Viral Lies And Billionaire Ties Chapter 1

The penalty for losing the game was supposed to be a simple, if slightly humiliating, dare: post “I’m 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 dater—me—crash 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. I’m going to pretend I never saw it, sis.]

[DELETE IT NOW!]

The chart-topping pop idol:

[Whatever you want, just name it. I’m 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 man—I 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, you’ll 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. He’s 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.