The Villain Era Playbook

I hijack the Alist darling’s new single and perform it live on national television. The exact girl who stole my career and tried to blacklist me. She lipsyncs.

I belt every high note completely raw. I gut her stiff choreography and leave it all on the floor. My former agency threw me to the wolves to protect their golden boy.

They branded me a Dlist nobody. A disposable prop. The crowd detonates. The timeline crowns me the ultimate villain. I drag my blacklisted ex on stage.

The only guy who survived the trenches with me. We don't just secure the comeback. We burn their glittering empire to the ground. Read Flushed Away: The Killer Next Door now.

Chapter 1 Years ago, Valerie orchestrated the whole PR showmance between me and Brooks. Now, I stood in her office, begging her to pull my name off the trending hashtags.

She didn't blink. "Hiring a crisis PR firm to bury a story like this costs millions. Do you have that kind of cash?" My jaw snapped shut.

I hadn't seen that kind of money in my entire life. Valerie's rejection was absolute. I shouldn't have been surprised.

As a thirtysomething actress clinging to the fringes of Hollywood, I was just a disposable pawn on their roster.

Pity softened her gaze for a fraction of a second. "Look on the bright side, Piper.

Half this town would kill for this kind of exposure." Shut out by my own agency, I resorted to calling the man himself.

I just needed Brooks to go on record and admit we never actually dated. It sounded simple. It wasn't. Brooks and I were practically strangers.

Our fake relationship lasted less than a month before he bought out his contract and vanished. We hadn't spoken since. He picked up on the second ring. He knew it was me.

I forced out a stiff congratulations on the wedding, then rushed straight to the point. "Could you please just post something on Twitter?

Just clear the air and say we were never together?" My voice shook. I was practically on my knees through the receiver. Dead air. I tapped my screen, breathing into the mic. "Hello?

Brooks, are you there?" His voice drifted back, tight and distant. "You should talk to my manager. He's right here." A cold knot twisted in my stomach. He wasn't passing the phone.

He was passing the buck. Dexter, his notoriously snobby LA manager, snatched the line. His pitch was shrill, grating against my ear. "We are so sorry, sweetie.

But to avoid any messy PR, we simply can't get involved." The ice in his tone froze over any trace of actual apology. Panic clawed at my throat. "I'm losing auditions over this!

They even massreported my TikTok dance account until it got permanently banned. Please. Just one tweet saying we're not tied together.

That's all I need." "That sounds like a problem for your team, honey." "We already issued a statement.

Nobody bought it." "Then our hands are tied." Dexter clipped out a dry laugh. "And do us a favor—lose this number. Brooks is an engaged man now.

It's wildly inappropriate for you to be calling him like this. Boundaries, okay?" The line went dead. My grip on the phone turned bonewhite.

Blood pounded a furious rhythm against my temples. Boundaries? The sheer audacity knocked the wind out of me. I wasn't even his actual ex.

Being looked down upon like that seriously pissed me off. Back then, I actually had some momentum. I'd booked a few decent roles and gained a modest following.

Valerie had pulled me into her office, eager to use my heat to launch her new golden boy. "A little showmance will boost your metrics, too," she'd promised. A winwin.

But I hadn't bought it. I had zero industry backing, and the agency had practically ghosted me since I signed. Why pick a nobody like me?

I'd stared her down across her glass desk. "You have a dozen girls on the roster. Why me?" Valerie didn't miss a beat. "The others are complicated.

You don't have a sugar daddy, and you don't have a boyfriend. You're a clean slate." Chapter 2 The realization hit me like a physical slap.

I "won" the PR lottery back then because I presented a perfectly blank slate. No sugar daddy to piss off. No strings attached.

I served as the ultimate, disposable prop for a fake showmance. My career flatlined shortly after, leaving me scraping the bottom of the Hollywood barrel.

My former fake boyfriend, Brooks, barely clawed his way up to the Clist as a working character actor.

Nobody cared about a dusty, eightyearold rumor between two struggling nobodies. Until Brooks announced his engagement to Genevieve, the industry's reigning Alist darling.

