Chapter 1

The customs agent barely glanced at my passport.

"Welcome home, Ms. Hayes."

Home. After eighteen months of pro-bono work in a place where reliable Wi-Fi was a myth, LAX felt like an alien planet.

My brother, Leo, was supposed to pick me up.

Instead, a driver held a small sign: "AVA."

The ride to Mom and Dad's Bel Air fortress was quiet. The driver didn't talk. I didn't either.

Leo met me at the door, looking like a kid who'd raided a designer closet. Too thin. Dark circles under his eyes.

He hugged me tight. "Ava! You're finally back!"

"Good to be back, Leo."

He pulled away, already looking nervous. "So, uh, there's this thing."

"A thing?"

"A reality show. *Hollywood Family Fun*. They want me, and, well, a family member."

I raised an eyebrow. Our family wasn't exactly the fun-loving, game-night type.

"What did Mom say?"

Leo winced. "She said, and I quote, 'Absolutely not. It's utterly déclassé.'"

Predictable.

"And Dad?"

"He said, 'One hundred million dollars for my appearance, non-negotiable. Plus a controlling interest in the network.'"

Classic Dad.

Leo looked at me, his eyes wide. "Please, Ava? It's just a week. At some fancy ranch. Easy money, good exposure."

I'd just quit my Wall Street gig before the pro-bono stint. My bank account wasn't screaming, but it wasn't exactly flush either. A week at a ranch sounded... tolerable. Besides, I was in a "rest period."

"A ranch, huh? Sure, why not. I'll do it."

Relief washed over Leo's face. He actually teared up.

"Oh, thank God, Ava! You're the best. Seriously." He hugged me again, almost knocking me over.

I patted his back. "Easy there, superstar. It's just a show."

I remembered the posters for *Starfleet Academy* I'd seen even in obscure corners of the globe. "You're huge now, Leo. Captain of a starship. My little brother, a big damn hero. I'm proud of you."

He flushed, a genuine smile finally reaching his eyes. Then it faltered.

"Yeah, um, about that..." He shifted his weight. "Maybe you should, like, check out the internet? Before we go?"

I'd been off the grid for so long, subsisting on satellite internet that made dial-up look like fiber optics. My last impression of Leo's career was a few glowing early reviews and fan art.

"Why? What's up?"

He just shrugged, looking at his shoes. "Just... get the current vibe."

Later that night, after unpacking a few essentials, I finally opened my laptop.

I typed Leo's name into the search bar.

The results flooded in.

My smile froze.

Sure, he was famous. Infamous, more like.

"Leo Hayes: Hollywood's Prettiest Prop?"

"Starfleet Academy's Wooden Wonder Boy."

"Nepotism Baby Hayes: How Looks Trump Talent."

Comments sections were a cesspool. Vicious. Personal.

They called him "Captain Cardboard." They made compilations of his scenes set to circus music, titled "Leo Hayes's Two Expressions." They said he cried his way into the role.

My earlier words echoed. "I'm proud of you."

The weight of them settled in my stomach.

And I had a feeling Leo would soon regret saying, "You're the best."

My baby brother.

This was not going to be a relaxing week at a ranch.