Part 1Scandalous by Design

My superstar brother picked me up from work, but the paparazzi snapped a photo and claimed I was a desperate simp chasing him.

To mock me, my brother posted a fake medical report online, claiming I had a terminal illness and didn't have long to live. He even asked people to Venmo him $50 to fund my funeral.

Unexpectedly, in the middle of the night, my door was pounded on. Standing there, red-eyed and frantic, was the usually cold and untouchable movie god, Preston Shaw.

"I’ll give you fifty million dollars. Please, just give her to me. Let me save her."

My brother raised an eyebrow. "You're too late. She’s already gone."

I, having just returned from a midnight snack run, stood quietly behind the movie god, holding a bag of chips. "Who’s gone?"

The next second, the movie god fainted.

My brother: "Crap. I forgot he's terrified of ghosts."

Me: "…?"

* * *

When I was seven, I accidentally stepped on a famous actress's dress during a commercial shoot. The actress, known for her gentle public image, leaned down and hissed that I was finished.

Since then, faced with a barrage of fake scandals and blacklists, I decided to smash the jar and go full villain. I embraced the "love-to-hate" route in Hollywood.

By the time my biological brother, Chase Chen—a top-tier idol and rapper—returned from his music studies abroad, my reputation was unsalvageable.

"Here's the plan," my brother, who shares my DNA, said. "We pretend we don't know each other. Don't drag me down with you."

"You said you'd help me when you got back!"

"There’s no fixing this, sis. Delete your account and restart. Maybe ask Mom for a third child."

"?"

Since then, he’s been my biggest anti-fan. If I get a papercut, he offers salt. If my foundation is cakey, he offers sandpaper. If I’m dieting, he eats a three-tier cake in front of me.

End of flashback.

Right now, I had just finished filming a variety show with the movie god, Preston Shaw. I was sitting in my brother’s car, admiring my makeup in the mirror.

"You look happy. Did sparks fly with the movie god today?" Chase asked, driving with one hand, a lollipop in his mouth.

"Physical sparks, maybe. This sweater is cheap polyester; the static electricity is insane. I zap everything I touch."

"Oh?" Chase was silent for two seconds, then chuckled. "So that’s what he meant."

"What?"

Chase didn't answer. He just handed me his phone.

The trending topics were dominated by Preston Shaw. It was the first day of recording, so that was expected. But the hashtags were… weird.

I clicked on #PrestonShawSparks. It was about a tweet he had just posted.

Preston, who usually speaks in monosyllables, had written a whole paragraph:

@PrestonShaw_Official: I heard that when two hearts get close, sparks fly. I didn't believe it before. But after colliding thirteen times today, can we define this as destiny?

"...Is he off his meds?" I stared wide-eyed. Was Preston possessed?

He was notoriously cold. We hadn't exchanged more than three sentences today, and I swore he was glaring at me half the time for being in his way.

Chase shook his head. "Maybe the static shocked his brain."