Our deadandburied showmance violently ripped its way out of the grave. Brooks rode the wedding hype straight to Alist superstar status. I caught all the shrapnel.

Their announcement served as the final nail in my coffin. As his only "rumored ex" in the business, I morphed into public enemy number one. The internet tore me to shreds.

Gossip blogs ripped into me—"A decade in Hollywood and zero hits." Genevieve’s rabid stans and Brooks' new fanboys swarmed my comments—"Buying negative trends? She’s obsessed.

Walking red flag." Seriously, girlies, who gets it? The double standards were unreal. I hustled! But since when did actual talent dictate success in this town?

Brooks possessed real acting chops, sure, but he would still be performing gritty offBroadway runs if he hadn't locked down an It Girl. And the absolute kicker?

I stood as his only industry "ex." Genevieve’s fans wanted blood, and my neck rested squarely on the chopping block. Rage vibrated through my bones when my phone suddenly buzzed.

A lifeline. Holden. Genevieve’s one and only rumored ex.

If I played the ultimate villain in Genevieve’s polished fairy tale, Holden represented the toxic waste dumped all over Brooks' fresh rebrand. Genevieve’s army crucified me.

Brooks’ rabid fangirls dragged Holden. And their joint shipper cult? They unleashed hell on both of us. Toxicity suffocated us. Holden and I shared the exact same collateral damage.

The only difference? Genevieve commanded a massive empire, so I took way more bullets. I pulled up our text thread. A blank screen stared back. "You in LA?" I typed.

Three dots flashed immediately. "Yeah. Why? Need a drink?" We operated on the exact same wavelength.

If anyone understood the absolute hell I currently burned in, Holden did. "Tonight?" he followed up. "Too sudden?" I texted back. "Why wait?

It’s not like we need to book a venue and send out savethedates like those two." A sharp laugh tore from my throat. I didn't remember him having that kind of sense of humor.

I locked in the plans instantly, completely ignoring my dayold, greasy hair. Turns out, he looked just as wrecked as I did.

He’d spent the afternoon thrifting at the Rose Bowl Flea Market. He rocked a scruffy beard and a faded flannel that screamed washedup Venice Beach local.

He slid into the booth and didn't miss a single beat. "Been a few years. You put on some weight." I didn't even flinch. "It’s not fat, it’s stress inflammation.

The internet’s been beating my ass for days. Aren't you getting the exact same treatment?" A deep laugh rumbled in his chest. "I've got it a little easier.

Brooks isn't exactly Hollywood royalty. His fanboys don't hit quite as hard." My jaw dropped.

I showed up to this dinner seeking solidarity in the trenches, and this guy used my misery to stroke his own ego?

Chapter 3 The last time I saw Holden was years ago on an Atlanta soundstage for some lowbudget period piece.

He played the male lead’s glorified bodyguard, and I played the heroine’s ladyinwaiting. We were basically breathing props. We swapped numbers back then but never actually texted.

He practically vanished from the industry over the last few years. Two Dlisters crossing paths usually meant fading back into mutual obscurity.

Honestly, if this whole PR nightmare hadn't blown up, I would have forgotten Holden even existed. He’d completely checked out of Hollywood.

Now he worked as a freelance event MC and ran an acting workshop for theater kids. He looked utterly unbothered. He was incredibly chilled out.

The online hate barely registered on his radar. Naturally, our drink date devolved into me violently venting about the absolute hell of the past few days.

Holden knew exactly how to spin things. He slid his glass across the table. "Look at it this way. Genevieve, the untouchable Alister, is basically taking your sloppy seconds.

Does that take the sting out?" A sharp laugh escaped me. Reframing it like that definitely eased the burn.

But reality hit fast. "I never even dated Brooks!" I groaned, slamming my hands on the table. "The agency forced that fake PR stunt, and I’m the one paying the price!" Holden raised his bourbon glass in a mock salute.

He dropped his own bomb—he never touched Genevieve, either.

