The Frugal Starlet and Her Billionaire Heir

I, Fiona, am a D-list actress in Hollywood. The media calls me the "Cheapest Star in the Industry." I don't have many hobbies; I just love pinching pennies. Free burgers from craft services on set? Absolutely! And if I can't finish them, I'm boxing them up to take home! Free sample clothes sent by sponsoring brands? I wear them! Why spend my own money shopping? After all, I have a massive goal to achieve - one that burns through cash like crazy. So, when rumors hit the press linking my boyfriend, rising TV star Travis, to both me and the newly found "real heiress" of the Ark Corporation, the tabloids showed no mercy: "That's Chloe Bennett! The long-lost biological daughter of the Bennett family!! Fiona? That stingy, cheapskate actress? How could she ever compete?" Travis even released a statement dripping with fake innocence: [Fiona and I are purely professional colleagues.] [I have immense admiration for Ms. Chloe Bennett. If given the opportunity, I would be thrilled to take her out to dinner.] Meanwhile, the CEO of Ark Corporation called me in the middle of the night: "Fiona! Is this family going bankrupt or something?! That's the eighty-eighth time! You've been photographed snatching free burgers from the craft table for the eighty-eighth time! You might have no shame, but I do! Your mother is personally cooking dinner tonight. You'd better get your butt back home!" When my phone buzzed, I was staring at this month's acting paycheck with a goofy grin. Travis's messages were blowing up my screen: "Fiona, you know my career is just taking off. Going public with a relationship right now is professional suicide." "My fans will leave, and my brand deals will be pulled. You get it, right?" I texted back a simple: "Okay." He replied instantly: "Don't be mad! I'm thinking about our future here! Think about it - if my career tanks and I make less money, how am I going to give you a good life?" "Besides," he added, "aren't you the queen of pinching pennies? If I start earning less, it'd break your little frugal heart, wouldn't it?" Staring at that last line, the faint disgust in my chest solidified into raw bitterness. Yes, I'm cheap. Everyone in the entertainment industry knows Fiona is a penny-pincher. And so, he used that exact thing to guilt-trip me. Did he actually know why, though? All he knew was how to mock me for taking home boxed leftovers, sneer at me for wearing PR samples, and look down on my coupon-clipping habits. He constantly complained that I was "cheapening myself." The phone buzzed again. This time, it was Richard Bennett. I picked up. "Dad." "Oh, so you still remember I'm your father?! Eighty-eight times, Fiona! You've been caught stealing burgers off craft services for the eighty-eighth time! It's been trending all day!" "Get home for dinner tonight! Your mother is cooking personally! Seven o'clock sharp! Don't you dare be late!" Click. He hung up. I checked the time. Six-twenty. Well, no craft table burgers for me tonight. I sent Travis a quick "Do whatever you want," grabbed my coat, and hurried out the door. At seven on the dot, I pushed open the front door of the Bennett estate. "Fiona's home!" Chloe's voice chimed, sweet as honey. "Hurry and wash your hands for dinner! Mom made everything herself tonight!" Stepping into the dining room, I froze. The entire table was covered in bright red, chili-heavy dishes. "What are you standing there for? Sit down," Richard said, gesturing toward an empty chair. Eleanor pulled me down beside her. "Taste it, sweetie. I made these specially tonight." "Mom, my stomach can't handle spicy food. You know I have gastritis." The room fell dead silent. Chloe's eyes welled with tears instantly. "I'm so sorry! It's all my fault, Fiona! Don't blame Mom!" "I lived down south for twenty-two years. The winters down there are so damp and bone-chilling cold that you can't survive without eating spicy food. Mom and Dad only made this feast because they felt bad for what I went through." She hung her head. "I didn't know you couldn't handle spice. I'll go make something else right now!" She turned toward the kitchen, looking like a kicked puppy. "Enough, stop," Richard waved his hand. "Everything's already cooked. Don't cause a fuss." Eleanor chimed in, "Fiona, you can build up a tolerance to spicy food. You're just being too delicate. That's why your stomach is so sensitive." Throughout the entire dinner, I ended up rinsing the meat in a bowl of plain water, filling up mostly on white rice. Free food is free food. Might as well eat my fill. Richard and Eleanor barely looked at me; their eyes never left Chloe. "Chloe, sweetie, are you settling in okay? Are the maids taking good care of you?" "If you need anything at all, just tell me. I'll buy it for you." Chloe answered softly, playing the picture of a meek, obedient angel. Every now and then, she glanced over at me with an unreadable, calculating look in her