Second Bloom: Fake Marriage, Real Billionaire

I'm the most hated washedup actress on the internet. To get onto a couples' show, I hired a nobody who makes two grand a month to play my husband.

The fee, split straight down the middle. Premiere day. I'm standing in a room full of Alisters and old money, shaking, when my rentahusband pulls up.

In a Bentley. "I told you to look presentable," I hiss at him. "I didn't say borrow a Bentley." He doesn't blink. "Company went public two days ago," he says. "You're worth five billion now.

Act like it." Chapter 1 Nine a.m. sharp, and I walked into Cedar Hollow to film Sweethearts: the most hated washedup actress on the internet, here to smuggle a husband I'd hired into a house full of stars and old money and call it a love story.

This was the couples' show everyone was obsessed with this season. Four couples, one roof, two weeks, a running chemistry score, last pair standing crowned the most in love.

The whole stunt was mine, and winning was never the point. I just needed the man not to leave me standing at the curb.

I was broke, the check was good, and all I had to do was not get caught.

I'd been on camera maybe three seconds before the chat started swinging. [Who let Doom Bloom onto this season??] [she's in everything lately. dropping it, bye.] [hold up, we've got a Best Actor AND a Best Actress this season. whatever.

I'll watch the cut and skip the villainess.] That's me. The villainess.

I'd played the other woman, the catty second lead, the one who poisons the soup in enough shows that the whole internet decided to hate me for free.

They called me the bottom of the industry. Stand next to me and anyone looked likable. A black SUV slid up to the curb and two people dropped out. Ball cap, head down.

Best Actor himself, Dalton. On his arm, Tiffany. This time last year she'd been riding the bench beside me on set. Now she was the second Mrs. Dalton and the toast of the season.

She spotted me and waved like we were old friends. "Margot~" "Dalton. Mrs. Dalton," I said, polite as a hostage. Tiffany glanced around. "Where's your husband?

They said he's the only civilian this season. Everyone's dying to meet him." "Um." I looked down the empty road.

The chat perked right up. [Doom Bloom married a NOBODY lmaooo] [this season's all heirs and Dalton, oh it's gonna be GOOD] [two couples split the second filming wrapped last time. praying.] [look how scared she is. bet the other half didn't even show.] Yeah.

That was exactly what I was scared of. Not because we were unhappy. Because I barely knew the man.

And because I wasn't sure a ninetofive guy could even get the time off. "Don't worry." Tiffany settled in to wait beside me, sweet as pie. "People showed up late last season too.

A few days won't matter." [Mrs. Dalton is so kind and gorgeous], the chat melted, and I nodded along like I'd been comforted. That's the show. Everyone's selling a brand.

Tiffany's was the doting sweetheartwife. I was the industry's punching bag, so honestly, I made anyone look good. A minibus rolled past and dropped one person at the stop.

Long legs. Easy shoulders.

The kind of goodlooking that makes a whole street glance twice. "Wow, Margot, what is in the water here." Tiffany breathed it out. "Even the locals are gorgeous.

He's almost as handsome as my Dalton." "Oh, no," I said, modest. "Still a notch under Dalton." Something landed in Tiffany's face. Her mouth opened.

She looked at me like she'd seen a ghost. I was already moving, long strides, rubbing my palms together as I went to meet him. "So. Hey. You, uh.

You made it?" Ford nodded, unbothered. "Mm." His face hit the cameras, and the chat went dead for one whole second. Then it detonated. [I'm SORRY.

THAT'S the civilian??] [Doom Bloom's husband is the hottest man here and there is no God] […okay. okay. that woman has something going on.] Chapter 2 Tiffany got to work digging. "So what's Ford do?" "He's an office guy," I said.

The truth, for once. She relaxed about a centimeter.

So did the chat. [knew it. she married down.] [married down? he's just some sucker who took the leftovers. nobody in the industry would touch her.] [poor baby. hot guy, file the divorce, I volunteer.] [I volunteer too tbh] First task of the day: cook lunch.

Ford and I dropped our bags upstairs and he turned to me. "What do you want to eat?" I nearly fell over.

He was playing along so hard he was volunteering to cook. "Whatever's easy." "Come down with me, then." …What? The script in my head said wait here and I'll bring you a plate.

I followed him into the kitchen, lost. Tiffany was already in there, in a frilly little apron, holding a cleaver the size of my forearm over a mountain of prep.

She beamed at me. "Margot, go sit in the living room.

I've got lunch today." "She's not cooking." Ford appeared at my shoulder. "She stays here with me." He pulled the apron over his head, little cartoon bears, and held the strings out, easy, like it was nothing. "Tie it for me." Face hot, I reached around him for the strings.

Somewhere near the knot my brain shortcircuited and both my arms went around his waist, and on camera it read as a hug. For half a second I forgot to let go.

