw Zoe Adams—the girl with teary eyes and pale lips. I didn’t see her again for a very long time. The girl I now saw was Brenda Cox.

Bossy, sassy, and hot.

Zoe wore that character like a second skin. She became Brenda. We were in the last days of shooting the drama and a few episodes had been released. Everyone was happy and relaxed because the ratings were high; at this rate, we would beat Eloise’s past record. Everyone except Zoe.

It had been almost three months and we were yet to see eye to eye. The banter was wearing me out; it wasn’t my thing to be at war with anyone on set.

“Hey.” I blocked Zoe on her way to the car. That was her new ritual: M.J. brought her in the morning, we shot scenes, and then she disappeared to the car until M.J. was free to take her back.

It was a bit annoying, considering the fact that everyone wanted to talk to her. She was a snob; she ignored anyone that wasn’t Eloise or M.J.

She pushed past me and continued walking. Fuck. “Zoe! I was talking to you.”

She reluctantly slowed down. “Oh, really? I didn’t hear my name until now,” she snorted.

Irritation bubbled inside of me. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She needed to calm down, for God's sake. Always so tense, like someone might attack her suddenly. That thought gave me pause. Was she scared of something? Running from someone? I read somewhere that some attitudes are only reactions to fear and trauma.

“Nothing is wrong with me. Is that what you stopped me to tell me? Really?” She scoffed.

I took a deep breath and lowered my voice. Maybe I needed to change my approach. “I think something is wrong... with you.” Okay, that had sounded a lot better in my head.

“That sounds like a YOU problem. If you will excuse me.” And then she turned and was leaving.

Okay. Nothing was wrong with Zoe. She was just a snob hung up on herself.

“Hey, Zoe, would you like to join us for lunch?” Jude blocked her path. He looked shy and excited. I knew he had been trying to talk to her for weeks.

Zoe swerved past him, not caring to spare him a glance. “No thanks.” The bitch.

“When will you stop asking her?” Didn't countless rejections phase the man?

Jude shook his head. “Nope. One day, she’ll say yes. Besides, she’s too pretty to be angry with,” he confessed before bouncing back to his camera.

I watched as Zoe slid into the car. Each of her movements was graceful. It was true; she had a kind of beauty one could not be angry with. And she knew how to use it. I had found her social media account, but it was set to private and had been inactive since she began acting. She really took measures to remain mysterious and keep everyone on their toes. Fans were begging to see more of her, to know her account, to follow her, but she didn’t seem to care. She was proud and hard to please. I wondered why I thought something was wrong.

I lifted my phone and my fingers moved of their own accord. I found my parents' page. They had made a new post this morning that informed me of their current location: Bora Bora. My mom had taken a selfie; she was wearing a yellow bikini and her skin was glowing from more than enough sunscreen. Even the sun was reflecting on her skin. The picture only featured my dad’s hand, which was wrapped around her waist.

The picture already had over three hundred thousand likes and ten thousand comments. My mom always responded to people’s comments on her posts; it was her son’s DMs she never seemed to open or reply to.

Why?

A question I never asked. A question I would never know an answer to.

“Arman?” I looked up to see Bridget approach me. “What’s that look?” she asked.

I only shrugged. “Nothing much. I’m bored,” I lied.

Bridget laughed. “Only you would be bored after dropping a record-breaking movie series.” She ruffled my hair. “C’mon, let’s join the others for lunch.” Her phone buzzed just as she said the words and I saw a frown with a hint of horror cloud her face. “Excuse me, please.” And then she hurried away.

Something felt odd about her movement. Bridget wasn’t afraid of anyone, so I wondered why she had that look. I felt guilty, but I did it anyway—I sneaked after her.

“I told you to stop trying to reach me. The answer remains no. Stay the fuck away.” She had a look of exhaustion on her face and she paused, listening to what the other person on the line had to say. “Don’t tell me about rights here. Everyone has their individual rights.” She paused again. “Blood relationship my foot. Look here, I won’t let you destroy everything we have worked for. You have no right. Please stop trying to reach me.” She didn’t let the person say another word because she hung up. She fumbled with her phone furiously, and I guessed that the person just got blocked.

Bridget was an adult in her late thirties, but I knew that she was single and had no kids. She had a sister, but I knew they never spoke. Bridget was more of a one-man squad, so when she said “we,” I wondered who she was referring to. *“I won’t let you destroy everything we have worked for.”* Those words she said refused to leave my head.

Most times, “we” meant Bridget and I. But someone wasn’t trying to ruin me... right?