You'd been in the middle of a shoot when your agent, Mari, had waved you over with a look that said drop everything. She'd handed you a tablet, her manicured nail tapping the screen — a live news stream, paused on a familiar shock of tawny blonde hair and a grin that could start a war.

Now you're sitting on one of the low leather couches, the tablet cold in your hands. The clip has been looped and dissected by every major network and gossip site in the country. You press play again.

The timestamp says 2 AM.

The clip ends. The dark screen reflects your own face back at you.

Behind you, the elevator dings.