Luna's POV
The eviction notice felt like ice in my hands.
I stared at the red words stamped across the paper: FINAL NOTICE - PAY OR QUIT. Seven days. That's all I had left before they threw me out of my apartment like yesterday's trash.
Twenty-three dollars and forty-seven cents. That's what sat in my bank account. Not even enough for groceries, let alone rent.
My phone buzzed on the empty kitchen counter. The screen showed Marcus Webb, my manager. My stomach dropped. Marcus only called with two kinds of news these days - bad or worse.
"Please tell me you have good news," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Luna..." Marcus sighed, and I knew it was going to be worse. "The studio pulled out of the movie deal."
"What?" I dropped into my only remaining chair. I'd sold everything else last month. "But they already signed the contract!"
"They found out about the grocery store thing. Someone filmed you yelling at that reporter last week. It's all over social media now."
My face burned with shame. I'd been buying ramen noodles - the only food I could afford - when some reporter stuck a camera in my face and asked if I was "too broke to buy real food." I'd lost it. Completely lost it.
"I was defending myself," I whispered.
"I know, kid. But they're calling you difficult. Unstable. The studio doesn't want the drama."
I closed my eyes. This was it. The final nail in my career's coffin. At twenty-eight, I was washed up, broke, and hated by everyone in Hollywood.
"There is one more option," Marcus said carefully.
"I'm listening."
"A reality show called 'Love Island Luxury.' They want you to be a contestant."
I almost laughed. "A dating show? Marcus, I haven't had a real relationship in three years. Everyone thinks I'm toxic."
"That's exactly why they want you." His voice got quieter. "They need a villain, Luna. Someone to stir up drama. Make the other girls look good by comparison."
The words hit me like a slap. "They want to pay me to be the bad guy?"
"Fifty thousand dollars for one month of filming."
Fifty thousand. Enough to pay my rent, buy food, maybe even save a little. I hated myself for considering it, but what choice did I have?
"What would I have to do?"
"Start fights. Break up couples. Make the audience hate you even more than they already do." Marcus paused. "I'm sorry, Luna. I know it's not what you dreamed of when you started acting."
When I started acting. I was seven years old then, standing on movie sets with my mom, believing Hollywood was magical. Now look at me.
"Do I have any other choice?" I asked.
"Not if you want to keep a roof over your head."
I stared at the eviction notice. Seven days.
"Fine," I said. "I'll do it."
"Luna-"
"I'll be their villain." My voice came out harder than I meant it to. "I'll give them exactly what they want."
After I hung up, I sat in my empty apartment and cried. Not pretty tears like actresses cry in movies. Ugly, angry sobs that left my face red and my eyes puffy.
This wasn't supposed to be my life. I was supposed to be a serious actress. I was supposed to win awards and make movies that mattered. Instead, I was about to sell my soul to reality TV.
I walked to my bedroom and pulled out my old suitcase. Time to pack for the most embarrassing month of my life.
At the bottom of my dresser drawer, under old scripts and forgotten headshots, my fingers found something unexpected. A photograph.
My breath caught in my throat.
It was me at age ten, standing next to my mother on a movie set. We were both smiling, both believing the future was bright and full of possibilities. Before the drinking. Before the fights. Before Mom died and left me alone in this cruel city.
I turned the photo over and saw my mother's handwriting in faded blue ink:
"My beautiful Luna - Remember that not everyone in Hollywood wants to help you succeed. Some people will try to use you, hurt you, or worse. Never trust anyone completely, baby girl. Love always, Mom."
My hands started shaking.
Mom had written this twelve years ago, but she was still trying to protect me from beyond the grave. She'd known something I was too young to understand then.
Hollywood was dangerous.
I thought about the reality show. About Vincent Torrino, the producer Marcus had mentioned. About going to some luxury mansion where cameras would watch my every move.
What if this wasn't just about making me look bad? What if there was something darker going on?
I flipped the photo back over and studied my mother's face. She looked worried in the picture, even though she was smiling. Like she knew something terrible was coming.
Three weeks after this photo was taken, she'd died in a car accident. The police said she'd been drinking, but I always wondered if there was more to the story. Mom had been asking questions about some powerful people right before she died. Making enemies.
Just like I was about to do.
My phone buzzed with a text from Marcus: "Car picks you up tomorrow at 8 AM. Remember - you're playing a character. Don't be yourself. Be the villain they expect."
I looked at Mom's warning again: "Never trust anyone completely, baby girl."
What if Marcus wasn't trying to help me? What if he was setting me up for something worse than just embarrassment?
What if this reality show was more dangerous than it seemed?
I held the photograph to my chest and made a silent promise to my mother's memory: I would go to this show, but I wouldn't trust anyone. Not the producers, not the other contestants, not even Marcus.
Because if Hollywood had taught me anything, it was that sometimes the people who promise to help you are the ones planning to destroy you.
The question was: would I be able to figure out who was trying to hurt me before it was too late?