Chapter 4The AI Plastic Surgery

After the event, I ran into someone backstage.

It was one of Winter's biggest rivals, an actress named Sabrina Hayes.

She became famous long before Winter, but her popularity had faded over the past two years, and Winter had snatched several endorsement deals that were once hers.

She stood at the end of the hallway, watching me with an unreadable expression.

"You look good today," she said. "Much better than the last few times I saw you."

I froze.

The last few times?

She'd seen me before?

No.

She'd seen Winter.

"Thank you," I replied cautiously.

She walked over and suddenly cupped my chin between her fingers. Her nails were long, painted a deep crimson.

"But your face feels a little stiff," she said. "Winter, did you get more injections again?"

My heart skipped a beat.

"I haven't been sleeping well lately," I answered.

She let go and smiled, though the smile never reached her eyes.

"Be careful," she said. "An actor's face is everything. Don't turn yourself into a plastic doll just to stay famous."

She turned and walked away, her high heels clicking against the floor like the ticking of a countdown.

I stood frozen, my back drenched in cold sweat.

That was when I realized this face wasn't protecting me.

It was a ticking time bomb.

I could fool the fans.

I could fool the reporters.

But I couldn't fool other actors.

I couldn't fool the people who truly knew Winter.

And by then, it was already too late to stop.

…

Standing in for Winter on a film set was far harder than attending a public event.

My first scene was an emotional breakdown.

The female lead just learned that the male lead had died in a car accident, and she was supposed to collapse to her knees in the rain, sobbing uncontrollably.

I'd studied the script beforehand and carefully analyzed the way Winter performed in her previous roles.

But the moment I stood in front of the camera, panic took over.

As soon as the director called, "Action," my mind went completely blank.

"Cut!" The director slammed the script onto the ground. "Winter, what's wrong with you today? Where are the tears? I need complete devastation, not a blank expression!"

I apologized and asked for another take.

The second.

The third.

The fourth...

By the seventh take, I finally broke down and cried.

Not because I'd gotten into character.

I cried because I was terrified.

I cried because there were only fifteen days left in my trial period.

If I messed this up, Winter would take away my membership and I'd be nothing more than Mabel Shaw again—the ordinary girl who'd stood alone in the pouring rain with mascara running down her face.

The moment the tears finally came, the director called, "Cut. That's a wrap."

After the scene, I sat in the dressing room, trembling.

My assistant handed me a cup of hot water and called me "Winter."

She asked if I was feeling unwell.

I looked at the concern on her face and suddenly wanted to tell her the truth.

I wasn't Winter ; I was an impostor.

I couldn't even cry on cue.

Those tears had come from sheer panic.

But I said nothing.

I simply took the cup and said, "Thank you. I'd like to be alone for a while."

That night, I received a message from Winter.

"Nice work," she wrote. "The director said your crying scene had real emotional depth."

I stared at my phone, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

On the thirtieth day of working in Winter's place, my complimentary trial expired.

As promised, Winter renewed it for me, but only for one month.

She said the upcoming jobs were even more important, and she'd need me to stand in for her more often, so I'd have to start paying part of the membership fee myself.

"Bronze Membership costs three thousand dollars and lasts seven days," she said. "Your choice."

I chose Silver which cost ten thousand dollars.

I earned half million dollars for appearing at a single event in Winter's place.

Ten thousand dollars was nothing.