Chapter 3His Amber Eyes Were Lies

In a cruel twist of fate, I was the one who introduced them.

It was senior year. Wyatt had been scouted by an agent. He had the face for it, but he was green. He fell into a trap—a predatory contract with a bottom-tier agency that specialized in "influencer houses" and shady livestreams.

By the time I found out, Wyatt was drowning in debt, trying to find a way to pay a massive kill-fee for a contract he’d barely read.

His roommate told me the truth: "Wyatt didn't want you to know. He’s humiliated. But Sylvia, he’s in over his head. They're trying to force him into these... weird 'fan meetups' and scripted 'dating' streams."

I fixed it.

The problem that had been crushing his spirit was solved with one phone call from my father's legal team. I tried to be discreet, but Wyatt wasn't stupid. He saw the shift in the agency’s attitude. The predatory manager suddenly became a groveling assistant, handing over the release papers with a trembling hand and even offering a "settlement" for the trouble.

When he got home that night, he didn't look happy. He looked small.

"Was it you, Sylvia?" he asked.

I hesitated. "Would you have preferred I did nothing?"

He didn't answer. The silence was heavy. I wanted to tell him that if he chose to be with me, he had to accept the reality of who I was—and what I could do. He needed to get used to the power imbalance.

But the words felt too cruel. Instead, I kept it light. "Do you really want to be in this industry? Because if you do, I’ll just start a company for you. We’ll do it right."

He looked at me and laughed, a bitter, mocking sound. "I guess I'd be a fool to turn down a silver platter, wouldn't I?"

"Think of it as an investment," I said. "We’ll sign a real contract. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be the one making me rich in five years."

That seemed to soothe his ego. His face softened. "Does it really pay that fast? The entertainment business?"

I didn't answer.

He let out a self-deprecating snort. "Right. Even 'fast' isn't your kind of fast. Your trust fund probably grows by a house every minute."

His debut project was a high-end indie romance. I made sure he was the male lead. And I chose Tinsley Hart to be his co-star.

Tinsley was the "National Sweetheart." She was talented, she had a massive following, and everyone loved her. I thought her star power would rub off on Wyatt.

I went to the set on the first day of filming.

The cast and crew were gathered for the kickoff. Wyatt stood next to Tinsley, looking striking in the morning light. His amber eyes caught the sun, and for a moment, he was so beautiful it hurt to look at him. He completely outshone the veteran actors around him.

I didn't expect him to become a superstar overnight. It was a small film.

But when it was released, Wyatt was the only thing anyone talked about. He became the internet’s new obsession. The "shippers" started editing videos of him and Tinsley, crying over their "tragic" onscreen chemistry.

And that leads us to now: their second project together. A project I explicitly told him not to take. A project he signed onto behind my back.

Our first real fight was about that script.

"The fans want this, Sylvia," Wyatt had argued, his confusion genuine. "Why wouldn't I give them what they want? The buzz is already insane."

It wasn't just that the script was a repetitive teen drama. I had worked my connections to get him an audition for a major director’s new feature. If he did the show with Tinsley, he’d have to pass on the movie. It was the difference between being a flash-in-the-pan idol and a serious actor.

I tried to explain the long-term strategy.

Wyatt just laughed coldly. "You're just jealous of Tinsley, aren't you?"

I froze. Jealousy was an emotion I didn't know how to process.

I didn't like Tinsley, that much was true. The first time I met her on set as Wyatt’s manager, she had looked at me with this long, searching expression. Then she turned to Wyatt and said, "I know you were a 'civilian' before this, so having a girlfriend makes sense. But why are you letting a girl who knows nothing about the industry handle your career?"

"Wyatt," she had continued, "some girls just want to cling to someone famous to feel important. They're afraid you'll outgrow them. You have so much potential; you don't need an anchor dragging you down."

The "National Sweetheart" wasn't so sweet when the cameras were off. She looked like a classic mean girl.

But I could see why she was confused. I kept a low profile. Most people thought Wyatt had built his own studio with his own money. Everyone assumed he was some "Secret Billionaire’s Son" playing at being an actor.

Wyatt had started to explain who I was, but I cut him off. "Miss Hart," I said coolly, "your acting in real life is much more convincing than your acting in the script."

Tinsley glared at me, then turned back to Wyatt, grabbing his arm and whining in a playful, sugary voice, calling him by his character's name. "Liam, look at her... she's so mean to me!"

Wyatt didn't pull away. He looked at me, frowning. "Enough, Sylvia. She’s just blunt. She’s a 'free spirit.' Don’t be a bully."

I looked at his hand on her arm, then up at his face. I wondered if he was lost in the role or if he was just losing his mind.

They were "method" during filming, which meant a lot of flirting off-camera. It was blurring the lines of what was acceptable for a man in a relationship, but there was never any "proof" of an affair.

I had tried to be the "cool girlfriend." I tolerated it. But I didn't like it.

I told him as much. I suggested he keep a professional distance.

Wyatt’s response was a cold sneer. "Sylvia, I’m not your property. Why don't you just buy a leash and lock me in your basement?"

"Is this because you love me so much? Or are you just that possessive?"

"If I ever left you," he said, mocking me, "would you actually die of a broken heart?"

He thought he’d found my weakness. He thought he could use my "devotion" to buy his freedom.

"If you don't want me to leave, Sylvia," he said, "then stop trying to control me."

I looked at him—at the makeup, the stylized hair, the arrogance in his eyes—and I realized he looked less and less like the man I was trying to remember every day.