eyes. Three months ago, Chloe showed up on their doorstep clutching a DNA test. She proved there had been a mix-up at the hospital when we were born. She was the biological daughter of the Bennett family. And I was the fake heiress who had stolen twenty-two years of her lavish life. Ridiculous, right? Yet reality is just that absurd. After dinner, Eleanor guided me over to the living room couch. "Fiona," she said softly, her voice full of maternal warmth. "Your father gave you a black card. How come we never see you use it?" I looked down, picking at my nails. "It didn't feel appropriate." "What's inappropriate about it?!" Richard's voice boomed from across the room. "I raised you for twenty-two years! You're family!" Eleanor patted my hand gently. "Exactly, sweetie. Don't overthink it. Chloe is back, but you're still our daughter, okay?" A warm ache swelled in my chest, and my eyes stung with unshed tears. Maybe they really did still care about me. Maybe their coldness over the past three months was just because they hadn't figured out how to handle the situation yet. "Ahem," Richard cleared his throat. "There's actually something we wanted to talk to you about." His very next sentence, however, extinguished every trace of warmth left inside me."Aren't you filming that reality show, Celebrity Survival Challenge? I heard they're looking for a guest star for the next episode." "Do you think... you could let Chloe have that slot?" Of course. Three whole months of neglect, and the only reason they summoned me for family dinner was this. They had been waiting for this moment. I clenched my fists in my lap. "That show is physically grueling. Chloe has zero television experience. If she messes up, the public backlash will be brutal." Chloe piped up in a frail, tiny whisper, "Dad, if it's too much trouble for Fiona, please forget it. I grew up poor. We barely even had a television, but I always had this silly dream of being on screen. I guess... I just don't deserve it." "Of course you deserve it!" Eleanor's heart broke for her instantly. "Fiona can make it happen, can't you, sweetie?" She looked at me with pleading eyes. "Fiona, Chloe suffered out there for twenty-two years. Now that she's home, this is her only little dream. Can't you help her out? Just this once?" I looked at the three of them. Richard wore a face that said this is already decided. Eleanor's eyes were filled with maternal guilt for someone else, and Chloe maintained her fragile, pity-inducing mask. "Fine," I said flatly. "Just this once." Richard's brows furrowed in annoyance. "What kind of attitude is that?" He raised his hand as if to slam the coffee table. Eleanor quickly stepped in to defuse the tension. "All right, all right! Family should help each other out! Let's not make a big deal of it!" I stood up. "I'm heading back." At the front door, I glanced back over my shoulder. The dining room chandelier cast a warm, golden glow over the scene. Chloe was peeling an orange for Richard, while Eleanor watched them both with a glowing, contented smile. It was the picture-perfect image of a happy family. I pushed open the door and stepped out into the dark. Pulling out my phone, I opened my banking app and checked my savings balance. It had ticked up a little more. Almost there. I'm so close to having enough. Once I reach that number, to hell with all of them. I flagged down a yellow cab on the corner. "Where to, lady?" the driver asked. I thought for a second. "Take me to that convenience store near the studio lot." "That far out? No meter. Hundred and fifty bucks." "Eighty." "One-twenty!" "One hundred flat, or I'm taking the next cab." The driver looked at my hoodie and sunglasses, snorted, and grinned. "Alright, get in." The next day on the set of the reality show, I had just finished my makeup when an uproar erupted outside my trailer. "Chloe brought afternoon tea for everyone!" "Whoa! Are these pastries from that Michelin-starred French bakery downtown?!" Chloe was standing beside a massive, ultra-luxury motorhome, directing her assistants as they handed out high-end desserts to the crew. She beamed sweetly at the production team. "Thank you all for working so hard! The trailer has ice-cold air conditioning. If anyone's exhausted, please feel free to go in and rest!" The crew cheered enthusiastically. "Chloe, you're amazing!" "Thank you, Queen Chloe!" I turned away and began walking back to my staging area. Passing two grips, I overheard them whispering: "Has Fiona ever treated us to so much as a coffee?" "Forget coffee, did you see the gossip blogs yesterday? She was caught stuffing free craft burgers into her bag again! She's supposed to be an actress, but she dresses worse than I do. You know how much her plain white t-shirt costs? Ten bucks on Wish!" "Talk about night and day." Sure, I don't waste cash on flashy gestures. But did they really think the show's daily craft break magically existed on its own? It was because I had