I let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. "Genevieve got sloppy and let the paparazzi catch her slipping with her actual boyfriend," Holden explained, his tone completely flat. "Her team tossed me to the wolves as a decoy to bury the real story." "Jesus.

That's brutal." "Not really." He shrugged, shoving a handful of fries into his mouth. "Her real guy didn’t care, so I just took the win.

The payout cleared, so who am I to complain?" I leaned across the table, dropping my voice. "Who was the real boyfriend?

Someone radioactive?" "No idea." Holden kept chewing. "They cut the check, I kept my mouth shut. Genevieve and I barely shared two words." A genuine smile broke across my face.

I finally found one pathetic detail where I beat his fakedating score. "Well, we both survived fake relationships, but at least I got to hold his precious little hand." We’d staged it perfectly for the telephoto lenses back then.

The words barely left my mouth before my stomach flipped. Brooks’ icy rejection over the phone echoed in my head.

That staged handholding suddenly felt like a layer of grime I couldn't wash off. I’d rather have nothing at all. Drinking with Holden felt like exorcising a demon.

We ripped into the absolute garbage fire of the industry. Pure, unfiltered resentment poured out of us. Years of bottledup frustration finally cracked open.

I threw back shot after shot until the neon bar signs blurred into pitch black. I woke up the next morning, and the bottom dropped out of my world. I hit the trending page. Again.

The hashtag didn't crack the top ten, but the headline hit like a massive freight train. Piper and Holden: Secret Romance Exposed?

I tried to groan, but a raspy croak scraped past my throat. Sandpaper.

Holden’s mocking voice from last night hammered against my skull. "You're never surviving Hollywood with a lightweight tolerance like that." No shit. I trained to be a pop star.

I lived in dance studios, not dive bars. My tolerance basically didn't exist.

I glared at the swollen, wrecked stranger in my bathroom mirror, silently swearing off tequila for the rest of my natural life. I grabbed my phone off the counter.

The lock screen exploded with notifications. Dozens of missed calls. My assistant, Zoe. Even the big boss, Valerie. My call log looked like a war zone. My chest seized.

The air thinned out in the bathroom. Something massive just went down. I dialed Zoe with shaking hands.

The second she answered, she screamed the news that completely shattered my morning. I was trending. Again.

Chapter 4 The new hashtag barely cracked the top twenty, but the sheer absurdity of it knocked the breath out of my lungs. #PiperAndHoldenSecretRomanceExposed. My jaw dropped.

I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. Someone actually papped us leaving the latenight diner and walking into my apartment building. The photos dropped like a grenade on Twitter.

Genevieve’s army and Brooks’ fanboys immediately joined forces for a fresh witch hunt. My mentions flooded with toxic waste.

They ripped into my bloated face, my oversized hoodie, calling me a desperate, sloppy trainwreck. And I couldn't even defend myself.

Even my own manager, Zoe, thought I orchestrated the whole thing. She couldn't even get his name right, calling him Hayden instead of Holden.

I dumped the entire story on her over the phone.

Zoe just scoffed. "Did you tip off the paparazzi yourself?" Did she actually think I was that desperate for clout? "Hell no!" I snapped. "Are you two hooking up?" Zoe pressed, not even waiting for a beat. "Actually, never mind.

It doesn't matter." I choked down the disrespect. Zoe’s tone dripped with ice.

She was clearly still pissed that I bypassed her and went straight to Valerie to kill the first PR crisis. I kept my voice dead level. "Please.

Just tell Valerie it's not a showmance. It's not a stunt. Just get my name off the trending page." Zoe let out a dry, patronizing laugh. "Relax. Hayden has zero pull. He's a nobody.

A fake romance with him won't even make a ripple." I yanked the phone away from my ear and hit end. No goodbye. Nothing. "His name is Holden!" I screamed at the blank screen.

What kind of garbage management was this? When the internet tore me apart, my team went ghost.

Holden actually dragged me out of my apartment to keep me sane, and Zoe had the nerve to mock his star power? Thanks for nothing, Zoe.

Hope you climb the corporate ladder fast so you don't have to deal with Dlist trash like me anymore. A dark thought crawled into my brain. Did Holden leak the location?

