Entertainment Circle Short Stories & Novels

On the day Luke Smith attended his dear friend's funeral with his child, the media swarmed around me, questioning if I was the child's biological mother.Luke Smith, the high-society sensation, adored by all.For seven years, I was his secret lover, and how he spoiled me was the talk of the town.But eventually, he said, "Hazel, she's just a minor celebrity. What makes her think she can marry into the Smiths?"Indeed, his later wife, hailing from a prestigious lineage, epitomized grace and charm. Her only flaw was her inability to bear children.Facing eager reporters, I smiled, "I hardly know Mr. Smith. With that said, I wish him and his wife a lifetime of happiness and a joyful family."The news quickly went viral online.That very night, Luke Smith, disheveled and troubled, embarked on a long journey to San Anglos with his child.

I was a semi-retired actress, joining a divorce reality show with my billionaire husband. "I want a divorce." Facing the camera, I spoke calmly. Off-camera, Hector Sinclair frowned as he reviewed the scene with me. "You need to show more emotion when you say it. That’s what will get people talking, stir up discussion, and drive the views. "Otherwise, who’s going to believe you really want to divorce me? They’ll just think you’re acting again. “Use your head. I can’t guide you every step of the way." Yeah. To outsiders, I was nothing more than a pretty face—vain, shallow, and talentless. Meanwhile, he was a shrewd and cultured businessman, commanding a fortune worth billion. No one believed I would willingly give up the title of Mrs. Sinclair, not even Hector himself. However, he had no idea that this time, I meant it.

For eight years, I'd managed the career of my boyfriend, Aiden White, a famous celebrity. I was also a partner at Veyra Media and the one pulling the strings behind his career. But on our anniversary trip, Aiden and one of the company's top influencers left me behind at a hotel near a volcano. They drove for forty minutes before they even realized I wasn't with them. When Aiden finally answered my call, he sounded more annoyed than concerned. "Scarlett, why didn't you get in the car? We need to hike to the crater by five, or we'll miss the blue flames! We're already almost there. I can't turn around and drive all the way back for you!" "Scarlett can find a ride and meet us here," Karina said in the background. "You know she can take care of herself. She'll be fine." In the past, I would've swallowed my hurt and rushed to catch up with them. But this time, I stared at the moon in the distance and realized I didn't want to chase after Aiden anymore. I pulled up the itinerary I'd spent weeks planning and canceled every flight and hotel booking. Then I booked a new trip to Veythira, a quiet coastal town I'd always dreamed of visiting. Aiden had never wanted to go. He thought it was too remote and had nothing worth seeing. I was done following him. From now on, I'd choose my own path.

Two months remained until debut evaluation night. Before our unit performance, our main dancer suddenly offered me her center position. I stared at her, confused, "The trainers always praise your stage presence. Why give up your spot?" "You... you deserve center more than I do." Her smile was painfully forced, and she was fidgeting with her practice clothes - obviously not saying what she really felt. Puzzled by her strange behavior, I asked, "Are my moves too big? Am I making it hard for you to perform?" She suddenly started shaking, looking at me with pure fear in her eyes. After what felt like forever, she finally choked out, "Please, just stop. I won't try to compete with you for center anymore!"

I never would've imagined I would be the one to deliver protection product to Edgar Graham and his female subordinate. I get to witness him cheating on me. I even politely tell the mistress, "Here's your order. Please give me a good rating."

On the day I was diagnosed with stage four cancer, Vivian Cross handed me a contract for a divorce reality show. I already knew that meant she'd lost another bet to her secretary, Miles Smith. They'd made ninety-nine bets over the years, and every time, Vivian let herself lose on purpose. She lost the house we decorated for our wedding. She lost the wedding itself. She even lost our son's body, handing him over so Miles could satisfy his twisted curiosity about the human body. Our baby had been seven months along when they donated his remains. He'd been so small. Vivian slid the contract across to me, tapping the papers. "Ethan, I lost another bet. It's just a reality show. Help me keep Miles happy. Besides, it'll boost your profile. You'll get more film offers after this." She forgot what happened the last time she lost a bet to him. That time, she'd signed me up to star in ten adult films without asking me first. Afterward, she promised, "I won't let a single photo of you get out." The next day, the videos they forced me to shoot went viral anyway. I was blacklisted across the entire industry. No director would touch me after that. I signed the new contract without a word of protest. Vivian looked pleased and leaned in to kiss the corner of my mouth. "Remember to pick 'stay married' at the end. We'll get off the ride together at the finish line." She had no idea we'd never make it that far.

For ten years, I stand by Robert Lopez's side, watching him rise from the trenches of obscurity to the blinding heights of superstardom. But on the night he clinches the Best Actor award, he drops to one knee and proposes to a starlet he's known for less than ten days. Those eyes that are so full of love and devotion, no matter who they're looking at, turn cold and threatening for the first time. "Danielle, I've slept with her, so I need to take responsibility. You're willing to stay by my side without a title or a promise, but she can't. She needs a sense of security." A bitter laugh escapes me. That's when I finally understand that love has nothing to do with time. But hear this, Robert. Just because I've waited for you for ten years doesn't mean I deserve to be treated like trash or that you're the only man for me.

