Bound By Contract: The Superstar's Secret Wife

The California sun beat down on the sprawling beachfront villa. The live broadcast for Heartbeat Rules had just started, and the viewer count was already in the millions.

The live chat was a chaotic mess of fans screaming for Byron and Joanne to reunite.

Joanne arrived first. She wore a pure white, floral sundress, looking delicate and fragile. She stood at the bottom of the long stone staircase leading to the villa, two massive pink suitcases sitting beside her.

She looked at the camera, her lower lip trembling slightly. "Oh no, these are way too heavy for me."

At that exact moment, Byron walked out of the heavy wooden front doors. He wore a simple black button-down, the sleeves rolled up, one hand casually tucked into his pocket.

Joanne's eyes sparkled. She looked up at him, her voice dripping with honey. "Byron, could you please help me with these?"

The live chat went wild, anticipating the romantic rescue.

Byron looked down at her from the top of the stairs. His eyes were dead, devoid of any human warmth.

"Don't you have hands?" he asked, his voice flat and cold.

He turned around and walked back inside.

Joanne's smile froze. The live chat went completely silent for three agonizing seconds before erupting into confusion. Joanne bit her lip, her face burning red, and began dragging the heavy bags up the stairs herself, panting and sweating.

Just as the awkwardness peaked, the roar of a V8 engine shattered the quiet beach air.

A bright, obnoxious red Ferrari convertible, rented by the production team specifically for a dramatic, villainous entrance, slammed to a halt in the driveway.

The door swung open. A pair of long legs, strapped into diamond-encrusted stilettos, stepped out.

Allyson stood up. She wore a skin-tight, fiery red dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. She pushed her vintage sunglasses down her nose and stared straight into the main camera.

The live chat immediately filled with vomit emojis and death threats.

In the production truck, Dexter Finch punched the air in triumph. The traffic was spiking.

Allyson winked at the lens-a slow, exaggerated, incredibly greasy wink. She reached into the passenger seat and pulled out a battered, twenty-four-inch suitcase.

Then, she pulled out the bright pink book. She held it up so the camera could clearly read the title: 100 Cheesy Pickup Lines to Make Him Yours.

The hate comments in the chat suddenly morphed into strings of question marks.

Allyson dragged her suitcase up the stairs, her heels clicking loudly against the stone. She pushed open the heavy front doors and stepped into the massive living room.

The other cast members-Fernando, Charlie, and Melody-were already seated on the plush sofas. They all turned to stare at her.

Joanne, who was sitting on a sofa near Byron, immediately shrank back, clutching a throw pillow to her chest as if she were terrified Allyson was going to attack her.

Byron sat in a single armchair. He held a mug of black coffee. As Allyson walked in, his eyes flicked up.

When he saw the skin-tight red dress, his pupils dilated. His throat worked as he swallowed hard.

Allyson scanned the room. Her eyes locked onto Byron.

She took a deep breath, mentally pulling up the first line from the pink book. She ignored everyone else in the room and marched straight toward him.

Joanne braced herself, ready to cry on cue.

But Allyson walked right past Joanne. She stopped directly in front of Byron's armchair.

The room went dead silent. The cameramen practically shoved their lenses into the actors' faces.