Chapter 1: The Showmance Wrecker’s Deal

“Carter Evans wants me to join a reality show?”

I blinked, stunned. Did I hear that right? My brain scrambled for a logical explanation, but nope, that’s what Marsha had said.

I let the words hang there for a second, the syllables bouncing off the chipped paint on my apartment walls—chipped from years of me pacing and worrying, proof I’d lived here way too long. It was like the whole place was holding its breath with me.

Maybe I misheard Marsha, my agent. She was always cooking up wild ideas, but this? This took the cake.

“Here’s what they’re offering.” Marsha, who’d been hustling in Hollywood since before I was born, held up five fingers, then three more, her nails—fire-engine red and sharp as her attitude—glinting under the cheap overhead bulb. “And if you say yes, Carter’s team is tossing in some extra cash.”

She flashed that sly, dealmaker grin—the kind that always made me nervous and a little hopeful, never sure which way it’d go. I tried to add up the numbers, but honestly, my brain was still stuck on Carter Evans—the Carter Evans, the one from every tabloid—knowing my name, let alone wanting me on his show. What universe was this?

A month of shooting, tops. Eight hundred grand. Just for showing up.

My jaw practically hit the floor. I mean, that’s NBA starter money for a month’s work. Wild. My heart was pounding, half out of pure excitement, half out of that creeping dread you get before you leap off a cliff—except this time, the cliff was reality TV.

“So, am I just someone’s sidekick again?” I asked, but the words tasted sour. Maybe I was bracing myself for the punchline, the catch, the humiliation. Figures.

I tried to sound casual, but I couldn’t keep the edge out of my voice. I’d been the sidekick so many times, I was starting to think my name was actually ‘Supporting Cast.’ Still, for a check that size? Maybe I could stand a little more humiliation. Maybe.

The truth? I was ready for it. My career was already scraping bottom. Rock bottom, meet Autumn. If I wanted that check, I’d have to swallow my pride and then some.

Marsha leaned in, like she was about to spill state secrets. “You’re not here to make anyone else look good. This time, you’re supposed to fake a showmance with Carter Evans.”

I started out as a child star—America’s sweetheart, hailed as a prodigy for my acting skills.

People used to stop me in the grocery store, ask for selfies, tell me their kids grew up watching me. I could still remember that hot-metal scent of the old studio lights, the thrill of applause echoing through the soundstage. That rush. I really thought it would last forever.

I’d racked up over a hundred movies and TV shows, always hearing applause. Then reality hit. The first time I showed up on reality TV as an adult, I opened my mouth and got roasted alive:

“So cringey! Why does Autumn Taylor talk like that now? Can’t she just talk normal?”

I just stared at the screen. Ouch.

It was like the whole internet had been waiting to pounce. My social feeds exploded with memes, reaction gifs, and more hate than I’d ever seen outside a 2020 election thread.

Every time I opened my mouth, they called it fake. If I solved a puzzle, the crew must’ve fed me the answer. If I helped a teammate, I was hogging the spotlight. Even when I tripped and got hurt, they said it was scripted to push the spoiled princess angle.

I’d never felt so exposed. The editing was savage. They’d chop up my worst moments, slap on a dramatic soundtrack, and boom—I was the villain of the week. And then, as if on cue, a newcomer, Mia Lane—everything I wasn’t—got a rocket boost and started landing every gig. My rep tanked so hard I could only keep my name in circulation by walking red carpets and doing random guest spots. That was my life.

No backing, no buzz, and now an actual Oscar winner wants to fake a romance with me? For real?

“He wants to break up the mega-popular Carter-Mia ‘ship’—you know, the fan-favorite couple everyone wants to see together. Using you.”

Got it.

I let out a sigh—half laugh, half resignation. Besides being called a troublemaker, I was also known as the ‘Showmance Wrecker.’ Like, in italics.

I always seemed to pop up between hot couples—sometimes in close photos, sometimes with flirty banter on camera. My offbeat accent—Midwestern with a weird lilt from my grandma—had single-handedly sunk every ship I crossed, making all the shippers curse my name.

I used to doomscroll those fan forums, just to see what fresh hell people were saying. It was never good. But I learned to laugh it off—or at least act like I could. Go figure.

“Go get the contract sorted. I’ll do the show.”

Marsha’s eyes sparkled. She gave me a quick hug, squeezing my shoulders tight. “You’re making the right call, kid.” She meant it. I felt it.

When the official announcement for “One Percent” dropped, the comments section was wild: people were all about their faves and taking shots at me. No surprise there.

“A-list show, and they cast Autumn Taylor? Who’d she sleep with to get in?”

“Her voice is so fake, I want to toss my lunch!”

“Zero charisma! Replace her!”

I bawled my eyes out. Full-on meltdown.

I tried to hold it together, but those comments stung like hell. I curled up on my couch, clutching a pillow. Ugly crying. My face went all blotchy. Marsha showed up, sat next to me, and patted my knee. “Stop doomscrolling. Most of them are just trolls.”

I sniffled, tears streaming, voice all shaky: “It’s been three years, and this is the first time I’ve seen my own name trending. Carter Evans really is a big deal… and here I am, sobbing over it.”

He really was. The kind of big deal you feel in your bones.