As the absolute pinnacle of Hollywood's A-list and the ultimate It-girl of the internet, If I post a single selfie, The comments can easily break a hundred million. Trending on X and Instagram is practically my daily routine. People either call me a pure, talentless plastic vase, Or they curse me out, saying I post online just to seek attention over nothing. I literally do not care! The most important weapon to dominate this industry Isn't my acting skills or my raw talent, It’s my drop-dead, devastated-nations, flawless face. Sure, Hollywood has never had a shortage of beautiful women. But there is a difference between a swan and the most beautiful swan in the lake. Even if my acting is explosively terrible, Even if I sing off-key and trip over my own feet when I dance, Even if my business acumen is zero and my EQ is in the negatives, The audience simply eats up this face! My Instagram notifications crashed the app again. When my assistant, Lexi, called me, she sounded like she was on the verge of tears: "Chloe, look at Twitter right now!" "Serena Vance is throwing shade at you in her latest interview!" I was sitting in front of my vanity mirror, carefully inspecting my fresh manicure. Hearing this, I just gave a lazy, "Mhm." Oh well, rivals dragging me is just human nature. Beautiful people are always hated by the jealous! "She said, 'A soulless shell won't make it far in this industry'!" "Now her fans and your fans are tearing each other apart online!" "The PR department’s phones are ringing off the hook. They're saying she’s a tough target and want to know how we should respond." On the other end of the line, Lexi was pacing like a cat on a hot tin roof. I held my hand up to the light, admiring the sparkle of the crushed diamonds on my nails, and casually asked: "That photoshoot I did yesterday, are the edits done?" "Chloe! Now is not the time!" Lexi was losing her mind. "Serena Vance just won the Academy Award! She's at the absolute peak of her career right now. Her words carry weight!" "The whole internet is mocking us, calling you a vase, saying you have absolutely nothing to offer except your face!" "Oh," I finally found a shred of interest. I put my hand down, Opened the front-facing camera on my phone, tilted my head to find the perfect angle, "Isn't that perfect, then?" "The harder they curse at me, the more it proves how obsessed they are with this face." Online, Serena's fans were quoting classic literature and film theorists, elevating her to the status of a pure artist untainted by the secular world. My fans were much more straightforward. They spammed my legendary red carpet photos from over the years with the caption: "Beauty is enough. Does your fave have a face card that never declines?" A brutal war over "Talent vs. Beauty" raged across the internet, turning social media pitch black. Serena's team was clearly thrilled with this outcome. Riding the momentum, they bought off several gossip blogs, Pushing the hashtag #TheDedicationOfAnActor to the top of the trending list, attempting to nail me to the pillar of shame. Lexi reported over the phone: "Chloe, her team is pushing the narrative again. The public opinion is turning really bad for us." "Should we issue a statement? Maybe say something like—" "No need," I cut her off. I had already selected the nine most flawless selfies from my camera roll. "Post this photo dump. Make the caption: Face card looking pretty good today." "Huh? Just that?" "Just that." A few minutes later, the hashtag #ChloeSterlingPhotoDump crushed everything in its path, parachuting straight into the number one trending spot worldwide. Unsurprisingly, the servers crashed for a solid ten minutes. By the time the tech guys got it back online, seven out of the top ten trending topics had my name on them. #ChloeSterling Flawless #GodsMasterpiece ChloeSterling #LookingAtChloeMakesMeWantPlasticSurgery As for Serena's #TheDedicationOfAnActor hashtag? It had been pushed down past the top twenty, completely ignored. Lexi called back, her voice now brimming with ecstasy and sheer worship: "Chloe! I heard Serena's PR director was so mad he literally smashed his phone against a wall!" I let out a soft laugh, locked my phone, and picked my mirror back up. Miss Vance, in this industry, being incredibly beautiful really does let you do whatever you want. Especially when you're a thunderously invincible, explosive beauty like me. Public relations? I don't need it! After all, there’s a running joke in the industry: People say watching me act makes them want to gauge their own eyes out. But then they realize if they gauge their eyes out, they won't be able to see my face anymore. So they think, Ah, what a pity, and give up on the blinding. Coincidentally