Rock Bottom

Scarlett's POV

The casting director's coffee mug hit the table with a sharp clink, splashing brown liquid towards my feet.

"Next!"

I sat frozen in the plastic chair, watching my photo absorb the coffee like a sponge. Five years of failed auditions, and this was the worst yet.

"I said next!" The woman didn't even look up from her clipboard.

"But I haven't read yet," I said, my voice coming out smaller than I intended.

"Honey." She finally looked at me, her eyes cold as ice. "We Googled you while you were waiting. 'Zombie Cheerleaders 3'? Really? That movie was so bad it got pulled from streaming after two weeks."

Heat burned my cheeks. "That wasn't my fault. The script was—"

"Look, Scarlett Rose, right? You're twenty-eight years old and your biggest credit is a horror movie that made people laugh instead of scream. We need someone with actual talent."

The words hit me like physical blows. I grabbed my coffee-stained headshot and walked toward the door on unsteady legs.

"Oh, and Scarlett?" The casting director's voice followed me. "Maybe try waitressing. I hear the Olive Garden on Sunset is hiring."

The door slammed behind me. I made it exactly three steps down the hallway before the tears started.

My phone buzzed. A text from my landlord: Rent was due yesterday. Pay by Friday or you're out.

Friday. That was tomorrow.

I stumbled down four flights of stairs because I couldn't afford parking and had to use street meters. My ancient Honda Civic sat baking in the Los Angeles heat, the paint peeling off in strips like sunburned skin.

The drive home took an hour in traffic. An hour of sitting still while my life fell apart around me. The radio played a song I recognized - something from Kai's latest album. I switched it off so fast I nearly swerved into another lane.

Some wounds never healed.

My apartment building looked like it was one earthquake away from collapsing. The elevator had an "OUT OF ORDER" sign that had been there for six months. I climbed five flights of stairs, each step harder than the last.

The eviction notice was taped to my door like a scarlet letter. Big red letters that screamed "FAILURE" to anyone walking by.

I ripped it down and fumbled with my keys. Three different locks because this wasn't exactly a safe neighborhood. Inside, my apartment was hot as an oven and twice as empty.

Everything valuable was already gone. My TV, sold three months ago. My grandmother's jewelry, pawned last month. Even my good dishes, traded for two weeks of groceries that were now just crumbs in the bottom of empty boxes.

I opened the refrigerator. One yogurt cup sat alone on the top shelf, expired yesterday. The freezer held nothing but ice cubes and broken dreams.

My stomach growled loud enough to echo off the bare walls.

The bathroom mirror showed me exactly what the casting director had seen - a woman who looked older than twenty-eight, with dark circles under her eyes and clothes that had seen better years. My last good dress hung in the closet like a ghost, waiting for an audition that would never come.

I sat on my mattress on the floor and opened my laptop. Bank account: negative thirty-seven dollars. Credit cards: maxed out. Student loan payments: three months behind.

My phone rang. Unknown number, which probably meant debt collectors.

"Hello?"

"Is this Scarlett Rose?"

"Depends who's asking."

"This is Amanda from Stellar Casting. We met today about the toothpaste commercial?"

My heart jumped. Maybe she'd changed her mind. Maybe there was still hope.

"We've decided to go with someone else," Amanda continued. "Someone with a more... reliable image."

"I see."

"Honestly, Miss Rose, you might want to consider a career change. Hollywood can be brutal to people who've had... setbacks."

The line went dead. I stared at my phone, watching my reflection in the black screen. This was who I'd become - a cautionary tale other people whispered about.

The apartment felt like it was shrinking around me. Four walls, closing in tighter every day. I pulled out a shoebox from under my bed and lifted the lid with shaking hands.

Inside were photos from college. Me at nineteen, laughing at something off-camera. Me at twenty-one, holding a bouquet of daisies and beaming at the photographer. Me at twenty-three, standing next to a tall boy with brown eyes and a crooked smile, both of us looking like we owned the world.

I slammed the box shut before I could see any more.

A knock on my door made me jump. Probably my neighbor again, complaining about something. But when I opened it, Luna stood there with takeout bags and a worried expression.

"You look terrible," she said, pushing past me into the apartment.

"Thanks. That's exactly what I needed to hear."

"When's the last time you ate?" Luna started unpacking Chinese food on my coffee table.

"I had half a granola bar this morning."

"Scarlett." Luna's voice was gentle but firm. "We need to talk."

She handed me chopsticks and a container of fried rice. The smell made my mouth water so much it hurt.

"I got a call today," Luna said, watching me devour the food. "About a job."

I looked up from the rice. "What kind of job?"

"Reality TV."

I nearly choked. "Absolutely not."

"Hear me out—"

"Luna, no. I'm desperate, but I'm not that desperate."

"Fifty thousand dollars."

The chopsticks slipped from my fingers. "What?"

"Fifty thousand dollars for six weeks of work. Guaranteed, regardless of how long you last on the show."

I stared at her, rice still in my mouth. Fifty thousand dollars would solve everything. Rent, bills, food, maybe even enough left over to take some acting classes and start fresh.

"What's the catch?"

Luna hesitated. "It's called 'Love Island Dreams.' You'd be... well, you'd be the villain."

"The what?"

"The girl who breaks up couples. Causes drama. Makes the audience hate her."

My stomach dropped. "So I'd be playing myself."

"Don't say that."

But it felt true. Everything I touched turned to ashes. Every relationship, every job, every dream I'd ever chased. Maybe being the villain was just being honest about who I really was.

"They want an answer tonight," Luna said quietly.

I looked around my empty apartment. At the eviction notice crumpled on the floor. At the photos I couldn't bear to look at. At the life I'd somehow managed to destroy completely.

"What if I can't do it? What if I'm not mean enough?"

"You're one of the strongest people I know," Luna said. "You've survived this long in Hollywood. You can survive anything."

After Luna left, I sat alone with the contract she'd brought. Fifty pages of legal terms I didn't understand, but the number at the bottom was crystal clear: $50,000.

I thought about Kai's song on the radio earlier. About the life we'd planned together when we were young and stupid and thought love could conquer everything. About the morning I'd walked away from him without explanation, too scared to admit I was holding him back.

Some mistakes followed you forever.

My phone buzzed with another text from the landlord: Pay up or pack up. No exceptions.

I picked up a pen and signed my name on the dotted line before I could change my mind.

Twenty minutes later, my phone rang.

"Scarlett Rose? This is Jake Morrison, producer of Love Island Dreams."

His voice was too friendly, "Congratulations on joining our cast."

"Thank you."

"I have to say, you're perfect for what we need. America is going to love hating you."

My skin crawled, but I forced myself to sound professional. "I understand my role."

"Good. Car picks you up tomorrow at eight AM sharp. And Scarlett?"

"Yes?"

"Don't eat too much tonight. We're putting you in a very tight dress tomorrow, and the cameras catch everything."

The line went dead. I sat in my empty apartment, staring at the signed contract in my hands.

In twelve hours, I'd be playing the most hated woman on television.

My phone rang one last time. Another unknown number.

"Hello?"

"We've made a last-minute addition to the male cast," Jake's voice purred through the speaker. "Someone who's going to make your job very interesting."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's just say your past is about to catch up with you in a very public way. Sweet dreams, Scarlett."

I sat in the darkness, my heart hammering against my ribs.

What had I just signed up for?