JULIA POV

The rough asphalt burned through the soles of my shoes as the two security guards dragged me away, giving me no chance to stand. They hauled me past cables, cameras, and crew members who stopped whatever they were doing just to watch the free show.

Sharp stares and whispers spread like wildfire. Phones were raised without hesitation, recording my face as it burned with humiliation—and now, pure rage.

“Let go! I can walk on my own!” I shouted, trying to wrench my arms free.

Their grip only tightened, locking down so hard I knew my arms would be bruised tomorrow.

“Shut up and get out!” one of them barked, shoving me through the metal barricades that separated the set from the public street.

I stumbled onto the sidewalk, my knees slamming hard against the concrete. Pedestrians turned, staring in shock.

“Cause trouble again, and we’re calling the cops, ma’am!” the guard yelled, his voice dripping with disgust. “Crazy bitch, ruining our lead actor’s peace!”

The gate slammed shut and locked with a heavy metallic clang.

I was left stranded among a crowd of strangers who immediately began whispering and pointing. In a small town like Spring Creek, even the smallest spark of drama became a wildfire of gossip.

But I did not care about them.

My mind was trapped inside that trailer, focused on the phone that had been stomped on.

With trembling hands, I opened my grip. The screen was a shattered spiderweb, flickering with erratic green lines.

“No, no...” Panic choked me.

The screen went completely black. Dead.

I pressed the power button over and over, praying for a miracle, but the display remained dark—empty, just like my hope.

“Julia! Julia!”

I looked up and saw Ashley running toward me, breathless and pale. She grabbed my arms and pulled me to my feet, her eyes wide with alarm.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“My phone... I have to call the hospital,” I whispered, tears finally spilling over and dripping onto the cracked glass. “I ruined everything, Ash. I’m so sorry. Your job—”

“Do not worry about it,” Ashley cut in frantically, shoving her phone in front of my face. “But Julia, you need to leave. Right now. Look.”

A short video was already playing on her screen. It was a terrible, low-angle clip of me screaming and struggling while security dragged me out.

The caption made my chest tighten until I could barely breathe:

Middle-aged stalker targets young actor: Drama on the set of The Rich Boy in Disguise.

The comments were pouring in like venom, calling me an obsessed, mentally unstable criminal.

“I just wanted to make Jilly smile,” I whispered, my blood turning to ice.

“I know, but the world does not care about the truth. They only care about who has the camera and the power,” Ashley said, her voice shaking as she looked around at the gathering crowd. “People are already recognizing you, Julia. Go. Run to the hospital before reporters find you here. Take the back street. Now!”

I did not argue. I forced my legs to move. They trembled violently beneath me.

My scraped knees burned every time the fabric of my pants brushed against the raw skin, but that physical pain was nothing compared to the gaping hole in my chest.

As I fled through the alleyways, I squeezed the dead phone in my pocket.

I was no longer just Julia, the struggling single mother. In a matter of minutes, I had been rewritten into a monster who threatened their precious prince, Damon Watts.

Oh God, I thought as a fresh wave of panic hit me. Please do not let Jilly see the TV!

My feet felt like lead as I finally pushed open the glass doors of the hospital lobby. I kept my head lowered, praying the baseball cap was enough to hide my face.

But the moment I passed the reception desk, the atmosphere shifted.

The nurses looked up, their eyes widening.

Visitors in the waiting area turned to stare openly, pointing as a heavy murmur slithered through the room like a nest of rattlesnakes.

“That’s her, right? The stalker mom from the internet?” a woman whispered loudly, showing her phone to the person beside her.

I forced myself to walk faster, hurrying toward the elevator as shame burned a hot trail up my neck. My throat felt painfully dry.

When the elevator doors opened on the pediatric oncology floor, a nurse named Sarah intercepted me. She looked shocked, but there was no hatred in her expression.

“Mrs. Pierce,” she breathed, pulling me aside. “Oh my God... is the news true?”

I shook my head frantically. “It is a misunderstanding. It is not what it looks like, I swear.”

“The internet will move on, Mrs. Pierce. Just try to stay calm,” she said softly, patting my back with sympathy.

Then she glanced at the clock. “Wait, are you not supposed to be at the diner tonight?”

My breath caught. The shift!

I was supposed to be at work an hour ago, but in my panic over Jilly and the viral video, I had run straight here.

