The California sun beat down on the sprawling beachfront villa. The live broadcast for Heartbeat Rules had just started, and the viewer count was already in the millions.

The live chat was a chaotic mess of fans screaming for Byron and Joanne to reunite.

Joanne arrived first. She wore a pure white, floral sundress, looking delicate and fragile. She stood at the bottom of the long stone staircase leading to the villa, two massive pink suitcases sitting beside her.

She looked at the camera, her lower lip trembling slightly. "Oh no, these are way too heavy for me."

At that exact moment, Byron walked out of the heavy wooden front doors. He wore a simple black button-down, the sleeves rolled up, one hand casually tucked into his pocket.

Joanne's eyes sparkled. She looked up at him, her voice dripping with honey. "Byron, could you please help me with these?"

The live chat went wild, anticipating the romantic rescue.

Byron looked down at her from the top of the stairs. His eyes were dead, devoid of any human warmth.

"Don't you have hands?" he asked, his voice flat and cold.

He turned around and walked back inside.

Joanne's smile froze. The live chat went completely silent for three agonizing seconds before erupting into confusion. Joanne bit her lip, her face burning red, and began dragging the heavy bags up the stairs herself, panting and sweating.

Just as the awkwardness peaked, the roar of a V8 engine shattered the quiet beach air.

A bright, obnoxious red Ferrari convertible, rented by the production team specifically for a dramatic, villainous entrance, slammed to a halt in the driveway.

The door swung open. A pair of long legs, strapped into diamond-encrusted stilettos, stepped out.

Allyson stood up. She wore a skin-tight, fiery red dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. She pushed her vintage sunglasses down her nose and stared straight into the main camera.

The live chat immediately filled with vomit emojis and death threats.

In the production truck, Dexter Finch punched the air in triumph. The traffic was spiking.

Allyson winked at the lens-a slow, exaggerated, incredibly greasy wink. She reached into the passenger seat and pulled out a battered, twenty-four-inch suitcase.

Then, she pulled out the bright pink book. She held it up so the camera could clearly read the title: 100 Cheesy Pickup Lines to Make Him Yours.

The hate comments in the chat suddenly morphed into strings of question marks.

Allyson dragged her suitcase up the stairs, her heels clicking loudly against the stone. She pushed open the heavy front doors and stepped into the massive living room.

The other cast members-Fernando, Charlie, and Melody-were already seated on the plush sofas. They all turned to stare at her.

Joanne, who was sitting on a sofa near Byron, immediately shrank back, clutching a throw pillow to her chest as if she were terrified Allyson was going to attack her.

Byron sat in a single armchair. He held a mug of black coffee. As Allyson walked in, his eyes flicked up.

When he saw the skin-tight red dress, his pupils dilated. His throat worked as he swallowed hard.

Allyson scanned the room. Her eyes locked onto Byron.

She took a deep breath, mentally pulling up the first line from the pink book. She ignored everyone else in the room and marched straight toward him.

Joanne braced herself, ready to cry on cue.

But Allyson walked right past Joanne. She stopped directly in front of Byron's armchair.

The room went dead silent. The cameramen practically shoved their lenses into the actors' faces.

Allyson stood over Byron, looking down at his perfectly composed face. Her heart was beating so fast she felt dizzy, but she forced herself to commit to the bit.

Her heart hammered furiously against her ribs. This was it. Time to be the most obnoxious, clingy woman alive. She desperately hoped Joanne was watching closely, and that this ridiculous stunt would make her sick to her stomach. She leaned down suddenly. She slammed one hand against the back of his armchair, effectively caging him in.

The other guests gasped. Charlie's hand jerked, spilling water over the rim of his glass.

Byron didn't flinch. He just looked up at her, so close that he could smell the faint scent of her rose perfume.

Allyson stared directly into his dark eyes. She lowered her voice, trying to sound seductive, but mostly just sounding congested.

"Mr. Estes," she started, her voice echoing in the quiet room. "Do you know the difference between you and the stars?"

Byron's spine stiffened. A flash of utter disbelief crossed his eyes.

The live chat completely froze. Everyone was waiting for the ice-cold superstar to shove her away in disgust.

But Byron didn't push her. He tilted his chin up slightly, his voice a low, gravelly hum. "What?"

Allyson gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to die of embarrassment. She delivered the punchline. "The stars are in the sky. But you... are in my heart."

The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush bone.

Melody slapped a hand over her mouth, a choked snort escaping her lips.

The live chat exploded.

Help!

I am physically cringing!

My toes are curling into another dimension!