It happened all the time in Hollywood. Washedup actors staging paparazzi drops to chase a crumb of relevance. Funny enough, Holden harbored the exact same suspicion about me.

We instantly locked into a toxic cycle of paranoia. I shot him a text, demanding to know if he tipped anyone off about our drinks. His reply flashed instantly. "Are you insane?

I've been out of the game for years. I don't even have a rep.

Who the hell would I call?" A second text popped up. "Honestly, I figured your agency set it up." He wasn't entirely wrong to guess that. A bitter laugh scraped my throat.

I typed back furiously. "My agency tossed me to the wolves days ago. Remember?" "Then who?" "Just random street paps?" The whole situation felt deeply surreal.

A week ago, I could walk down Hollywood Boulevard without sunglasses, totally invisible. Now, I couldn't grab a greasy burger without a telephoto lens shoved in my face.

Was this the steep price of fifteen minutes of infamy? Holden brushed the whole thing off. "Don't sweat it. We're both too irrelevant to hold the public's attention.

The algorithm will bury us by tomorrow. Besides, neither of us has the cash or the connections to scrub it." He was ruthlessly pragmatic. He operated on the exact same logic as Zoe.

But they were wrong. Dead wrong. Chapter 5 The rumor about Holden and me didn't just fade. It caught fire.

After simmering for twentyfour hours, the algorithm pushed it into the stratosphere, totally flipping the narrative.

Some TikTok editor grabbed old clips of me, Holden, Genevieve, and Brooks, and spliced them into a fanmade trailer. They titled it The Exes' Revenge.

In this alternate universe, Holden and I operated as an unhinged power couple. Two jilted exes teaming up to destroy Genevieve and Brooks.

The video packed every trope—contract marriage, villain eras, and savage clapbacks against the golden couple. Part one ran for eight minutes and completely broke the internet.

The creator possessed godtier editing skills. They fed the drama, hit every emotional beat, and slapped on hilarious text overlays.

Mix that with our reallife trainwreck and Genevieve’s insane star power, and the edit went totally viral. Even I smashed the like button and commented for a part two.

The locals ate it up, camping in the comments for the next episode. The original hashtag quietly evolved. #PiperAndHoldenSecretRomance morphed into #VillainEraExes.

Genuine praise started flooding my feed. "Wait, Piper starred in those two indie network shows?" "She actually devoured those roles.

LMAO how did she pull off those tragic outfits?" "She actually slays the period drama aesthetic. I’m calling it. I officially ship HoldPiper!" HoldPiper?

Our shipper name hit different. It actually sounded kind of adorable. The pure, unfiltered hate diluted into a mixed bag.

Everyday users who despised untouchable Alisters rallied behind me, weaponizing my acting clips to absolutely drag Genevieve’s wooden performances. I refreshed my Twitter.

My follower count skyrocketed. I stared at a number I couldn't have imagined in my wildest delusions.

The last fortyeight hours felt like a total fever dream. "Whoever cut that video possesses serious skills.

They dug deep for that source material," Holden’s voice crackled through the speaker. "That’s an industry job." "Industry?" "Yeah.

I bet your agency pulled the trigger." Holden didn't leave any room for doubt. "They cherrypicked your absolute best angles.

Then they threw Genevieve’s worst takes right next to them." My gut reaction screamed impossible.

My agency treated me like a stray dog. "Just think about it," Holden pressed. "Who cashes in on this?" The realization slammed into me.

Hijacking Genevieve’s hype to farm engagement? That played exactly like one of Valerie's cutthroat PR plays.

Holden doubled down, a smug grin obvious in his tone. "Must be nice having a real team.

I’m just riding your coattails, and my TikTok is blowing up." "Shut up," I snapped back. "We don't even know if Valerie orchestrated this.

Drop the attitude." "Wanna bet Korean BBQ on it?" "You're on. Prepare to pay up." Spoiler alert—betting against Holden was a massive mistake.

