Viral Lies And Billionaire Ties

The penalty for losing the game was supposed to be a simple, if slightly humiliating, dare: post Im in love with you. Just you. to my Instagram Story.

But there was a catch. It couldn't be restricted to my Close Friends list. It had to be public. For all seventy million of my haters to see.

And the real kicker? I had to screen-mirror my phone to the live broadcast and instantly open the direct messages of the men who replied.

The entire internet was holding its collective breath, waiting to watch Hollywood's most notorious serial datermecrash and burn on live television.

They didn't expect what actually happened.

The brooding, Oscar-winning A-lister:

[Are you actively trying to destroy our family?]

[Delete this right now. Im going to pretend I never saw it, sis.]

[DELETE IT NOW!]

The chart-topping pop idol:

[Whatever you want, just name it. Im sending my black card over now.]

[Actually, Harps, please delete that post! My brother just saw it and I think my soul just left my body!]

The notoriously ruthless billionaire venture capitalist:

[No.]

[But if you're absolutely desperate, I suppose I could make an exception.]

[Ground rules: if we do this, you cut off every other guy. Clean break.]

[Wait? Didn't I reply in less than a second?]

[Why aren't you answering?]

[Fine. You don't have to cut them off. I'm a traditional manI just demand to be the primary husband. Make sure your little harem brings me my morning coffee.]

My name is Heather. In the eyes of the internet, I am Hollywood's most manipulative, clout-chasing villain.

The moment my name trends, a bloodbath ensues.

If you venture into the comment sections of any pop-culture account, youll find variations of the same venom:

[How desperate is she for relevance?]

[Did her sugar daddy cut off her allowance? Why is she preying on my man? He literally has PTSD from trying to avoid her!]

[Honestly, seeing her act like this makes me feel better about my own life.]

And those are just the ones that don't get flagged for community guidelines.

I don't have fans. I have a dedicated mob of anti-fans.

I mute them all.

The origin of this mass hatred? I happen to be a little too close to some of the industry's most untouchable leading men.

What the public doesn't know is that most of these men are my older brother's best friends. Hes a fiercely private, method-acting hermit who spends half the year off the grid in a Montana cabin. Before he disappears, he casually asks his high-profile buddies to "keep an eye on the kid."

Naturally, the paparazzi only catch the moments that look incriminating.

Add that to the time I was photographed sneaking onto my brother's closed set. In the eyes of the public, I was defiling their untouchable, fiercely single cinematic king. The tabloids ran with it, and the internet swallowed it whole.

Just like that, I became Heather: the calculating, coattail-riding siren.

To salvage what was left of my non-existent reputation, my manager, Valerie, threw me into Girls Getaway: Unplugged. It was an all-female, slow-paced travel reality show known for its wholesome vibes and positive PR.

Please, I prayed to whatever PR gods were listening, let this save my career.

The premise was a four-person girls' trip, live-streamed 24/7.

The cast included Bonnie and Kendall, a comedy duo who were actual best friends in real life. Ironically, Bonnie had a very public, unrequited crush on my emotionally unavailable brother, Henry. Kendall, on the other hand, was aggressively pursuing Mason, the pop star who currently acted as my personal lackey.

The final cast member was Sophia. Sophia was the golden girl. Effortlessly chic, universally beloved, and possessing a rare superpower: no matter who she was paired with, she had insane, palpable chemistry with them.

It was a foolproof setup.

Without a doubt, this show was tailor-made to wash my sins away.

Brimming with a dangerously high level of optimism, I arrived at the set.

The production team had rented a sprawling, Tuscan-style villa in the hills. The interior was draped in warm linens and fresh eucalyptusexactly the kind of healing, aesthetic sanctuary you'd expect from an all-female retreat.

I was still taking in the sweeping vineyard views when I saw them: Bonnie and Kendall, practically sprinting toward me with beaming, enthusiastic smiles.

I dropped my posture, throwing my arms open to embrace them.

Only, they didn't stop. They blew right past me, their momentum carrying them toward the driveway behind me.

Toward the radiant, glowing Sophia.

Sophia was dressed in understated vintage denim and a crisp white button-down, her makeup impossibly fresh. She flashed a smile that could disarm a bomb. Men loved her; women worshipped her. The internet had declared her the ultimate "chemistry queen," and it was easy to see why.

The live chat, projected on a monitor behind the cameras, was already having a field day at my expense:

[LMAOOOO look at the clout-chaser! She really thought they were running to hug her!]

[I'm screaming. You love to see a pick-me girl get completely ignored by real women.]