He was warm and solid and right there under my hands. He laughed, low, right against my ear.

The chat lost it. [okay WHAT. why is this couple kind of sweet??] [naive. it's an act, same as the other fake pair. dead on arrival.] [right? look at her face, frozen solid lol] [Mrs.

Dalton from the corner, voice flat: I came to cook, not to watch this. you're all bullying me because Dalton isn't here.] Ford steered me through the fridge and the pantry, asking what I actually liked, and pulled out a can of salmon and started rinsing rice.

Tiffany shot me a look between chops. "Margot, does Ford do all the cooking at your place?" And there it was. The one question I hadn't written a line for. I froze.

Ford caught it before I could faceplant. "Pretty much always me." "You don't even cook?" Tiffany's eyes went a little judgy. I dropped my gaze, guilty as charged. Sorry.

I'm the kind of gremlin who orders delivery even living alone. "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach." Tiffany brandished her spatula. "Dalton's got a delicate stomach, so I'm up at four most mornings making him breakfast from scratch." It took me a second to find my voice. "…Wow.

Amazing." The chat, which had been busy roasting Tiffany's whole worldview, snapped. [did I hear that right. did she just SAY that] [oh my god Doom Bloom said the thing] [Tiffany's face went GREEN] [appointing Margot my official spokesperson. it's the 21st century and we're up at FOUR cooking for a man?? insane behavior] There was nothing left to win in that kitchen, and I wasn't about to ditch Ford and walk off.

So I found the blender and made myself a smoothie instead. Chapter 3 Ford was folding salmon into the rice cooker, and the smell had already started moving through the house.

I leaned in, nosy. "What is that?" "Salmon rice." "Smells so good." I was actively drooling. Humiliating. "You can make it yourself at home.

It's easy." And then, patient as anything, he walked me through it: which brand of canned salmon ran oilier, dice the onion small so it keeps the rice from drying out, steam the little mushrooms in for the smell, oyster sauce at the thirtyminute mark, scallions in the last five.

I cupped my tea and nodded at his face, because honestly, the man was so goodlooking that even a guy explaining a rice recipe was a whole experience. "…That's about it.

You get all that?" I gave him my oncamera smile. "Got it." "Then say it back to me." My smile shattered on the spot. [lmaooo Doom Bloom was CLEARLY not listening] [what is this. star student tutoring the flunkout] [I'm with Doom Bloom here. he's hot but the recipe is NOT going in] Ford's eyes cut sideways, slow. "I talked that long and not one word landed.

Margot. You're not paying attention." "Sorry." I stood up straight and took my scolding like a good girl.

He hummed. "Then think about how you're going to make it up to me." [I'M SORRY??] [this is free.

I'm getting this for FREE.] [a man, a kitchen, and 'make it up to me.' I need to lie down.] [when I'm dead and buried I'll say it with my rotting voice: that woman has something going on.] Ford had the salmon rice done in no time.

Paired with my smoothie, the two of us each demolished a giant bowl.

Tiffany was still wrestling her banquet at one in the afternoon, and in the end Ford and I pitched in just to get her food on the table. Everyone sat down to eat.

Ford and I were second shift, obviously. Dalton took a careful sip of the duck soup. "A touch bland." Tiffany pouted, wounded, and didn't dare say a thing.

Across the table, Ford asked me, flat and even, "And you? Too salty? Too bland?" With Dalton's cautionary tale fresh in front of me, I snapped my spine straight. "It's all good.

Really good. Anything you make is good." [Doom Bloom: you asking if I'm moved?

I don't dare move dot jpg] [never seen a woman this scared of her own husband. she's such a coward lol] [because Ford genuinely knows how to reel her in. you can feel the maincharacter energy through the screen.] We finished eating.

And the judges got ready to score all four couples. Chapter 4 Tiffany stared at the 50 on the screen like it had personally betrayed her. "What? Is that a mistake?

Why do we have a 50 and Margot's team has a 90? They made one rice dish.

We beat them on quality, on quantity, on finish, didn't we?" The judge's voice came in from offset. "Because cooking isn't only cooking." He kept it short.

Three meals a day are the most important thing a household does.

If only one person is breaking their back over it, it's a chore, repeated every single day for the rest of your life. Exhausting to even think about. "But Margot and Ford nailed it.

Ford can cook, and he still pulled Margot in to do it with him. The whole thing turned into a game between them instead of a chore. And Margot does one thing beautifully.

She doesn't lift a finger, but she knows how to make a man feel good about himself. She praises him. That's exactly what Dalton lacks." I ducked my head, embarrassed.

Truth was, Ford and I weren't half as good as he made us sound. We weren't actually married, so we were careful with each other, polite, like two houseguests.

