After My Husband Called His Mistress His Real Star

The applause faded. I stood in the wings, still holding the pages I hadn't needed. My heart was doing something strange—beating too fast and too slow at the same time.

In the VIP section, Rome leaned close to Destiny. His mouth moved near her ear. I couldn't hear the words, but I saw his expression. Not guilt. Not even discomfort. Something colder. Irritation, maybe. Like I'd done something inconvenient by refusing to simply collapse.

Destiny's smile adjusted. She pulled out her phone, typed something quick, then tucked it away and laughed at something Rome said. Her hand found his knee.

I turned away. Looked at the crew bustling around me, setting up for the final segment. No one met my eyes. They moved around me like I was a piece of furniture. Something to navigate around, not acknowledge.

"Meadow?" A PA appeared at my elbow. Young. Maybe twenty-three. I recognized him—he'd worked on a film I did four years ago. Back then he'd asked for an autograph for his sister. Told me I was her favorite actress.

Now he held a clipboard and wouldn't look at me.

"They need you back on stage in five," he said to the clipboard.

"Is this rigged?" The words came out quieter than I'd intended. Not an accusation. A question.

His hand went to his headset. Adjusted it even though it didn't need adjusting. "I just—I'm just doing my job."

"I know," I said. "But is it rigged?"

He looked at me then. Just for a second. Something moved behind his eyes. Something that might have been shame or might have been fear or might have been both.

"Five minutes," he said, and walked away fast.

I watched him go. Watched him disappear into the controlled chaos of cameras and cables and people who had decided, collectively, that I was the acceptable sacrifice tonight.

My hand found the bracelet. The metal was warm from my skin. I pressed it against my wrist, feeling my pulse against it. Steady. Still steady.

I squared my shoulders and walked toward the stage.

The lights came up for the final segment. Callen's energy had shifted again—higher now, almost manic. This was the finale. The moment the whole night had been building toward.

"Alright, alright!" He clapped his hands together. "Time for our last challenge. And this one is all about connection. About meeting your audience where they are. In the digital age, that means social media!"

A screen descended behind him. My Twitter profile appeared. The follower count glowed in the corner: 847K. Respectable once. Now it looked small next to the numbers the younger contestants pulled.

"Here's the challenge," Callen continued. "You'll create and post a sixty-second brand partnership video—right here, right now, live. Our sponsor has generously provided the product." He held up a energy drink I'd never heard of. "You'll post it to your account, and we'll track engagement in real time. First person to hit ten thousand interactions wins!"

The other contestants looked nervous. Brittany pulled out her phone immediately, already planning.

I looked at the energy drink. At the camera they were setting up. At the timer on the screen that would count down my sixty seconds.

"The benchmark is ten thousand," Callen repeated, his smile wide. "Likes, comments, shares—anything counts. You have sixty seconds to film and two minutes for engagement to roll in. Let's see who really knows how to connect with an audience!"

Brittany went first. Her video was polished, practiced. She'd done this before. The engagement counter started climbing immediately: 1K, 3K, 5K. She hit the benchmark with thirty seconds to spare. The audience cheered.

The others followed. Each one hit the mark. Each one knew exactly how to angle the phone, exactly what tone to use, exactly how to make sixty seconds feel authentic and aspirational at the same time.

Then it was my turn.

I held the phone. Looked at the energy drink. The camera crew waited. The audience waited. In the VIP section, Destiny leaned forward, her smile sharp.

"Whenever you're ready," Callen said.

I hit record. Talked about the drink. Made it through sixty seconds without stumbling. Posted it.

The engagement counter appeared on the big screen. Started climbing.

500. 1K. 1.5K.

Then it slowed. Crawled. The two-minute timer ticked down.

2K. 2.3K. 2.5K.

The audience started shifting. Someone coughed. Someone else giggled.

3K. 3.1K.

The timer hit zero.

Final count: 3,847.

The audience groaned. Not cruelly, exactly. But not kindly either. Heads shaking. Sympathetic grimaces. The sound of people watching someone fail at something that should have been easy.

Callen's hand landed on my shoulder. "Hey, you gave it a shot! That's what matters. Not everyone can keep up with the digital age, and that's okay!"

The condescension in his voice was perfect. Practiced. Designed to sound kind.

I stepped away from his hand. Walked off stage. The applause that followed felt like relief.

Backstage, I stood in the shadows and pulled out my phone. Opened the PDF one more time. Section 7. Ten million dollars.

The trap had closed. Now I just needed to decide what to do about it.