"Why is there a broken coffee mug in a ziploc bag on our kitchen counter?" was the first thing Maple heard the next day when her roommate's voice woke her up from a deep slumber filled with nightmares of all of Maple's biggest lies being exposed by a bunch of Daphne Dutrignon look-alikes.

Eyeing the room around her and wiping the drool from the corner of her lips, Maple realized she'd fallen asleep on her kitchen counter. Her laptop was still open and her inbox had been filling up at twice its usual pace since Ermet's announcement. She'd spent the entire night crafting elaborate lies to cover up the fact Daphne Dutrignon was not returning to the show. (Around three in the morning, after a desperate frenzy about what her life would become if her lie was uncovered, she'd searched online for Daphne Dutrignon lookalikes while wondering how much make-up they'd need to pass one of them for the real actress. She'd fallen asleep somewhere in that rabbit hole.)

Thankfully, the real Ms. Dutrignon's agent was a dinosaur (older than the actress by a good quarter of a century) and hadn't been made aware of the news of her return yet. Daphne had no social media presence and little connection to the outside world, which also played in Maple's favour. The only two people capable of exposing the extent of her lie weren't yet aware of it, and it would be a few more days before they did—a week if Maple was lucky. That left her with more time to neutralize the shit storm Ermet had created.

Technically, she knew her lie had gotten her into this position, but Ermet was the one who'd taken it to the next level. He had blown up her little white lie into a national fraud. If she was exposed, she would lose Ermet's trust for good and without him on her side, she was done. Bōøbol would certainly use her departure as a good reason to conclude the show—a show that just wasn't pulling its weight anymore in this day and age of content saturation.

"I'll repeat my question. Not because it's a good question, and not because I really care, but now, I'm curious enough to ask again. Why is there a broken coffee mug in a zip bag on our kitchen counter?"

Maple gaped at Brooklyn Saint-Denis, her roommate. She'd met Brooklyn and Storm Saint-George, her other roommate, during a particularly wild night out. Storm's play and Brooklyn's bakery had just opened and Maple had just landed the biggest gig of her life as Betteraves and Betrayals' new showrunner. Three years later and one fateful night spent together in the local jail, they were inseparable best friends living in the same oversized house. (Who needed five bathrooms? Three trans women apparently.)

Brooklyn was gentle, small, and had the most beautiful blonde hair Maple had ever seen. With nondescript walnut curls that never seemed to listen to what she wanted them to do, Maple envied the flowing cascade of shiny, bright, sandy hair on her roommate's back.

"Maple," Brooklyn said again, her tone pivoting to scolding. "Are you listening? Oh gosh, you're doing that thing again, aren't you?"

"What thing?" Maple said automatically because she was—just like any other twenty-something evolving in this shitshow of society—more than a little bit self-absorbed.

Brooklyn raised her hand to the sky. "She talks!" She gave a pointed nod to the transparent zip-bag in front of Maple. "Context?"

With everything going on, Maple had almost forgotten she'd decided to collect Cruz's crushed mug to investigate the glow she'd seen. She wasn't sure what she'd hoped to find, but she knew cups didn't glow on their own. Had someone poisoned Cruz? That was her best guess at the moment. She hoped she was wrong because the next logical question would be "who?" and she was afraid that the answer was Davenport, her head of make-up. He was the only one with a strong motive (he never recovered from Cruz cheating on him with one of the PAs) and she couldn't afford to send one of her best creatives to jail.

She'd also requested access to the video surveillance feed from yesterday morning. Two security cameras had potentially captured the moment a klieg light had almost crushed her in the studio. Maybe one of the feeds had images of the flying light. She needed proof to show someone and get reassurance she wasn't going insane.

Brooklyn started boiling water and got her tea cup ready. She opened her assigned cupboard, which was filled with more types of tea than anyone could ever imagine. She had herbal delicacies from across the world but always picked the same one—a homemade berry infusion she'd brought back from her trip to Europe last year. Maple didn't know the story behind it, but whoever had given the tea to her roommate was someone special. Maple was a lot of things—a sleep-deprived liar in desperate need of a shower—but she wasn't oblivious.

"What thing?" Maple asked again because if Brooklyn wanted answers, she had to give some in return.

Brooklyn glanced at her. "That thing where someone says something and you just disappear into your head. " With that, she waved at the broken cup. "Maple, focus. Why is there—"

"The broken mug belongs to my line producer, Cruz. I broke it yesterday and I want to fix it for him. It's his favourite."

Maple briefly castigated herself for lying so early in the morning (it was seven a.m.) and to such a sweet soul. (In the three years since she'd known Brooklyn, Maple had never caught her lying. As an expert liar, Maple was incredibly talented at noticing people trying to bullshit her, and Brooklyn was the most honest of the three women living in the gigantic house.)

"That's sweet of you," Brooklyn said, filling her cup with hot water. The familiar and welcomed scent of berries, vanilla, and a hint of peppermint filled the room.

Maple's phone buzzed. Another article about Dutrignon's supposed return to Betteraves & Betrayals had dropped. That one collected long-time viewers' excitement about the upcoming return of their favourite character. One of them was quoted saying, "I don't think I could ever forgive Maple Defleuvier for ruining the show, but I have to admit that bringing Adele back is impressive."

"Ugh." Maple let an audible sigh out and immediately regretted it when she saw Brooklyn's keen eyes shift to her. She wished she could tell her roommate how badly she'd fucked up, but Maple was afraid that voicing it out loud would somehow make it even more real than it already was. "Just tired. Long day at work yesterday."

The doorbell rang. Brooklyn startled, spilling some hot water on the kitchen tiles.

It took a few seconds for Maple to remember why her roomate seemed so perturbed by the sound. It was early morning and nobody in this house ever received guests before noon. It was an unspoken rule the three women had always shared.

Brookly put her cup down with an ill-disguised frown. "I'll see who it is. Did you get in a fight with Mrs. Parviére again?"

Their next-door neighbour was the only person unhinged enough to visit them at such an ungodly hour. But Maple had worked hard in the past few weeks on avoiding additional conflicts with the French lady. The last one had ended up with Maple's car covered with goose feces and rotten walnuts.

She shook her head, which prompted Brooklyn to say, "Maybe it's about the cake..."

"What cake?" Maple asked but her roommate went to check the door and let the question hang in the air until it vanished.

She gathered the bits of her scrambled brain together to think. She had to leave for the studio in half an hour. She'd barely slept, and from the reflection she caught of herself on her phone's screen, she needed a forceful shower before she could go anywhere and be seen in public.

"Maple!" Her roommate's angelic voice crooned from the front door. "It's for you!"

Fucking marvellous. Maple groaned and peeled herself off the granite countertop. She made a mental note to research local labs where she could send Cruz's cup to be tested.

"Yeah?" She said when she joined Brooklyn at the entrance. "Who is it?"

Her roommate stepped aside to reveal a tall man at the door. His massive body filled most of the door frame. 

"Hi boss," said Salvatore, a wolfish grin eating half his face. "Wanna carpool to work?"