Chapter 1: Headlines and Heartstrings

After the news broke that Oscar winner Grant Callahan—yes, that Grant Callahan—had secretly gotten married and had a baby, Mason Whitaker, Hollywood’s golden boy, and I, Chloe Reed, found ourselves smack in the crosshairs of America’s favorite pastime: marriage pressure.

In Hollywood, news like that doesn’t just break—it explodes. It was all over TMZ and E! before I could even finish my coffee. I could practically hear my mom’s voice on the other end of the line, already leaving voicemails about how she’d started sending me links to wedding venues in Napa Valley. It felt like the entire country was obsessed with seeing us all paired off, especially now that Grant Callahan, the last bachelor of our trio, was officially off the market.

I fired off a bitter text to Mason Whitaker: “I can’t stand that cheating Oscar winner!”

I didn’t hold back—I added a whole parade of dramatic emojis: fire, broken heart, even the facepalm. Even though it was just text, I could feel my frustration boiling over, my fingers stabbing at the screen like I was pounding a drum.

Mason shot back instantly: “Why don’t we just get hitched and steal his spotlight?”

I stared at his message, my lips quirking into a crooked grin. Of course Mason would toss out something wild like that. Still, the idea had a certain mischievous appeal. The gossip sites would lose their minds.

So, I said yes.

It was impulsive, borderline reckless, but for once it felt perfect. I could already picture the headlines spinning: “Hollywood’s New Power Couple: Whitaker & Reed Tie the Knot!”

Within minutes, Twitter was on fire and the internet lost its collective mind.

My phone turned into a war zone—notifications blaring, Instagram DMs, Facebook Messenger, even my great-aunt from Des Moines sent me a text with a string of question marks. It was pure American chaos: everyone had an opinion, everyone had to weigh in, and nobody could keep it to themselves.

When Grant Callahan’s daughter’s birth hit the news, my Instagram basically imploded.

My phone buzzed nonstop—so much that I was worried it might literally overheat. Classmates from high school, random blue-checks, and people with anime profile pics all chimed in. Suddenly, I was trending for reasons I never wanted.

A mob of online commentators descended on my page, reveling in the drama: “Grant Callahan betrayed your friendship!”

They didn’t stop there—memes started popping up everywhere. One had my face photoshopped onto the weeping Statue of Liberty, another had me Photoshopped into The Bachelor, holding a single rose. I couldn’t help but laugh at the creativity, even as it stung.

“I remember someone once said, ‘If Grant Callahan isn’t in a hurry, neither is Chloe,’ but now he secretly has a daughter, LOL.”

The internet never forgets, and apparently, it never forgives either. I guess every old interview was now open season.

“Chloe Reed got left in the dust, hahaha.”

That line hit like a sucker punch, but I tried to brush it off with an exaggerated eye roll. Really—“left in the dust”? What is this, The Bachelorette?

Worse, within ten minutes, that same hashtag shot to the top three trending searches.

My phone screen was a wall of hashtags and snark. For a second, I seriously considered tossing it in the pool and going off the grid for a month.

There I was, side by side with Mason Whitaker—#ChloeMasonLeftInTheDust#.

I snorted at the hashtag. If only they knew what was about to hit them.

Grant, Mason, and I were Hollywood’s infamous trio—famous for starring in the same hit TV drama. Over the last ten years, we’d each carved out our own corner of the industry, and people started calling us the Steel Triangle.

We were LA’s golden crew—always showing up for each other’s premieres, always fueling reunion rumors. Our group chat was the stuff of legend: memes, inside jokes, and endless banter.

But I only found out about Grant’s daughter because of the internet!

The sting of betrayal was sharper than I cared to admit. Was I really that out of the loop now?

Annoyed, I messaged Mason again: “Grant is seriously the worst!”

I hammered in three exclamation points, going full drama queen.

“If he’d given me a heads-up, maybe I could’ve found someone first.”

I pictured myself strutting down a red carpet with some mystery date, just to throw everyone for a loop.

“Now look at me, I’m actually the odd one out!”

I even let out an exaggerated sigh, as if Mason could hear me through the phone.

[Angry emoji]

I picked the angriest little red face I could find, but it still didn’t feel like enough.

I scrolled and scrolled, but still didn’t see a reply from Mason. A knot started to form in my stomach.

I refreshed our chat so many times my thumb started to cramp. The silence was louder than any headline.

Was it possible he also had a secret kid somewhere I didn’t know about?