enough, Serena and I had been cast in the same movie—the $200 million summer blockbuster, Chronicles of the Wind. She was the leading lady; I was the undisputed second lead. At the press junket, the press release from her team featured her name followed by a long, glittering list of Oscar and Golden Globe titles. After my name, there were only two words: "Hollywood It-Girl." On our first day shooting together, she ruined seventeen takes. When the director asked her what was wrong, she massaged her temples, looking at me with an expression of profound agony: "Director, looking at Chloe's face, I simply cannot get into character." The entire set went dead silent. Her reasoning was that my face was too "modern." My features were too exquisitely perfect, like a soulless porcelain doll, Destroying the gritty, broken, historical aesthetic required for the film. When she said this, her eyes were cold and aloof, As if she were discussing some profoundly complex artistic dilemma. Over the next few days, this became her standard operating procedure. Whenever we shared a scene, she would inevitably cause endless outtakes. Either she would claim she got "distracted" by my face while delivering her lines, Or she would yell "Cut!" halfway through a scene, claiming my beauty was "pulling her out of the illusion." While I outwardly cooed, "Oh my gosh, I'm really not that pretty~", Internally, I was cursing this dramatic bitch out. She was deliberately messing with me. After the production schedule was severely delayed, the producer and director finally started looking grim. They cast displeased glances my way, though their expressions would inevitably soften the moment they actually looked at my face. My assistant Lexi stomped her feet in anger: "Chloe, she's doing it on purpose!" "What kind of actor complains that their co-star is too pretty? She’s abusing her power for a personal vendetta!" I was flipping through the script. I didn't even look up: "Let her act." Lexi was confused: "Act like what?" "Act like a dedicated, artistic Oscar winner whose pursuit of perfection is being dragged down by a talentless plastic vase." Sure enough, a couple of days later, "leaked" behind-the-scenes footage flooded the internet. The hashtag #SerenaVanceDedicated Professional trended at number one. The gossip blogs praised her for striving for artistic perfection, Saying she was even willing to offend a massively bankable influencer backed by big studios just to protect the film's integrity. And me? Naturally, I became the villain—the "pretty face committing crimes," the "talentless dead weight dragging down the whole crew." Eventually, the director asked to speak with me. The meeting took place inside Serena's luxury trailer. Serena was there, along with her junior from Julliard who had just graduated. The director rubbed his hands together, looking incredibly awkward: "Chloe, look... Serena’s state of mind really isn't great right now." "For the sake of the artistic vision of the entire film, we've had a discussion..." Serena sat to the side, slowly sipping artisanal pour-over coffee, not even lifting an eyelid. I looked at the director, waiting for his punchline. "The second lead role originally given to you... we might need to recast it." "We'd like to let Serena's junior try it out. They trained at the same conservatory, so they might have better chemistry." Lexi was ready to explode on the spot, but I pressed her back down with a single look. Of course, I knew this was a targeted hit against me. I quietly glanced at the Julliard junior's face. She was pretty enough, a sort of girl-next-door type. But most importantly... she definitely wouldn't overshadow Serena. Instead, she would act as a perfect, bland foil to make Serena's leading-lady aura shine even brighter. I tucked away my thoughts and asked plainly: "And what about me?" "The production still wants you to stay," the director said, lowering his posture even more. "There’s a role for a maid in the mansion. The screen time isn't huge, but it has some real highlights." "There’s a pivotal scene where the female lead slaps the maid across the face. It's a great test of emotional explosiveness..." The intent to humiliate me was now laid bare on the table. Everyone stared at me, waiting for me to throw a diva fit, waiting for me to tear up my contract and storm out. Then, they could smoothly slap a "toxic diva" label on my head and feed me to the press. Serena finally set down her coffee cup, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. I ignored her and simply looked at the director, my voice perfectly calm: "Fine. I'll take it." The air inside the trailer seemed to freeze in that exact instant. The director was stunned. The