“Sarah, please, can I borrow the desk phone? I need to call my boss,” I begged.

She guided me into the nurses’ station and pointed to the landline. As I lifted the receiver, my eyes accidentally drifted to the computer screen on the desk. An entertainment article was open, featuring my face beside a polished photo of Damon Watts.

I glanced at the top comments, and it was a fatal mistake.

"Old hag chasing a younger guy? Disgusting."

"She looks unhinged. Put her in jail."

Tears blurred my vision. They did not know I had been there begging for my daughter’s life.

I forced myself to look away and dialed the diner’s number.

“Hello?”

“Alfred, it’s me. Julia,” I said, my voice cracking.

“Oh. Julia.” Alfred’s voice was stiff, stripped of its usual warmth. “I saw the news.”

“Alfred, please, it is a mistake. Let me explain—”

“You do not need to come back to the diner, Julia,” he cut me off, his tone cold and final.

I froze. The world seemed to dim, and my knees threatened to give out right there on the linoleum floor.

“What?”

“Everyone has seen it! Customers are calling the diner, asking why I employ a crazy, viral stalker!” Alfred snapped. “This is a quiet family business, Julia. Not a shelter for internet criminals!”

“Please, Alfred, listen to me,” I sobbed, humiliation swallowing my pride. “I only asked for an autograph for Jilly. I did not attack anyone! You know Jilly is fighting for her life. I need this job to pay for her treatments. Please, you know who I am!”

A heavy sigh echoed through the line. “Julia... just take some time off. Until this cools down. Okay?”

“But Alfred—”

“Do not make this harder than it already is. I will transfer the remaining pay for this week. I am not taking it away. Just... stay away.”

The line went dead.

I stood there, paralyzed, the dial tone buzzing in my ear like a mocking laugh. My world had just completely collapsed.

I hung up the receiver with trembling fingers, feeling the last shreds of my stability slip away.

With what little strength I had left, I wiped my face, forced my expression into something resembling calm, and walked toward Room 303.

Jilly’s room.

But the moment I stepped inside, my heart dropped into my stomach.

Jilly was sitting upright in her small hospital bed, her eyes glued to the TV mounted on the wall. The local news station was broadcasting a live segment.

And right there on the screen was the unedited footage of her mother being dragged away like trash from Damon Watts’ trailer.

Oh, my God!

JULIA POV

I immediately grabbed the remote with trembling hands, frantically pressing the buttons to switch the TV to another channel. My heart pounded so violently in my chest that it created an unbearable ache.

I was terrified that if I was even a second too late changing the channel, the beautiful image of a hero living inside my little girl’s head would shatter into pieces in an instant. I did not want her to see her mother being treated like garbage in front of the public.

“Sweetheart...” My voice caught in my throat, sounding hoarse and pathetic.

Jilly looked at me, tilting her head slightly, now nearly bald from the endless rounds of chemotherapy. The eyes, usually dim and exhausted, now looked deeply disturbed.

“Why did they do that to you, Mom? Why were the people on TV yelling at you?”

Damn it, too late!

I quickly shook my head, forcing a smile that felt as stiff as an iron mask on my face.

“It’s nothing, sweetheart,” I lied, and the lie tasted hollow on my tongue.

I hurried to sit on the edge of her narrow hospital bed that smelled faintly of medicine. I wrapped my arms around Jilly’s small body as carefully as possible, restraining every movement because I was afraid of hurting her thin arm, which still had an IV needle taped into it.

But lately, every time I hugged Jilly, my embrace felt emptier.

Her body felt lighter with each passing day, as if she were nothing more than a wisp of smoke that could disappear from my arms at any moment.

That reality made my chest tighten so painfully that it felt as though I had been struck by a sledgehammer.

I buried my face in her thin shoulder, breathing in her scent, now heavily mixed with the sharp smell of hospital antiseptic.

“No, sweetheart. They were not angry at me. It was all just... a misunderstanding,” I whispered softly near her ear.

I squeezed my eyes shut and bit the inside of my lip as hard as I could.

I refused to let the tears fall.

Because I did not want Jilly to see my swollen, red, broken eyes.

It would only make her sad and blame herself.

My daughter was only six years old, but months spent in this oncology ward had forced her to grow far beyond her years.

She had become incredibly sensitive to every emotional shift around her, especially mine.