Joanne jumped up from her seat, trying to play the peacemaker. "Allyson, please don't make such inappropriate jokes with a senior-"

Allyson ignored her completely. She kept her arms locked around Byron's chair.

Byron's Adam's apple bobbed. He lowered his eyelashes, hiding the intense, burning heat in his gaze.

Instead of getting angry, he went perfectly still. His dark eyes locked onto hers with a heavy, unreadable intensity that made the air between them suddenly feel too thin to breathe. He didn't lean in, but the sheer weight of his silence felt like a physical touch.

"Is that so?" he asked, his voice a flat, deadpan drawl that betrayed absolutely nothing.

The deep, vibrating timbre of his voice sent a violent shockwave straight down Allyson's spine. Her brain short-circuited. The tips of her ears turned a violent shade of red under his piercing, unyielding stare.

She jerked backward as if she had been burned, her stiletto catching on the rug. She stumbled, barely catching her balance.

Byron calmly picked up his coffee mug and took a slow sip, perfectly hiding the slight upward curve of his lips. He looked completely unbothered, the picture of cold restraint.

But the high-definition cameras had caught it all. The internet was already losing its mind over the visible flush on Allyson's ears and the undeniable tension between them.

Joanne stared at them, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. She couldn't stand the fact that she was being ignored.

She walked over to her massive pink suitcases. She looked helplessly at the male guests.

Fernando stood up, offering a polite smile, ready to help her.

But before Fernando could take a step, Byron stood up. He set his coffee mug down on the glass table with a sharp clink.

He walked straight past Joanne and her pink luggage.

He stopped in front of Allyson's battered, twenty-four-inch suitcase.

Byron reached out with a long arm and wrapped his large hand around the handle of Allyson's cheap suitcase.

He lifted it effortlessly, turning his head to look at Allyson, who was still standing frozen in shock.

"Which room?" he asked. His voice was cold, but the action was undeniably commanding.

Allyson blinked, stammering as she pointed toward the stairs. "Uh, second floor. Far right."

Byron didn't say another word. He carried her suitcase up the stairs, his long legs taking the steps two at a time.

The people in the living room were left picking their jaws up off the floor.

In the live chat, Joanne's fans were having a meltdown, screaming about how unfair it was that Byron helped the villain but ignored their idol.

Joanne stood next to her pink bags, her face cycling through shades of red and white. Her nails were digging into her palms again.

Fernando cleared his throat, stepping forward to grab Joanne's bags, but the gesture felt entirely hollow now. Byron had stolen all the oxygen in the room.

Allyson watched Byron disappear down the hallway. A rush of adrenaline hit her. She turned around and looked at Joanne, deciding to strike while the iron was hot.

She plastered a look of exaggerated surprise on her face. "Oh my god, you look so familiar," Allyson said loudly. "Aren't you... wait, what was your name?"

Joanne forced her sweet smile back into place. "Allyson, we just saw each other last night at the banquet."

Allyson slapped her forehead. "Right! Now I remember! You're the actress who stole my role in City of Stars!"

The words dropped like an anvil.

Joanne's sweet mask shattered into a million pieces. She waved her hands frantically. "You're misunderstanding things. That was the director's choice-"

Allyson took a step closer, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "The director's choice? You mean bringing your own investors to kick out the original cast member is a normal choice?"

The other guests stared in absolute shock. Nobody dropped industry secrets like this on live television.

Dexter Finch was screaming in the control room, ordering the cameras to zoom in on Joanne's panicked face.

The live chat instantly flipped. Sane viewers started questioning Joanne's innocent persona.

Tears welled up in Joanne's eyes. She let them spill over her cheeks, looking like a kicked puppy.

Just then, Byron walked back down the stairs.

Joanne looked up at him, her tear-filled eyes pleading for him to save her, to defend her honor.

Byron reached the bottom of the stairs. His dark eyes swept past Joanne's crying face without a single flicker of emotion. He didn't even pause.

He walked straight to Allyson.

"Suitcase is put away," he muttered, low and flat. Then he walked past her, heading toward the kitchen.

The total, brutal dismissal hit Joanne harder than a physical slap. Her pride was annihilated.

She let out a choked sob, covered her face with her hands, and ran up the stairs, leaving Fernando to awkwardly drag her bags behind her.

Allyson watched her run away, a deep, satisfying thrill rushing through her veins.

Melody leaned over and gave Allyson a subtle thumbs-up. "Nice work," she whispered.

Allyson smirked. She turned and walked toward the kitchen, curious to see what her fake husband was doing.

When she walked in, Byron was standing with his back to her, pouring a glass of water. Hearing her footsteps, the corner of his mouth twitched upward, just for a second.