Julliard junior's expression stiffened. Even the smugness on Serena's face showed a tiny, visible crack. On the day we shot the slapping scene, the entire crew was present. They weren't there to watch a movie scene; they were there to watch me. The director yelled, "Action!" Serena swung her hand and slapped me across the face. No camera tricks. No stunt coordination. Just solid flesh violently colliding with flesh. It was crisp, loud, and burned like fire. "Cut!" The director's voice carried a hint of hesitation. "Serena, the emotion was great, but... you can pull back on the physical force a little." Serena rubbed her wrist, looking at me with wide, innocent eyes: "Director, in order to pursue absolute realism, the instant reaction to being hit can't be faked." "What do you think, Chloe?" She tossed the grenade right into my lap. Every eye on set locked onto my face, waiting for my reaction. My assistant Lexi clenched her fists so hard her knuckles turned white, her eyes welling with tears. I raised a hand, signaling her to stay back. I smiled at the director: "Serena is right. For the sake of the film's effect, it's fine. Let's do it again." And so, there was a second take. A third. A fourth... Every single time, Serena demanded a retake, claiming her "emotions weren't quite there" or my "reaction wasn't realistic enough." And every single time, her slap was harder than the last. By the eighth take, I could taste the metallic tang of blood seeping from the corner of my mouth. My left cheek was completely numb, swollen high and red, feeling like I was holding a scalding hot stone in my mouth. "Moving on!" The director finally called it. Lexi immediately rushed over, holding an ice pack to my face. Her voice cracked with tears: "Chloe, they're crossing the line! This is bullying!" I stopped her, turned to the makeup artist nearby, and said calmly: "Please touch up my makeup. Conceal the blood at the corner of my mouth." Then, I turned back to the director, maintaining that exact same, unbothered demeanor: "Director, was the effect to your liking?" The director looked at my swollen face, his eyes full of complex guilt. In the end, he just nodded. Word of this incident leaked immediately. The internet was blanketed with PR articles praising Serena's dedication to her craft, saying she was willing to offend anyone for the sake of cinematic realism. And me? I became the useless hack who was so untalented she couldn't even act out getting slapped correctly. My public favorability plummeted to rock bottom. My management team was running around with their hair on fire, but I didn't have time to care about any of that. Because the global ambassador contract for the international luxury house V&L was in its final stages of negotiation. This was my ultimate weapon for a counterattack. As long as the official announcement dropped, it would prove that my commercial value was unshakeable. But the night before the signing, Lexi burst into my hotel room, her face pale as a sheet. "Chloe, V&L just made the official announcement... The ambassador isn't us." My hand, which was in the middle of removing my makeup, paused. "It's Serena." Lexi's voice was shaking. "I asked around. Yesterday, she personally flew her team to V&L's global headquarters in Paris." "She told the brand that she was willing to sign an iron-clad five-year contract for absolutely zero compensation." An Academy Award-winning actress, lowering her quote to literally zero dollars. No corporate brand could resist a temptation like that. She didn't do it for the money. She didn't even do it for the endorsement itself. She did it purely to snatch it out of my hands. Overnight, the internet threw a massive party celebrating my downfall. "Hahaha, a vase is just a vase in the end. Her commercial value just got steamrolled by actual talent." "Even her corporate sugar daddies abandoned her. Looks like Chloe Sterling's career is finally over." "She used to rely on her face to eat, but now her face is swollen from slaps, and her rice bowl has been smashed." The hashtag #TheVaseIsBroken rocketed to the number one trending spot in less than an hour. Lexi looked at the vicious comments flooding her phone, pacing in circles in a panic: "Chloe, what do we do now? The PR department's phones are blowing up!" I looked at my swollen face in the mirror. The five finger marks were still clearly visible. My phone screen lit up with a breaking news push notification. Star-Studded Lineup: Nominees for the Annual Hollywood Icon Awards Announced. I tapped it. Under the category for "Most Commercially Valuable Artist of the Year," I saw two names listed side-by-side: Chloe Sterling, Serena Vance.
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