Vivian Hart, the newly crowned Best Actress whose captivating eyes had made her a sensation, was accepting an award for her charity work when my doctor told me I had two months to live. It was stomach cancer, and the treatment costs was far beyond what I could pay. Then Vivian called me. "Do you regret it?" she asked. "Now that I've made something of myself, do you regret leaving me?" I held the hospital bill against my chest and made myself sound shameless. "Vivian, I could really use some money. Since you're so generous with your charity work, why don't you give me $200,000?" Her voice turned to ice. "Go to hell. I never want to see you again." She blocked me everywhere. What she didn't know was that when she lost her sight all those years ago, I was the one who secretly gave her my corneas.

At the recording studio of a divorce reality show, when Logan Barnes, the superstar, catches a fallen headset for me, he subconsciously takes my hand and kisses it. The thing is, the livestreaming camera is still rolling. The kiss leaves the entire Internet in chaos. After all, I'm not Logan's ex-wife in this reality show. Everyone can't wait to see me break down and get jealous to the point that I'll keep pestering my actual ex-husband, Eddie Hancock. But right after the reality show is over, Logan and I become the most envied Internet couple.

During the live boyband auditions, I won the popularity vote by a landslide and was given the position of the main singer. Another member of the boyband suddenly laughed as he patted me on the shoulder. "Jordan, I was the one who accompanied you to get stamina supplements after you overdid it in bed with your rich married lover. Now that we're in the same boyband, please look out for me!" Immediately, the phrase 'The Boyband's One-Minute Man' was seen everywhere online. Even our mentor chimed in, trying to get me kicked out of the band. I had no choice but to call my mother when I was unable to prove myself innocent. "Mom, I don't want to debut in a boyband anymore. Let me go solo and send the rest of them off to labor away their lives at the factory!"

I was the last person you'd expect to find on Manhattan's Upper East Side. My parents, Grant and Helena Sinclair, were fashion royalty, and size zero was their religion. But I'd been overweight since childhood, and there was nothing they could do about it. By the time I was five, I weighed far more than other children my age and ate like a bottomless pit. My parents called me "Meatball" in disgust and shipped me off to live with my grandmother, Margaret Sinclair, on a farm deep in rural Texas. It wasn't until I won a full scholarship to Columbia that I finally earned the right to return to their New York penthouse. My father, a fashion mogul, took one look at me and frowned with disgust. "An XXXL hoodie, oversized sunglasses, and a black face mask. "You look like a walking trash bag. Are you too ashamed to show your face?" My mother, editor-in-chief of a Vogue-caliber fashion magazine, scoffed. "She probably saw Isabella with us at Paris Fashion Week and knew she'd look terrible standing next to her. "As if being fat weren't bad enough, she's got an awful personality, too." My sister, Isabella Sinclair, hurried over with feigned warmth and took my hand. "Your weight doesn't define you. There's no need to feel inferior to me." I was about to take off my mask, but my hand froze.

As the upcoming tour approached, the dance troupe suddenly revoked my position as the lead dancer. Anxious to get an explanation in person, I lost my footing due to my distracted state and tumbled down the stairs. While enduring the sharp pain and preparing to call for emergency services, a notification popped up on my phone screen: “Redwood Dance Troupe: Welcome our new lead dancer, Averil Wells, and our generous sponsor, Julian Ford." The accompanying photo featured two smiling faces—my husband of seven years, whom I had secretly married, and his pampered mistress. Julian had his arm wrapped around Averil's waist as he placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. Meanwhile, Averil clung to Julian's neck, her face radiating shyness and delight.

On my first wedding night, my wife, Stella Turner the top actress, abandons me and sleeps with her ex-boyfriend instead. When she comes home, she reeks of alcohol and keeps calling Adam Green's name while holding me. The next day, Adam publishes a post on social media, saying, "Sometimes, some love is destined to be left unspoken and buried in the sands of time. I wish you all the happiness in the world." His fans leave angry comments below the post, criticizing me for being the third wheel. My manager, Josh Mendez, is almost going mad with anxiety. I scroll on my phone languidly and casually say, "Why so anxious? Post their intimate photos from last night online and say that I, the legally wedded husband, caught them in the act. Remember to blur the photo, but make sure people can still make out Stella's tattoo on her collarbone."

