Chapter 1: Viral Wife, Zero Effort

So, I somehow ended up married to a ridiculously rich guy and thrown onto a celebrity couples travel reality show. While all the other couples were out there doing their best to look madly in love for the audience, I was holed up in the hotel suite playing video games, even joking with my husband about getting a divorce. Seriously, who does that? But somehow, our totally fake marriage became a hit. The internet wouldn’t shut up: “Real couples don’t fake it. I’m obsessed!”

Honestly, if you’d told me a year ago that I’d be lounging around in designer pajamas—eating room service fries—dodging the spotlight—while the internet fell head over heels for my complete indifference, I’d have laughed you out of the room. Yet here I was, a viral sensation for being the world’s most unbothered trophy wife.

Yeah, that’s me—lucky, right? I’d landed smack in the plot of a romance novel as the villainess—a total drama queen in the entertainment biz. The original character fell hard for the super loyal second lead, Chase Bennett, and chased after him like it was her job. Meanwhile, the heroine, Savannah Parker, married someone else, so Chase, needing a convenient shield, just casually married the villainess. After their wedding, the heroine joined a couples reality show, and the villainess, desperate to compete, volunteered too. She was always trying to outshine the heroine, going head-to-head, but kept getting schooled by Savannah’s perfect marriage. Not only did viewers drag her online, but Chase lost all patience. After the show, they divorced in a flash, and the villainess died, miserable and alone. Fun, right?

Let’s just say, I never signed up to be the country’s unluckiest reality TV villain. But fate—or, honestly, a really weird cosmic joke—had other plans. Why me?

My luck? Absolutely bottom-tier. I landed right at the start of the reality show, with all the guests checking in together. The show gave us these massive suites with two bedrooms and a living room. Like always, Chase and I had our own rooms. But when I woke up, I was in Chase’s bed. He’d just gotten out of the shower, still damp, his robe tied just so. Seriously, no wonder the fans drooled over him. Only the heroine was supposed to get a look at that body. His hair flopped over his forehead, bangs nearly covering his eyes, but that sharp stare cut right through me.

A bead of water rolled down his jaw, the room still steamy and thick with heat. For a second, I was more mortified by the awkwardness than the fact that I’d basically wandered onto the wrong movie set. Could this get any more cringe?

“What are you doing?” he snapped, sounding like he’d just bitten into a lemon.

His voice could’ve frozen a Florida summer. I shot off the bed like I’d sat on a cactus. Minus the blanket, my camisole nightgown was on full display. Even with me standing there, Chase didn’t flinch—if anything, he just looked even more annoyed. “Harper, I told you—there’s nothing between us. Let’s just keep our distance.”

His eyes didn’t even flicker. If I was hoping for a single ounce of embarrassment, nope—nothing. I froze, halfway out the door. I mean, simping is bad, but if you don’t even like the villainess, why agree to a couples reality show? Honestly, isn’t that pretty hypocritical? I nodded, threw in a little clap for good measure. “Couldn’t agree more!”

I even threw in a dramatic bow. He just glared. Figures. The tension in the room could’ve snapped a guitar string. Typical.

“If we’re supposed to keep our distance, why bother with the show? Let’s just quit.”

Now Chase looked genuinely surprised. He frowned, sizing me up. Ha, what are you staring at? Meet Harper Madison: Future Divorcee. His glare was sharp enough to make my confidence wobble, but I stood my ground, hands on my hips, glaring right back. After a beat, he said, “We have to finish filming the show.”

He said it flat, like it was a corporate merger he couldn’t back out of. Ugh. In the novel, he only joined the show to check if the heroine was happy in her marriage. He hadn’t seen her yet, so of course he wouldn’t bail. Your move, buddy. I snorted. “Then you’d better put on a good show.” Slam. I shut the door. That felt good.

The echo of the door slamming was almost therapeutic. Back in my room, I flopped onto the bed, daydreaming about the future. The show would film for two weeks. After that, I’d divorce Chase and become a small-time actress in Hollywood—easy street. No interest in cozying up to Chase. As long as I kept my head down, two weeks would fly by! I giggled under the covers. Dream big, right?

I even started mentally drafting my post-divorce Instagram captions—something like, “Living my best life, single and thriving.” Ha.

The next day was a free activity day. I slept until 11. By then, everyone else’s livestreams showed them working out, cooking, exploring town—already overachieving before noon. Savannah and her husband had already served up the show’s first viral moment: feeding each other in the kitchen. She was a popular young actress married to a trust-fund cutie. The comments were pure chaos: “Her rich husband spoils her so much, Savannah is living the dream!”

I scrolled through the comments on my phone, still half-asleep and already bracing for the roast.

“What’s Harper up to? She’s usually so dramatic, but now she’s disappeared.”

“She’s been sleeping all morning, hasn’t shown up once. But her husband left early for something.”

“She actually married Chase Bennett! He’s built like a model, super handsome, and loaded! I’m crying!”

I was basically immune to these comments. After a quick wash, I headed downstairs. In the kitchen, Savannah and her husband, Mason Carter, were still deep in their cutesy routine. Every time she sliced a cucumber, she gazed at him. Washed lettuce? Time for a hug. They’d volunteered to make lunch for everyone, but at this rate, we’d all starve before food was ready. “Our little sleepyhead Harper is finally up!”

I winced at Savannah’s singsong voice, already picturing the chat blowing up. Me: …No need to announce it, the viewers already know I sleep in and have roasted me for it. I went to the fridge for food, and Savannah came over. “You didn’t get up this morning, so Chase didn’t get any breakfast. I had to grab a sandwich from the fridge for him.”

Her signature sweet, fake-innocent face was full of concern. “You’re married now. You can’t just do whatever you want anymore. You need to take responsibility as a wife.”

Here come the pitchforks. Right on cue, the comments went wild. “Wow, our goddess is so beautiful and kind, even thinking about Harper’s feelings. She’s too good!”

“Harper doesn’t deserve it. Anyone who’s seen her diva antics knows she’s hopeless.”

“Divorce is only a matter of time. I’m waiting for it!”

I opened the fridge, which was neatly stocked with sandwiches, drinks, and other ingredients. I bit into the sandwich, barely tasting it. When I didn’t respond, Savannah looked hurt. “Are you mad at me for meddling? I’m sorry, I just didn’t want him to go hungry.”

I could feel my blood pressure rising. I couldn’t be bothered to play her games on camera. “Yeah, you are meddling. Someone might think you actually made him that sandwich.”

“And Chase is allergic to peanut butter. He can’t eat this.”

Savannah just blinked, totally lost. “I just meant well.”

Sure, just like how you ‘meant well’ volunteering to cook on the show, then took two hours and still didn’t finish, so everyone had to eat out instead. All for more screen time. “Thanks for your concern, but don’t worry about lunch for me.” Mic drop.

I added a polite, tight-lipped smile for the camera, then turned away, making sure the viewers saw I wasn’t taking the bait. Whatever.

In the novel, Chase was out working all day and came back late. The original villainess joined activities alone, becoming the target of ridicule and pity. “So what if you marry into a rich family? Without love, you’re still pitiful.”