“Does Damon hate you, Mom?”

Jilly’s innocent question suddenly pierced straight through my heart.

I flinched and slowly loosened my embrace so I could look directly into her clear, round eyes.

Jilly pointed toward the TV screen, even though the channel had long since changed to a noisy cartoon program.

“On TV, they said Mom hurt Damon. That cannot be true, right?” Jilly shook her head firmly, as though she was trying to convince herself while building a defense for me. “Damon is a good person. He is brave and never afraid of anything. There is no way he could hate Mom.”

Seeing the pure hope and admiration shining in her eyes, I could only nod helplessly, betraying all the anger raging inside my head.

“Yes, sweetheart. The news is completely wrong. None of what was on TV is true.”

“But... did Mom really meet him?” Jilly asked again.

Her eyes instantly lit up, radiating a spark of life that had long disappeared from her pale face.

I fell silent. My tongue suddenly felt numb and stiff.

How could I possibly tell a wonderful child like this the truth?

That the hero whose photos covered every corner of this room—the man whose face she hugged every night in the form of a pillow—was actually nothing more than a selfish and arrogant twenty-year-old?

A drunken actor who raged inside his trailer, shouting with alcohol on his breath, and dismissed a desperate mother begging for help as nothing more than cheap drama threatening his privacy?

“No, sweetheart. I didn't meet him. Security would not let me in. I’m sorry, okay?” I replied, swallowing the pain that relentlessly burned through my chest.

At this moment, I felt like the most useless and failed mother in the world.

“I really wanted to meet him, Mom. Since he is here in town, I wanted to see him in person. Especially... before I—”

Jilly paused, her gaze drifting down to her thin fingers attached to the heart monitor.

“Before, I could not see him anymore...”

“Stop, Jilly!” I cut in quickly.

My voice came out louder and sharper than I intended.

Regret hit me instantly when I saw Jilly flinch. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the violent tremor inside my chest.

I could not bear hearing her talk about death. I was not ready. And I would never be ready to let her go.

“Hey, baby... I'm sorry. I did not mean to snap at you,” I said gently, taking her fragile fingers and kissing them over and over. “I just don't like hearing you talk like that. You are not going anywhere. You have to stay here and keep fighting with me. Understand?”

Jilly looked at me for a long moment. “Okay.”

Then she nodded softly, wearing a resigned smile that was far too mature for her age.

“I knew it,” Jilly continued, trying to ease the tension that had briefly settled between us.

A small smile returned to her dry lips.

“If Mom had really met Damon and gotten his autograph, Mom would have cried happy tears the moment she walked through that door.”

My forehead creased as I fought desperately to hold back the tears already gathering in my eyes. “Why would I cry?”

“Because Mom always cries whenever she is too happy,” she answered innocently.

The moment those words left her mouth, every defense I had built since being dragged from that film set like an animal collapsed completely.

Tears burst free and streamed down my cheeks.

I quickly pulled her back into my arms, hiding my shattered face so she would not see it.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry I have not been able to be a good mother for you...”

As my face rested against her increasingly thinning hair, my eyes accidentally landed on the Damon Watts pillow beside her bed.

If my daughter did not adore him so much, I swore I would grab that pillow, throw it out the window, and let it be crushed beneath car tires.

A fierce anger suddenly ignited inside my chest, multiplying my hatred toward that rich, spoiled young man who chose to escape life’s pressures through a bottle of alcohol.

Because of him, my world—which had already been cracked—had now shattered completely.

Damon Watts destroyed my phone, the only valuable thing I owned that contained every photo memory of Jilly, from infancy to the last picture before this damned cancer stole her beautiful hair.

And losing my phone was not even the worst part.

Because of the viral scandal and the disgusting narrative his agency created... Alfred had just fired me from the diner.

My thoughts spiraled wildly, haunted by overwhelming fear as I thought about the mountain of hospital bills piling higher and higher inside the drawer at home.

We had nobody left in Spring Creek.

I had been forced to bring Jilly to this small town a year ago, fleeing as far as possible after my traumatic and painful divorce from my ex-husband, Jason Lee.

Jason was a manipulative and cruel man who abandoned his responsibilities, leaving us drowning in debt and emotional scars. Moving here had been my plan for a quiet new beginning.

But Jilly’s cancer diagnosis destroyed everything.

