Tales From A Not-so-glam Tv Star 소설 & 이야기

The charming admirer hidden in the crowd continued to look at her with extreme interest, distracting only for a moment, the time it took to change his empty glass with a full one from the tray of a waiter called a few moments earlier. "Well, they are bold words, ma chérie! Anyway, I'm sure your determination will take you very high! Who knows, maybe the next time I interview you, you'll have become one of the most famous perfume stylists in the world! Viewer friends, your biggest question has finally received an answer: the neo-celebrity Kora Night is single and is a real men-slayer! Be careful! The hunting season has just begun!" the journalist exclaimed, looking at the camera, never leavin

"Well, why don't you go back to your trashy reality show? I wonder how your fans will react when they see this! Do they still consider you a role model in the entertainment industry?" "How long do you think your arrogance will last?" he added before storming off with his entourage. Once Paul's figure disappeared from view, Diana's expression instantly turned cold. She turned to Tony. "Are you really going to participate in that 'Tonight, You're My Star' show?" She had seen it trending a few times on social media, always for its tasteless games and frequent reports of misconduct. Tony replied slowly, "It's my work, and I can't reveal too much to outsiders."

Taleela's POV; I feel bad about lying to Susan about not knowing anything concerning the gala. It makes me feel horrible. But all the same, she'll be knowing soon. The Gala is fast approaching and I am honestly nervous. I have always attended the Gala every year with a mask on to hide my identity. A few times, photos of my outfit had been talked about in newspapers, asking who the mysterious lady who always covered up her face was. It was about time I showed the whole fashion world my identity.

“Thank you for being here. I know this hasn’t been easy.” I gave her the smile I’d perfected over the years: gracious, composed, just soft enough to suggest a hint of exhaustion. “Thank you for having me.” The opening questions were gentle. Expected. Carefully worded around phrases like narrative and timeline. They played old clips — my engagement ring reveal, our charity gala in New York, the anniversary shoot that had set the internet on fire. They called it a “fairytale.” I called it a contract. But I didn’t say that out loud. Not yet.

Diana Murrell smugly munched on a handful of walnuts. "Anyway, I’m not wearing that kind of junk. I’d be a laughingstock if people saw me wearing fake gold. What if it stains my wrist?" "That can’t be right, can it? Liana seems like an honest girl," Martha Kane chimed in. "Honest? Does being honest put food on the table?" Diana scoffed. "Just look at how shabby she is. She probably barely makes anything all year. Not like Rosalie, who’s about to become a manager at a big company."

Then Isabella happened again, even after he paid her off the last time she called. It started with a notification on my phone while I was in the studio Kale made for me, paint still wet on my fingers. A gossip site headline: TECH TITAN VOSS’S SECRET SEX SLAVE. Below it, grainy photos of me leaving the tower two days earlier, black town car waiting at the curb, the edge of my leather collar just visible above the coat Kale had bought me. Someone had zoomed in, circled it in red, added arrows and screaming captions.

Celebrity gossip. I wrinkled my nose immediately. “Ugh.” I had no interest in watching celebrities pretend to be perfect for the cameras. My hand moved toward the mouse to close the page. Then my eyes caught a familiar face, and I froze. “Star?” She sat elegantly in a bright studio chair, dressed in expensive clothes, hair styled perfectly, makeup flawless. I leaned closer to the screen in disbelief. And beside her sat someone else I immediately recognized—Cheyenne Parton, the famous talk show hostess who loved digging into people’s private lives while pretending it was “entertainment.”