Chapter 6 The next morning, Valerie showed up and confirmed Holden’s theory. She dressed more like an Alister than I did. A vintage Chanel suit hugged her frame.

A flawless, massive emerald ring—so perfect it looked fake—flashed on her left index finger, making my cramped apartment feel even more like a shoebox.

She carelessly tossed a sixfigure Birkin bag onto my thrifted sofa. She settled in, looking every inch the untouchable industry shark she was.

Her eyes scanned the room before locking onto mine. "The living situation feels a bit… rough." I nodded directly, zero shame burning my cheeks. I belonged to her roster.

My poverty fell partly on their shoulders. "I hired someone to cut that video of you and Holden." Valerie cut straight to the chase.

Her eyes narrowed when I didn't flinch. "You already figured it out?" I nodded again. "The editor dug up too much obscure Broll.

Nobody outside the agency has access to those raw files." "You actually possess a brain." "And the paparazzi? Did you arrange that drop too?" I pressed. Valerie shook her head. "No.

That counts as a beautiful accident. The paps staked out someone else, and you just stumbled into their lenses. You went out in West Hollywood, Piper!

Paps outnumber normal pedestrians there!" A smug smirk crawled across Valerie’s face. "The second your little scandal trended, I noticed the internet actually ate up the dynamic between you two.

I took a gamble and paid a TikToker to drop that edit. I didn't expect it to go totally viral." Genuine relief flooded my chest. I thanked her.

No matter the motive, that video diluted the toxic hate. Everyday users completely drowned out Genevieve’s rabid stans. "Skip the thanks, Piper. You belong to our veteran roster.

We sink or swim together. Your success equals my success." Valerie making house calls? Faking intimacy? Red flags shot up everywhere.

Right on cue, Valerie reached into that massive Birkin. She slapped a new contract on my coffee table, demanding another ten years with Zenith Media.

My current deal still had two years left. But she explicitly stated the agency planned to push me to the Alist. They needed a guarantee. Renew first.

They refused to build me up just to watch me walk away. Valerie played hardball, but she brought real ammunition.

She slid a stack of scripts across the table, right next to the contract. "This one?" She tapped the top page. "One of our Clist girls currently claims it.

Say the word, and it belongs to you." She tapped the next script. "Netflix original. Stier budget. Shoots this winter.

Pick between the second or third female lead." But Valerie held the ultimate trump card.

She knew my actual dream. "Focus on acting right now," she said smoothly. "Build your metrics. Once you hit a certain tier, the agency will fund your album.

You'll get your pop star debut." She knew exactly how to bait the hook. And God, I wanted to bite. Chapter 7 A wire suddenly snapped in my brain.

The words bypassed my filter entirely. "Can the agency drop the PR stunt with Brooks?" Valerie’s gaze sharpened into daggers.

The massive emerald on her finger flashed as she drummed it against the glass table, looking every bit like a hawk zeroing in on prey. "No." The word clipped through the air, absolute and lethal.

Pure cutthroat management. "Where did you get such a naive idea? Do you want a career or not? Do you want a stage?" A glittering, venomous trap.

My throat tightened. "Brooks threw me to the wolves, sure. But I refuse to play the parasite." I locked eyes with her. "A decade ago, we staged that showmance together.

Mutual consent. Bleeding his name dry right now just feels… slimy." Valerie tracked the guilt flashing across my face.

She traced the edge of her emerald, a slow, calculated smirk curving her lips. "Did you forget exactly how Dexter shut you down when you called Brooks?" Ice dumped directly into my veins.

She knew. My face burned, stripped bare of any defenses. Valerie reached into her Birkin and pulled out a burner phone. She tapped the screen, sliding it across the table.

A voice crackled through the speaker. I only interacted with him once, but that shrill, grating LA pitch practically seared itself into my brain. Dexter.

He pitched a trade directly to Valerie. "We can funnel a few commercial campaigns over to Zenith. But we need you to ice Piper out permanently. Blacklist her.

We can't have her making any more waves…" The audio cut out. My brain shortcircuited. My chest caved in, crushing my lungs against my ribs