And earlier this morning, before the disaster on the film set, Dr. Grant had already delivered a horrifying verdict, calling me into that cold hospital hallway reeking of antiseptic.

…

“Her platelet count dropped again last night, Mrs. Pierce,” Dr. Grant had said, his eyes filled with a mixture of professional sympathy and helplessness. “Her body is no longer responding to treatment as effectively as before. Our focus now is making sure Jilly remains comfortable.”

…

Comfortable.

That word kept spinning inside my head like a curse. Comfortable was the hospital’s gentle code for the fact that the medical team was beginning to give up.

Jilly had stage four leukemia. And I was watching my only daughter slowly fade away right before my eyes.

“If Damon met you, he would definitely defend you, Mom,” Jilly suddenly said, breaking me out of my terrible thoughts with her cheerful voice. “He would know that Mom is the nicest person in the world, and he would protect you from those bad people.”

“Yeah... maybe, sweetheart,” I whispered with a bitter smile that hurt to wear.

But deep inside the darkest part of my heart, my thoughts screamed in fierce rejection of her innocent words.

I did not need Damon Watts to be my hero. I did not need a spoiled actor drowning himself in alcohol to save my life.

I would be my own hero. And Jilly’s.

Even if tomorrow I had to crawl through the streets, lose every shred of dignity I had left, and face millions of hateful comments from strangers on the internet, I would never give up.

I would face the cruelty of this entire world with my head held high rather than sit quietly and watch my little girl’s imagination and final hope collapse before its time.

DAMON POV

My head felt like it was being hammered over and over again, the pounding making me nauseous and my heart racing faster. Cold sweat drenched my body the moment I woke up. I squeezed my eyes shut again, trying to block out the sunlight slipping through the gap in the hotel curtains.

But the nausea only got worse.

I reached across the nightstand, searching for a bottle of water, but my hand touched my phone instead. I grabbed it, squinting as the bright screen lit up.

A flood of social media notifications and text messages from my agent, Marcus, appeared like a barrage of bullets.

“Great job, Damon! Engagement is up 400% this morning. The ‘Middle-Aged Stalker Mom’ narrative is making people sympathize with you. Your name is trending,” Marcus wrote in one of his messages.

I let out a quiet scoff and tossed the phone onto the empty side of the bed.

Narrative. Everything in my life was a narrative.

Yesterday, I was the “humble and talented young actor.” Today, I was the “victim of a fanatical fan’s harassment.”

Tomorrow? Who knows. It all depends on what the agency wants to sell.

I forced myself to sit up and groaned softly as another sharp throb slammed into my skull.

“Oh, God.”

The smell of the room and its condition only made me feel dizzier. Designer clothes were scattered across the floor like trash, the script for the series I was supposed to memorize was spread across the table, and the stale scent of vape smoke hung in the air.

I dragged myself out of bed and grabbed the only bottle of water left.

“Jilly,” I murmured unconsciously.

Slowly, memories of the woman from yesterday drifted through my mind. I could not remember her face clearly. All I remembered was a cheap baseball cap. But her voice...

For some reason, it kept bothering me. That trembling voice when she begged me about her daughter. Jilly, right?

The hotel room door burst open with a slam that had become all too familiar. Marcus walked in, dressed impeccably as always, and wearing that wide smile that never failed to make me sick.

“Damon! You're finally awake! Our national hero!” he exclaimed as he set a cup of coffee on the table. “Your coffee, as usual.”

I let out a breath. “I want water.”

Marcus blinked and immediately pulled out his phone. He held up one finger, clearly meaning in a minute.

Then he sat down on the couch, looking at me with excitement and pride.

“Did you see the news? The video of that crazy woman getting arrested is trending number one on every platform,” Marcus continued, as if the story would somehow go stale if he did not bring it up immediately.

“My water.”

“It’s on the way.” He cleared his throat. “About that story...”

Marcus should have realized I did not want to talk about it.

But when had I ever been able to refuse anything Marcus said or forced on me?

“The Hollywood producer we've been targeting sent you a message. They said they loved how ‘graceful’ you looked under pressure,” he continued.

“I did not feel graceful, Marcus. I feel awful,” I replied, rubbing my temples. “That woman... are you sure she's crazy? She wasn't just making up the story about her sick daughter, was she?”

Marcus laughed dismissively, then stood up and picked up the coffee cup.