[Thank god there are no men on this cast, otherwise she'd be playing the victim right now.]

[Why did production even cast her? She ruins the whole vibe.]

[Okay but honestly... I don't mind the producers throwing her in if we get to watch her squirm like this all season.]

Catching sight of the vicious comments, I immediately stepped up to defend Bonnie and Kendall.

"Sophia is literally glowing," I said to the cameras, forcing a bright, self-deprecating laugh. "I was staring at her myself! I don't blame them for not noticing me."

Bonnie and Kendall turned around, freezing in their tracks. They stared at me, their expressions twisting into something guarded and strange.

I shot them a reassuring look. Don't worry. I'm cool with it.

Sophia's lips curved upward. It was a knowing, somewhat inscrutable smile. She gave me a polite nod of acknowledgment.

I wiped my palms on my jeans and stepped forward, cautiously extending a hand. "Hi, Sophia. I'm Heather. Huge fan."

Sophia chuckled softly, her grip firm and warm. "Hi, Heather."

The chat wasted no time ripping me apart:

[Ha! The second she realizes there are no men to manipulate, she starts kissing up to the most popular girl.]

[Sophia is a class act. Even knowing this girl is obsessed with her brother, she's still so polite.]

[Classic social climber. Notice how she hasn't even acknowledged Bonnie and Kendall because they aren't A-listers?]

Wait. Sophia's brother?

Who the hell was that? I racked my brain. I didn't know any men who shared Sophias last name. If I did, there was no way I would only be meeting the goddess herself today.

I let out a quiet, internal sigh.

A disastrous opening move. Fixing this image was going to be an uphill battle through mud.

Keeping my head down, I grabbed the handle of my oversized suitcase and trailed behind the trio, chanting my manager's golden rules in my head: Speak less. Work more. Stop staring at beautiful people. Watch the live chat.

We reached the sweeping stone steps leading up to the villa's main entrance.

As we prepared to haul our luggage, Bonnie paused, turning back to me with an exaggerated look of distress.

"Heather, your bag looks so heavy," she cooed, her tone carrying a brittle, overly-sweet edge. "We really can't lift it. You don't mind carrying it up yourself, do you?"

As a chronic people-pleaser who melted whenever a pretty girl looked distressed, I shook my head vigorously. "No, of course not! I've got it. Don't worry about me."

Bonnie and Kendall exchanged a sharp, loaded glance. I felt a beat of confusion.

The chat, naturally, erupted in glee:

[HAHAHA! YES Bonnie! Give it to her! When she was trying to get Henry's attention last month, she claimed her bag was too heavy to move!]

[No men around to do her heavy lifting, so the mask slips. Love to see it.]

[This is the exact kind of reality TV justice I signed up for!]

I gripped the handle of my suitcase, hesitating on the bottom step.

Huh?

They seemed like such nice girls. Why did that feel like a targeted hit? Surely the internet was just reading too much into it.

The irony was, the last time I visited Henry's set, my suitcase was impossibly heavy. It was packed full of homemade preserves and heavy winter coats our mother had forced me to mule across the country for him. I had to play the damsel in distress just to guilt Henry into giving me my monthly shopping allowance.

Before I could open my mouth to explain, the camera operators and the rest of the cast had already migrated inside the cool, marble foyer.

I stood alone in the heat for a second, then let out a breath.

Whatever. We had weeks of filming left. There would be time to clear the air.

The ice-breaker for the first night was Truth or Dare. Simple, unpretentious, and dangerously effective for reality television.

A steaming hot pot bubbled in the center of the dining table. The cameras were rolling.

The empty wine bottle spun, slowing down until the neck pointed directly at my chest.

"Truth or Dare?" Bonnie asked, a spark of anticipation in her eyes.

I rolled up my silk sleeves. "A real woman never chooses truth."

Bonnie and Kendall shared another one of those loaded looks.

A tiny knot of panic tightened in my stomach. I maintained a facade of absolute calm. What was the worst that could happen? They were gorgeous, sweet women. It wasn't like they were going to feed me to the wolves.

I leaned forward, trying to look eager.

Kendalls face grew deadpan. "Do you have a boyfriend? Or anyone you're... casually seeing?"

I blinked, thrown off. "Wait, is this a Truth? I thought I picked Dare."

"We're just asking because we don't want your boyfriend to break up with you after you do this dare," Bonnie explained smoothly.

I let out a dry, theatrical scoff. "Please. Men are merely stepping stones on my path to greatness."

A flicker of genuine amusement flashed in Sophias eyes, though it was quickly masked by something more complicated.

Bonnie offered a tight smile. "So, that's a no?"

