It was astounding how much could change in a single week.
Just days ago, I had been watching my life crumble, and now I was standing at the peak of something new. My face was plastered on billboards, magazines, and social media campaigns as the new face of a luxury brand—a title that had once belonged to Debbie Pearson.
The scandal had completely dismantled her career, and with her endorsements pulled, her name was all but erased from the acting industry.
During that week, Matthew didn’t stop trying to get my attention. My phone buzzed relentlessly with his texts and missed calls using new numbers each time I blocked him. He sent flowers, gifts, and even handwritten letters begging for forgiveness.
“Jillian, please just talk to me.”
“I made a mistake. We can fix this.”
“I love you.”
I deleted every message without reading further. I burned the flowers and trashed the gifts without hesitation. He could grovel all he wanted, but I was done.
Finally, the day I’d been waiting for arrived—the first day of shooting for the much-anticipated film. The set was abuzz with activity as everyone prepared for the announcement of the new male lead.
The production team had been tight-lipped about his identity, teasing the media and fans with the promise of a surprise. Even I didn’t know who it would be.
On set, the air was alive with excitement and speculation. The crew hustled to get everything ready, and I could hear whispers of curiosity among the staff.
“Do you think it’ll be someone famous?”
“Maybe a rising star?”
As I walked towards my tent to prepare, I heard a familiar voice coming from the director’s office.
“Please, you can’t replace me. You know no one else can deliver what I can,” Matthew’s voice echoed, filled with desperation.
I stopped in my tracks, my stomach twisting in disgust. Of course, he was here, still trying to claw his way back into relevance.
The director responded. “The decision has been made, Matthew. It’s not up for discussion.”
I smirked to myself and kept walking. He was getting exactly what he deserved.
Inside my tent, the makeup artist assigned to me turned out to be Debbie’s former stylist. When I saw her, I raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on me.
“Is this okay, Ms. Brennan?” the stylist asked nervously, probably wondering if I’d object.
“It’s perfect,” I said with a smile. “Let’s get started.”
As I sat in the chair, letting her work, I could feel the weight of the day settling in. This was my moment—a chance to reclaim everything I had sacrificed for Matthew. But, of course, he couldn’t stay out of my way for long.
The tent flap burst open, and there he was—Matthew Flores, looking disheveled and frantic.
“Jillian,” he said, his voice pleading.
I didn’t even flinch. “What do you want, Matthew?”
He stepped closer, his eyes wide with desperation. “You have to help me. Please, I’m begging you.”
I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “Help you? After everything you’ve done? You must be joking.”
“I made a mistake,” he said quickly. “I know I messed up, but I want to make it right. Please, Jillian. I need you.”
“You needed me five years ago, Matthew. Now? You’re on your own.”
His desperation turned into anger, and he stepped closer, his voice rising. “You don’t understand. My career is falling apart. I have nothing left.”
“And whose fault is that?” I snapped, standing up from the chair. “I gave you everything, Matthew. My time, my energy, my love. And you threw it all away. You don’t get to come crawling back now.”
He reached out, his hand brushing my arm. “Please, Jillian, I’ll do anything—”
Before he could finish, I grabbed the nearest water bottle and threw it at his face.
The cold water splashed over him, and he froze, stunned.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he shouted, wiping his face. His expression twisted with fury, and for a moment, I thought he might lash out.
But before he could do anything, another hand shot out, grabbing Matthew’s wrist and stopping him in his tracks.
“Back off,” a deep voice said.
I turned, my eyes widening as I saw the man standing behind Matthew.
Brett Cantrell.
Matthew’s eyes widened in shock. “Brett? What the hell are you doing here?”
Brett smirked, his grip on Matthew’s wrist tightening. “What else? I’m here because I’m the male lead for this movie.”
My jaw dropped. Brett Cantrell is my leading man?
The Brett Cantrell. The A-list actor who had disappeared from the spotlight years ago. Everyone in the industry had always speculated where he’d gone. Now, here he was, standing in front of me—every inch the star he used to be—declaring he was the male lead for the movie I was about to star in.
I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could, Brett turned to me with that trademark smirk that could melt anyone’s resolve. His eyes locked onto mine, and then, as if the words had been rehearsed for years, he said:
“Oh, hello there, my dear fiancée…”
The world seemed to tilt, and my breath caught in my throat as my eyes widened.
“Fiancée?” I whispered to myself, more confused than I had ever been in my life.