We'd only come to phone it in as the control group. Taking first place in round one was, frankly, mortifying. The afternoon activity was shopping.

They hauled all four couples to a mall and turned us loose. Cameras still on us, naturally. Tiffany wanted that point back.

She walked straight into the luxury wing, rattling off the inventory like she owned it. "The new designer sneakers dropped in a bunch of colorways this season, all gorgeous.

Margot, come look with me?" "Sure." She took my arm and steered me in. Dalton and Ford fell in behind us.

In the car, the two of them had already mapped it out: shopping tests whether the husband tags along and whether he swipes the card.

She'd coached Dalton to perform, no complaining, high energy, fast on the card, the devotedhusband edit. He'd nodded like his life depended on it. The SA showed us into a VIP room.

Tiffany swept up an armful of pieces and disappeared to try them on. With nothing to do, I dropped onto the couch.

Dalton stood there clutching a garment hanger, staring at me like I'd committed a crime.

You're allowed to sit? [LMAO Dalton, husband of the year, won't even sit down while buying his wife a bag] [what is happening with Doom Bloom. she's more of a guy than Dalton] [real talk she's giving bored boyfriend dragged to the mall. the entire posture.] Ford came over. "You're not trying anything on?" I shook my head. "Nope.

No money." "You can use my card." "You're a regular working guy too. Go easy on it." Tiffany heard us. She came out of the fitting room still doing up a button. "Margot.

Are you a movie star or not? Designer is our armor." "If a brand pays me to wear it, I'll wear it. If not, I go Temu," I said. Honest.

Chapter 5 Smalltime actresses like me get paid scraps, and looking the part costs more than the job pays. It's a brutal winter out here.

I came to earn an appearance fee, not to perform luxury for the whole country on top of it. Drag me as hard as you want. Same answer either way: I've got no money and one life.

Pick one. For one second, the chat that had been busy shipping us went quiet. […wait. did I just accidentally relate to Doom Bloom?] [I envy Mrs.

Dalton, sure. but Doom Bloom is literally us.] [looked at my own bank account. suddenly can't ship anybody.] [is she actually this broke?? she's an actress. she's acting, right?] Tiffany found it shocking too, just on a different axis. "No way.

You actually wear Temu clothes?" "What's wrong with Temu?

You check the quality, make sure it's not some sketchy noname junk, and after that it's just whether you like it and whether it's comfortable." Tiffany wasn't having it.

She shot Dalton a wounded look. "Last time I dressed down a little for a meeting, people decided Dalton was going bankrupt.

I can't humiliate him like that." I nodded. "Used to embarrass me too. Then I did the math. Half the luxury houses and the fastfashion bins come out of the same three factories.

You're paying five grand for the logo and the story, not the stitching. Some people think Temu's beneath them. Fine.

But every time I wear something that cost twelve bucks and does the exact same job, I feel like I personally beat the markup." [ENTERPRISElevel breakdown???] [did Doom Bloom MEMORIZE this. is the entertainment industry allowed to have this much going on upstairs] [why is designer good and Temu bad? because luxury owns the narrative. she understands consumerism on a molecular level.] Tiffany frowned, sat in silence for a beat, and decided to skip the whole topic. "I want to grab a few more bags." Dalton finally got his moment.

He slid out the black card. "Done." But nobody in the chat cared about their love story anymore. Ford clocked that I was bored. "Want to hit a grocery store first?

There's nothing in the house." I nodded fast. I was here to be the control group, sure, but I couldn't just do nothing and coast for two weeks.

We swung by a store, and then Ford said he wanted to wander the electronics aisle on his own. Worked out, because I had my own little scheme. I wanted to buy him something.

And that, more than being broke on national TV, was the thing that made my face go hot.

Half a year with no roles, then this show drops in my lap with a decent check, so I'd asked a nearstranger to play my husband and split the money.

I hadn't even expected him to say yes. He'd said yes. He'd shown up. He'd won me the first round.

So I peeled off down a different aisle to find him a gift, feeling like an idiot the whole way.

Chapter 6 I walked into the LEGO store and looked around. "Got anything good for a guy?" Ford liked building these little things.

I remembered that. "How old's the guy?" the clerk asked. I cleared my throat, face warming. "About my age." Her eyes lit with understanding. "Then get him the Titanic.

The great romance." I almost stuttered. "That, that's not appropriate." She pushed a big box and a small one at me, firm. "Buy one, get one. Get the big build, the mini's free.

Put them together when they're done.

Matching set, very cute, very coupley." I caved to the buyonegetone trap, obviously, and had a crew member ferry the boxes back to Eden House for me.

A gift needs a little surprise to it. The second I saw Ford, my mouth went up to my ears before I could stop it. So did his. "What are you smiling about?" he said.

