Comment Éditer Des Vidéos De Fortnite Comme Un Pro ?

⚠️🌶️WARNING!: Rule #1: Don’t fall for your fake boyfriend. Rule #2: Especially when he’s sworn to destroy you.🌶️⚠️ I ruined Zane Ashford’s career with four seconds of footage and a source I trusted too fast. I’m his redemption arc, his PR save, his fake girlfriend for a reality show that could restore everything I took from him. The deal was six weeks of convincing performances. No feelings. No complications. That was the plan. But the reality? His hands on my throat while he kisses me breathless. His body pinning mine against walls when no one’s looking. His whispered confessions in the dark that sound nothing like hate. “It’s all part of the act.”Then why are you shaking?”“So are you.” We were supposed to be acting. But somewhere between the fake kisses and the real one, between the person he pretends to be and the one I keep finding in the dark—I stopped remembering which one is the lie. He still hadn’t forgiven me. And I’m not still sure I deserve it. But hatred never tasted this good.

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After I dropped out of school, my parents didn't pressure me to do anything. But Nicole Hicks kept calling nonstop. She was my boyfriend's childhood friend who had established a reputation as a genius. I was too busy helping out in the fields, growing vegetables, and splashing around in the creek, living my best carefree life. Writing code wasn't even on my mind. In my past life, she had turned in a project just one day before I did. Her codes were exactly the same as mine. Everyone called me a fraud and said I had stolen it. I tried to explain, but no one believed me. Later, she even did a livestream, accusing me online of being a school bully. People went wild. They didn't just come for me—they went after my whole family. Some obsessed troll chased my parents in a car, and they died in a crash. I couldn't take it anymore. I jumped off a high-rise, my eyes still wide open, refusing to accept the way it all ended. Even in my last moment, I couldn't figure it out. That code was mine. My hard work. So how did she manage to post it before me? When I opened my eyes again, I was back, right before everything fell apart.

On the day I won the national esports championship, my girlfriend of eight years told me she wanted to go on stage and personally present me with flowers. Standing on the podium, my heart was racing. I reached into my pocket to pull out the ring I'd hidden there, ready to propose to her in front of the entire nation. But what happened next shocked me. She giggled and, instead of handing me the bouquet, she gave it to her male best friend. Under the bright lights, they became the center of attention. The crowd cheered, and their congratulatory messages flooded the trending topics. Even his fans tagged me in posts, mocking, [I told you not to get in the way of our couple, now look at you.] I simply posted on Twitter, [Respect and blessings. Please be locked together forever.]

As I get ready to delete our TikTok account that has over a million followers, the comments section explodes as everyone desperately tries to talk me out of it. "Winnie, don't go! I'm still waiting to see your travel documentary with your boyfriend!" I laugh but still press the button to confirm the deletion. My boyfriend, Zachary Sutton, is a video editor. We've previously agreed to use TikTok to record every city we ever go to. For the past three years, he has always been featured in my shots. Yet, every time he finishes editing the videos, I'm never in any of the shots. Then, last week, when I'm helping him export a video file, I notice a folder named "Rowena Sanders" hidden deep within his hard drive. Upon opening it, I see that there's a video with another woman in it. She is standing by the ocean. The sun is haloing her figure and painting her hair a warm, golden brown. The video was edited to be in slow motion, capturing her as she turns to the camera, all while our love song plays in the background. Every single frame has been meticulously edited. In contrast, after I check through all our finished videos, I realize that I've only ever appeared once, and even in that, I was blurred out. I looked like just another part of the background. He even added a caption that read, "Where did this random nobody come from?" As it turns out, it isn't that he's not good at editing videos; it's that I've never been worthy enough to appear in his shots. While I'm packing up my things, he sends me a message, anxiously asking why the account is gone. I didn't reply. Since he refuses to keep me in the picture, I'll just walk out of the frame myself.

My esports team is engaged in a practice match at midnight. Suddenly, my coach hands a phone over to me. On the other end of the line, my dad cries hysterically. Amid his sobs, he tells me that my mom is currently unconscious in the hospital, and that the doctor has issued him a critical notice. Apparently, my mom's funeral is being prepared in advance, so my dad wants me home immediately. As I stare at the match-up diagram of the final round of the national-level competition as well as the seven-figure prize money, I reply icily, "I'm not going home. I must participate in the final round tomorrow. During the competition, my phone will be turned off. Don't disturb me no matter what."