When our number is finally called at the courthouse, my fianceé takes the appointment slip I'd spent three hours waiting for and hands it to her male best friend. "Zach and I will go in first. It's better for PR. You can take the next slot." Zach Jones slips my wedding ring onto his finger and flashes a smile at me. "Don't worry, man. I'm a PR professional. We're just signing some paperwork and taking a few courthouse photos. It's no big deal." Then, they walk hand in hand toward the registration office, neither one of them caring enough to notice my reaction. I close my eyes. For seven years, to avoid public suspicion, Eva Sinclair has used Zach as her stand-in for PR events. When photographers catch me entering her house, she responds by posting photos of herself and Zach lounging around in matching pajamas. When news of our engagement leaks, she surprises Zach with 999 roses on Valentine's Day as a grand declaration of her love. Even when it comes to our marriage, her first priority is still managing her image, and Zach takes my place, as usual. He's the first to try on the tuxedo. The wedding ring is sized for him. And now, he's going into the courthouse before me. I used to believe this was all to protect Eva's public image. But moments after collecting a new appointment slip, I open social media to see that Eva has already posted photos from inside the courthouse, along with the signed marriage certificate complete with the official seal at the bottom. Zach leaves a comment below the post. "There wasn't any need for PR this time, but she still made it public." It turns out that Zach's role as the "PR stand-in boyfriend" has stopped being just an act for Eva. Somewhere along the way, the act has become real. I don't cancel my appointment. Instead, I take a photo of the slip and send it to Eva's biggest rival. "Didn't you want to steal the groom? They're calling my number in 30 minutes. If you make it here in time, I'll marry you instead." If Eva cares so much about her image, then I'll find someone else to go public with.

After years of investment from my company, my boyfriend finally broke into show business. At last, he won an Oscar. True to his promise, he married me. Then, during a backstage interview, he said, "It was transactional. I had to marry her in exchange for the funding." His braindead fans came after me soon afterward. They stalked me and, one day, poured sulfuric acid over my face. The attack left me disfigured. He sent me to the hospital, but that was just another part of his scheme. Before long, the world believed I had died from complications. When I returned to life, I decided to invest in someone else. After all, he was the only person who had mourned my death and given me a proper burial.

"When is that desperate agent of Ace Davidson's finally going to get lost? Just looking at her makes me sick!" "Seriously! She's always clinging to our Ace. Does she really think she's his wife or something?" My finger stopped scrolling across the tablet. Without changing expression, I closed the fan post full of insults on Ace's fan page. As Ace's secret wife of five years and his agent, I'd grown numb to comments like these a long time ago. I turned around, took a box of arnica cream and a steaming hot lunch from my bag, and handed them to the chubby crew member sitting in the corner. "Pudge, eat first. Put some arnica on your face, too. You don't want it to leave a mark." Because of his heavy build and slow movements, the director had slapped Pudge in front of everyone that day. The entire crew had made a joke out of him. I was the only one who'd offered him any comfort. He took the items, his eyes reddening as he looked at me. "Alisson, thank you... You're a good person. There's something I can't keep from you." With that, he glanced around before pulling out a spare phone with a shattered screen. "Alisson, I accidentally caught this on video yesterday while I was organizing props in the underground parking garage." I tapped the video open. On the screen was Ace's private van, the one I'd paid for myself. The vehicle was rocking violently.

After dating me for a decade, Alfred Rodriguez officially admitted that he was in a relationship with someone else. It was not me but a popular young actress.Exhilarated, their fans created an online buzz about their dating. I posted a diamond ring on my Facebook, announcing that I'm getting married. Alfred called me."Delete that post. Don't even think about forcing me to marry you in this way. I've just got my reputation in the entertainment circle and announced a relationship. I can't marry you now..." "Mr. Rodriguez, I'm marrying someone else. Come to my wedding party if you're free."I hung up. Alfred went mad. He called me countless times that night. On my wedding day, he turned up with red eyes and asked if I'd elope with him. What? How dare this guy seduce someone else's fiancée in public! What a pervert!

Eight years after I married that award-winning actor, he publicly declared he was dating the top starlet, Celine James. He even posted a picture of the two of them celebrating their adopted “baby’s” birthday. I did not call him to interrogate him as usual. Instead, he hurriedly explained, “It’s just a pet we adopted. As its ‘dad’, I have to be there for its birthday.” I said calmly, “Rather than adopting a furbaby, why don’t we get a divorce? Then you can have an actual baby with her.”

I was the most cheated-on man in our entire circle. People online had even put together a compilation of every time my wife had cheated on me. Whenever Vanessa Kane started threatening suicide, everyone knew I'd been cheated on again. The first time, she wanted to go on vacation with a college student she was keeping. She stood on the roof of an eighteen-story building and forced me to get on my knees and beg her. The second time, she wanted to celebrate her male assistant's birthday. She grabbed a shard of glass and screamed that she'd slit her wrists. When I tried to stop her, the glass severed a tendon in my hand. The third time, she wanted to win over a male model from a club, and she was dead set on becoming a nun. It went on and on. Then came the ninety-ninth time, when she said she'd found the love of her life. To sleep with Lucas Reed, she lost the baby she'd been carrying for twenty weeks, then threw what was left of our unborn child down in front of me. "You can forget it. I'm never having your baby as long as I live." Heartbroken and done, I laid a divorce agreement in front of her parents. "Let's get divorced. I'm letting Vanessa go."

My movie star husband's girlfriend suspected I was the other woman. She confronted me in public, beat me until I lost my child, and even left my face scarred beyond recognition. "You shameless homewrecker! How dare you seduce someone else's man—and even get pregnant?" she screamed in rage. "I'll send you and that child of yours straight to hell today!" And as for my husband, he didn't even spare me a glance. All he cared to say was, "Why did you bother hitting her yourself? Did your hand hurt?" But when he finally discovered that the woman his girlfriend had scarred and caused to miscarry was me, he lost his mind.