A Script of Borrowed Times

JULIA POV

The rough asphalt burned through the soles of my shoes as the two security guards dragged me away, giving me no chance to stand. They hauled me past cables, cameras, and crew members who stopped whatever they were doing just to watch the free show.

Sharp stares and whispers spread like wildfire. Phones were raised without hesitation, recording my face as it burned with humiliation—and now, pure rage.

“Let go! I can walk on my own!” I shouted, trying to wrench my arms free.

Their grip only tightened, locking down so hard I knew my arms would be bruised tomorrow.

“Shut up and get out!” one of them barked, shoving me through the metal barricades that separated the set from the public street.

I stumbled onto the sidewalk, my knees slamming hard against the concrete. Pedestrians turned, staring in shock.

“Cause trouble again, and we’re calling the cops, ma’am!” the guard yelled, his voice dripping with disgust. “Crazy bitch, ruining our lead actor’s peace!”

The gate slammed shut and locked with a heavy metallic clang.

I was left stranded among a crowd of strangers who immediately began whispering and pointing. In a small town like Spring Creek, even the smallest spark of drama became a wildfire of gossip.

But I did not care about them.

My mind was trapped inside that trailer, focused on the phone that had been stomped on.

With trembling hands, I opened my grip. The screen was a shattered spiderweb, flickering with erratic green lines.

“No, no...” Panic choked me.

The screen went completely black. Dead.

I pressed the power button over and over, praying for a miracle, but the display remained dark—empty, just like my hope.

“Julia! Julia!”

I looked up and saw Ashley running toward me, breathless and pale. She grabbed my arms and pulled me to my feet, her eyes wide with alarm.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“My phone... I have to call the hospital,” I whispered, tears finally spilling over and dripping onto the cracked glass. “I ruined everything, Ash. I’m so sorry. Your job—”

“Do not worry about it,” Ashley cut in frantically, shoving her phone in front of my face. “But Julia, you need to leave. Right now. Look.”

A short video was already playing on her screen. It was a terrible, low-angle clip of me screaming and struggling while security dragged me out.

The caption made my chest tighten until I could barely breathe:

Middle-aged stalker targets young actor: Drama on the set of The Rich Boy in Disguise.

The comments were pouring in like venom, calling me an obsessed, mentally unstable criminal.

“I just wanted to make Jilly smile,” I whispered, my blood turning to ice.

“I know, but the world does not care about the truth. They only care about who has the camera and the power,” Ashley said, her voice shaking as she looked around at the gathering crowd. “People are already recognizing you, Julia. Go. Run to the hospital before reporters find you here. Take the back street. Now!”

I did not argue. I forced my legs to move. They trembled violently beneath me.

My scraped knees burned every time the fabric of my pants brushed against the raw skin, but that physical pain was nothing compared to the gaping hole in my chest.

As I fled through the alleyways, I squeezed the dead phone in my pocket.

I was no longer just Julia, the struggling single mother. In a matter of minutes, I had been rewritten into a monster who threatened their precious prince, Damon Watts.

Oh God, I thought as a fresh wave of panic hit me. Please do not let Jilly see the TV!

My feet felt like lead as I finally pushed open the glass doors of the hospital lobby. I kept my head lowered, praying the baseball cap was enough to hide my face.

But the moment I passed the reception desk, the atmosphere shifted.

The nurses looked up, their eyes widening.

Visitors in the waiting area turned to stare openly, pointing as a heavy murmur slithered through the room like a nest of rattlesnakes.

“That’s her, right? The stalker mom from the internet?” a woman whispered loudly, showing her phone to the person beside her.

I forced myself to walk faster, hurrying toward the elevator as shame burned a hot trail up my neck. My throat felt painfully dry.

When the elevator doors opened on the pediatric oncology floor, a nurse named Sarah intercepted me. She looked shocked, but there was no hatred in her expression.

“Mrs. Pierce,” she breathed, pulling me aside. “Oh my God... is the news true?”

I shook my head frantically. “It is a misunderstanding. It is not what it looks like, I swear.”

“The internet will move on, Mrs. Pierce. Just try to stay calm,” she said softly, patting my back with sympathy.

Then she glanced at the clock. “Wait, are you not supposed to be at the diner tonight?”

My breath caught. The shift!

I was supposed to be at work an hour ago, but in my panic over Jilly and the viral video, I had run straight here.

“Sarah, please, can I borrow the desk phone? I need to call my boss,” I begged.

She guided me into the nurses’ station and pointed to the landline. As I lifted the receiver, my eyes accidentally drifted to the computer screen on the desk. An entertainment article was open, featuring my face beside a polished photo of Damon Watts.

I glanced at the top comments, and it was a fatal mistake.

"Old hag chasing a younger guy? Disgusting."

"She looks unhinged. Put her in jail."

Tears blurred my vision. They did not know I had been there begging for my daughter’s life.

I forced myself to look away and dialed the diner’s number.

“Hello?”

“Alfred, it’s me. Julia,” I said, my voice cracking.

“Oh. Julia.” Alfred’s voice was stiff, stripped of its usual warmth. “I saw the news.”

“Alfred, please, it is a mistake. Let me explain—”

“You do not need to come back to the diner, Julia,” he cut me off, his tone cold and final.

I froze. The world seemed to dim, and my knees threatened to give out right there on the linoleum floor.

“What?”

“Everyone has seen it! Customers are calling the diner, asking why I employ a crazy, viral stalker!” Alfred snapped. “This is a quiet family business, Julia. Not a shelter for internet criminals!”

“Please, Alfred, listen to me,” I sobbed, humiliation swallowing my pride. “I only asked for an autograph for Jilly. I did not attack anyone! You know Jilly is fighting for her life. I need this job to pay for her treatments. Please, you know who I am!”

A heavy sigh echoed through the line. “Julia... just take some time off. Until this cools down. Okay?”

“But Alfred—”

“Do not make this harder than it already is. I will transfer the remaining pay for this week. I am not taking it away. Just... stay away.”

The line went dead.

I stood there, paralyzed, the dial tone buzzing in my ear like a mocking laugh. My world had just completely collapsed.

I hung up the receiver with trembling fingers, feeling the last shreds of my stability slip away.

With what little strength I had left, I wiped my face, forced my expression into something resembling calm, and walked toward Room 303.

Jilly’s room.

But the moment I stepped inside, my heart dropped into my stomach.

Jilly was sitting upright in her small hospital bed, her eyes glued to the TV mounted on the wall. The local news station was broadcasting a live segment.

And right there on the screen was the unedited footage of her mother being dragged away like trash from Damon Watts’ trailer.

Oh, my God!