I nodded with total conviction.

Bonnies smile widened as she read the dare from a card.

"Post the following to your main Instagram feed, no filters, no privacy settings: 'Im in love with you. Just you.' Then, you have to screen-mirror your phone and open the DMs of the men who reply instantly."

A heavy silence fell over my end of the table. I raised a hand, feeling very much like a reprimanded schoolgirl.

"What if... no one replies instantly?"

"Then you just open the chat of whoever replies first," Kendall said, entirely unsympathetic.

I nodded slowly, the gears turning in my head. I pulled out my phone, typed the caption over a black background, and hovered my thumb over the 'Share' button.

Kendall raised an eyebrow. "You're not restricting certain people from seeing it, are you?"

I hesitated, then slid my phone across the table toward them. "Do you want to press post?"

I closed my eyes tightly as I heard the soft tap of the screen.

Dread washed over me.

What if no one texted? My reputation was already in the gutter. If I went viral as the girl who couldn't even get a pity text from a fake love confession, the humiliation would be permanent.

It's fine, I reasoned with myself. Valerie is watching the live stream. Shell text me to save face.

The live chat was moving so fast it was a blur:

[Oh my god, Bonnie is a reality TV genius! Right for the jugular!]

[Look at how terrified she is! I'm living for this!]

[This post is about to expose her entire roster. I cannot WAIT.]

[They really put the clown makeup right on her face. I get why shes on this show nowshes the sacrificial lamb.]

The comments were brutal, some crossing into territory too vile to read.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Please.

Someone. Anyone. Just text me.

Perhaps the universe took pity on my pathetic internal pleading.

Ping.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

A rapid-fire barrage of notification chimes echoed through the silent dining room.

I let out a long, shaky exhale. Thank God.

Across the table, Kendall and Bonnies eyes lit up the moment they heard the chimes. Within seconds, a producer had mirrored my phone screen onto the large monitor mounted on the dining room wall.

I looked up at the fresh stack of direct messages.

There were... a lot of them.

As Kendall and Bonnie read the names on the lock screen, the smug anticipation completely drained from their faces. They went rigid.

Forcing a stiff smile, Bonnie swallowed hard. "So, Heather... whose message do you want to open first?"

I stared at the list of chaotic notifications, a unique brand of despair settling over me.

I decided to go with the safest bet. The softest target.

My brotherHenry.

His contact name was saved simply as "The Spark."

I used to have him saved as "Pretentious Drama Queen" because I blocked him so often, but eventually, I got too lazy to type it out.

Bonnie stared at the avatar next to the name, her voice trembling slightly. "Is... is that Henry's private account?"

I nodded, utterly relaxed. "Yeah."

The phone in Bonnie's hand visibly shook. "Aren't you terrified he's going to rip you apart?"

I lunged forward, snatching my phone before she could drop it into the boiling hot pot broth.

"Why would he yell at me?" I asked, genuinely baffled.

Bonnies eyes practically bugged out of her head. "Because you're... you're using him for clout?"

I had no idea if Henry was currently yelling at me in those messages, but the internet certainly was.

[Are you kidding me? Is she seriously doing this?]

[She is shameless. Absolutely shameless. Hooking her claws into him on live TV?]

[I mean, bad press is still press. She knows exactly what she's doing.]

[Does Heather have zero shame? What is wrong with her?]

[Henry HATES people who use him for PR. Watch him absolutely end her career right now.]

I turned my back to the monitor. Out of sight, out of mind.

I tapped Henry's message thread. The chat expanded on the massive screen behind me, the camera zooming in perfectly.

The Spark:

[Are you actively trying to destroy our family?!]

[Delete this right now. Im going to pretend I never saw it, sis.]

[DELETE IT NOW!]

A deafening silence dropped over the room.

The only sound was a soft plop as Sophia dropped her sushi roll into her soy sauce dish, staring blankly at the screen.

Everyone was paralyzed.

Bonnie looked physically ill, completely forgetting she was on camera. The producers behind the lenses looked like they needed medical attention.

I was the only one moving, calmly typing my reply.

[Relax, Drama Queen. If I ever fall in love, it definitely wouldn't be with you.]

[It's a Truth or Dare penalty.]

The response was instantaneous.

[Oh thank god. My life is spared.]

The chat box on the live stream broke. It was moving so fast the text blurred into a solid white block.

[AHHHHHHHHH! IS THAT ACTUALLY HENRY?!]

[Wait. Holy shit. Is she faking this? Did she hire an actor to run a fake account?]

[Why would she fake something that could be disproven by his PR team in three seconds?]