The same coffee he had supposedly brought for me.

He took a sip.

“Damon, how long have you been in this industry? The ‘sick child’ story or the ‘dying mother’ story is an old trick people use all the time to squeeze sympathy out of us.”

“But—”

“She’s a stalker. End of discussion. We already reported that the woman, Julia, to the local police.”

“Wait, what?” My headache intensified, especially as I tried to untangle yesterday’s events from the mess they had become. “Why take it that far?”

“We need concrete proof so the public understands, Damon. She’s already been charged with disturbing the peace and attempted assault.” Marcus smirked. “Let her spend a few days in a jail cell. So she learns her lesson.”

“Assault?”

This time, I sobered up instantly.

“That woman did not assault me. She was holding a phone and crying.”

“In front of a camera, a little shove can look like an attack, Damon. And that's good for your image.”

Marcus’s grin only made panic creep into my chest. A feeling of guilt lingered every time I thought about that woman.

“People get bored when you look too perfect. They need to see you as a victim worth protecting.”

Marcus took another sip of coffee and patted my shoulder.

As soon as the bottled water arrived, he went to the door to get it. Then he left to deal with this afternoon’s filming schedule.

The uneasy feeling kept crawling under my skin, and I immediately grabbed my phone from the bed.

I started searching for videos of yesterday’s incident. I found the raw footage in the agency group chat, untouched by the PR team. It had been filmed by a crew member from close range before security dragged the woman out.

I pressed play.

The footage shocked me. Compared to the version circulating online, it was actually me screaming at her.

I looked disgusting, red-faced, angry, and uncivilized. Oh my God, I looked like a monster.

I studied her eyes. I had seen thousands of pairs of eyes during my five years in this career. I knew exactly what obsession, opportunism, and blind admiration looked like.

But this woman’s eyes... None of that was there.

She was not looking at me as "Damon Watts, the star"; instead, her gaze felt unfamiliar. Filled with hope and desperation.

My blurry memories started returning.

When I slapped her hand away, and her phone hit the floor, she looked devastated.

Her voice echoed through the phone speaker. She was begging. That was all.

She did not even look like a stalker. What I saw was a mother who seemed to be losing her last hope.

I paused the video when the camera captured her face clearly as she was being dragged away. There were no tears nor madness. What I saw was someone completely shattered.

What have I done?

Fragments of memory came rushing back. The way I snapped at her with all the things I said. They were completely out of line.

Meanwhile, this woman may really have been talking about her daughter’s life and death.

Suddenly, all those engagement numbers Marcus had bragged about vanished. In their place was a painful ache deep in my chest.

“Damn it!” I cursed.

I immediately searched for the head of security at the filming location and called him.

“Hello? Yeah, this is Damon. I need to ask about the woman from yesterday,” I said the moment he answered. “What’s her name?”

“Julia Pierce.”

“Right. That’s her. I want you to withdraw that report immediately.”

There was a pause on the other end.

“But, Damon, management said we need to make an example out of her. The video has already gone viral. If we withdraw the report, people will think—”

“I do not care what people think!” I snapped, cutting him off.

My anger flared instantly.

“I’m the victim, right? Then I’m the one who gets to decide! Withdraw the report right now! And do it quietly. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Damon. I’ll take care of it immediately.”

I ended the call abruptly, breathing hard. I knew Marcus would lose his mind if he found out I had ruined the narrative he spent so much time building.

But for the first time in over a year, I felt I needed to do something that wasn't part of a script.

Julia’s face flashed through my mind. She had lost her job. An entire country was tearing her apart.

And not just her phone, but her life had been destroyed because of me.

I was a twenty-year-old guy who thought his life was the hardest thing in the world just because I had to memorize garbage dialogue.

I could not get Julia’s eyes out of my head. The eyes of a mother dying on the inside. Just like the daughter she had talked about.

“Jilly...” I murmured softly, trying to remember the name.

Without thinking, I got out of bed, ignored the pounding in my head, and started putting on a black hoodie and a mask. I had no idea what I was doing, and I was sure it would turn into a complete disaster for my career if anyone caught me on camera.

But there was a strange pull in my chest that kept pushing me to find out the truth behind those desperate eyes.

I needed to see with my own eyes whether “Jilly” was real, or whether I had really just destroyed someone’s life for the sake of meaningless viral content.