I dropped my eyes fast. "Nothing." He turned to the window, clearly fighting a grin. I snuck a glance at him. "What are you smiling about?" Ford said it was nothing, low.

The chat dissolved into one solid wall of screaming. Back at Eden House, the show made its announcement. "Time to score the round.

Everyone, hand your husband or wife what you bought this afternoon." Every face in the room fell.

Tiffany had bought a mountain of clothes and bags, and now she buried Dalton under them while he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Tiffany, for her part, accepted his fishing rod, and her face was its own kind of poem. Another couple: he'd gotten a haircut, she'd gotten a spa day.

They hugged it out, technically handing each other the better version of themselves.

Then it was us. "You didn't actually buy me something, did you?" Ford got there first, sly, tearing open the huge box. "Oh.

The Titanic." There was no talking my way out of it. "You said I had to make it up to you." "It's one I like." He glanced at me. "But it's not my favorite." [AAAAAAAAAAAA] [HE LIKES YOU he likes you he likes you GO KISS HIM] [this husband has a MOUTH. he can SPEAK.] [never thought I'd see the day I'm shipping Doom Bloom] The host turned to him. "Don't tell me you happened to prep a gift too?" "Not exactly a gift." Ford opened a box.

A Switch. "We're stuck here a long two weeks.

So I downloaded every coop game worth playing." "Mar." His black eyes caught mine and wouldn't let go. "I want to play with you." I don't know why hearing that did what it did.

My eyes went hot. I looked away, and my fingers closed hard around the edge of the box. I knew it was fake. I knew. I'd hired him.

It was just the exact Animal Crossing Switch I'd wanted for a year and never let myself buy. And I was alone in this city. For one second I forgot that nobody does things for me.

No surprise: Ford and I took the highest score again. First place.

By that night I was trending for all the wrong reasons. [Doom Bloom / Sweethearts]. [Doom Bloom / calculating]. [Doom Bloom / scripted]. All sitting in the top ten.

The story went that I'd bribed the show, gotten the schedule early, and that Ford and I were running a twoperson act in there, propping ourselves up by stepping on Mrs.

Dalton to play the only sane woman in the house.

Chapter 7 Back in the room, I crept over to Ford and sank to my knees in front of him. "I'm only here to be Langley's control group," I said. "We don't have to try this hard.

We can coast through." He'd just come out of the bathroom, towel in his hair, and he shot me a look. "Huh? I am coasting." My eyes landed on his eightpack. "…Yeah.

I can tell." "Is it something I did? Did I get in the way of your work? I don't know the rules of your world.

I'll apologize." He sat on the edge of the bed and lowered his eyes, cool and quiet. "No, no, nothing like that, you don't have to worry about any of that, just do whatever feels right." I crouched in front of him and babbled reassurance at him for a solid five minutes.

Finally he came back around. "Okay. We hike all day tomorrow. Get some sleep." He patted the spot beside him. Right. Couples' show. One bed. I hesitated.

Understanding crossed his face, and he scooped up the blanket, obedient as anything. "I'll take the floor." "No, no, no." I dove under the covers and lay flat. He was right.

Full day of hiking tomorrow. What happens if I don't rest. Ford killed the light. "Night." There was a laugh in it he wasn't bothering to hide.

I held my little corner of blanket and stared at the ceiling, his breathing close enough to touch in the dark. The few inches between us felt like nothing and like everything.

I kept my own breath shallow, counting his. I didn't move. The plan had been to sleep like the dead in the morning, miss the whole day, and let Langley take back the lead.

How did it end up like this. At four the next morning, Ford dug me out of bed and stuffed me into a puffer. First task of the day: a tandem race. One bike per couple.

On set, Tiffany was talking to the director about something. I caught "camera angle," "framing," the director nodding along.

Two rounds lost to us yesterday had clearly rattled her, and now she wanted a clean, full showcase of Dalton's muscles.

She drifted back to center frame. "Ford's the only nonactor here. Isn't this task a little unfair to them?" The chat lined up to praise her. So kind. So gracious. So fair.

Ford looked at me. "What's unfair?" I explained. "We shoot backtoback, so we're all in decent shape. What she means is.

Your stamina's not up to it." Ford was quiet for a long moment. Then, cold: "Cute." [don't go around calling a man weak. Mrs.

Dalton got careless.] [is she wrong though? dude's a soft little pretty boy, one good gust and he's down.] [Dalton and his wife, at their level, getting trampled by the scripted couple and STILL looking out for them. actual angels.] [manifesting dead last for the scripted couple.] The topic lodged under his skin.

He climbed onto the bike, still on it. "If my stamina's not up to it, are you going to be embarrassed by me?" I'd been about to slack off. My hands tightened on the grips. "No.

My stamina's great. I'll work for both of us." Ford nodded. "Good." A gun cracked, and four bikes shot off the line