pulled strings with the executive producer. My phone vibrated. My manager, Brenda, sent a text: [Fiona, have you checked Instagram?] I tapped open the app. #ChloeBennettTrueHeiress It was trending at number one. #ChloeBennettLuxuryTrailerOnSet It was at number three. I clicked into the tags. The comments were overflowing with praise: [Now THIS is the grace of a real billionaire's daughter!] [Generous, thoughtful, and stunning. We stan.] [Compare her to that cheapskate D-lister Fiona - the difference is glaring.] Scrolling down, I saw my name. Someone had snapped a photo of me stepping out of Chloe's luxury trailer. In reality, Eleanor had called and demanded that I drop off some vitamins for Chloe inside. The caption read: LOL, look at Fiona leeching off Chloe's private motorhome. Top comment: Broke-ass behavior. I closed Instagram just as an incoming call lit up my screen. It was Eleanor."Fiona, honey," she began in her usual gentle tone. "Don't let the comments online get to you. Chloe just debuted, so we need to generate some positive buzz for her." "Understood." "Also, please don't reveal your relationship with Chloe to the public just yet. We don't want people saying she relies on family connections. It would ruin her image." I let out a dry laugh. "And it's totally fine if it ruins mine?" There was a two-second beat of silence on the other end. "Fiona, we can never truly make up for the hardships Chloe went through. Just be the bigger person this time." Brenda shot me another text: [The Bennett family bought those trending tags, didn't they? When those smear campaigns called you a cheapskate, your parents let them stay pinned at the top for three whole days without lifting a finger.] She knew about my situation with the Bennetts and was furious on my behalf. I typed back: [They're paving the road for Chloe.] A moment later, the assistant director stuck his head into my tent. "Fiona, we're ready to roll. Oh, by the way, we have another guest star this episode. He just arrived." "Who?" "Travis. Surprise! Didn't you two work together on that drama?" Travis? He hadn't mentioned a word of this to me. Our text history was still frozen on my cold "Do whatever you want." Filming began. The first game was a floating balance beam over a massive pool of water. I rushed out first, locked my center of gravity, and sprinted straight to the middle platform. Chloe was still trembling at the starting line, while Travis stood right beside her, holding her arm supportively. "Don't be afraid, Chloe. Take it slow," he coaxed gently. Suddenly, Chloe lost her footing and fell into the pool. Without a second thought, Travis plunged straight into the water after her, scooping her up and holding her tightly against his chest. The entire crew and cast hooted and cheered. The cameras swiveled immediately, zooming in for tight, dramatic close-ups. Dripping wet and clinging to Travis's neck, Chloe's cheeks flushed crimson. "Travis... thank you so much." "Are you hurt?" Travis murmured softly, tenderly brushing a wet lock of hair from her cheek. I stood on the center platform, watching the spectacle. The cold in my chest spread all the way to my fingertips. Without saying a word to anyone, I turned on my heel and crossed the finish line alone. During the production break, Travis finally sauntered over to my corner. "Fiona," he kept his voice down, "don't read into it. I just saw how terrified she was and lent a hand." "Right. Good for you." I turned to walk away. He grabbed my wrist. "Are you mad at me?" I wrenched my arm out of his grip. "Why would I be mad? Aren't we 'purely professional colleagues'?" His face flickered with irritation. "Fiona, I'm doing this for my career!" "For your career? So you're staging a PR showmance with Chloe Bennett? Travis, you really know how to play the game. A billionaire's daughter is infinitely more valuable than me. Let's just break up." His mouth opened, but no words came out to stop me. Chloe trotted over from the staging area, flashing a bright, radiant smile. "Fiona! Come eat with us! Travis just said he's treating everyone to lunch!" Travis looked at me, his eyes darting away in guilt. I smiled thinly. "No thanks. I have craft burgers." "What's so great about cold burgers?" "They're free." Halfway through the next day's shoot, the executive director suddenly sprinted onto the set, his face pale. "Cut! Cut everything! Stop the cameras!" His eyes were bloodshot. "A chemical plant in the neighboring city just exploded. The fire has engulfed three whole blocks. Casualties are still being counted. The network ordered an immediate three-day entertainment blackout." I pulled out my phone. The breaking news alert was already screaming in red: #MetroChemicalPlantExplosion Tapping into the tag, the live feeds showed a towering inferno, sirens screaming in a chaotic loop. I closed Instagram and dialed a private number. "Send me the emergency supply manifest immediately. I want the first shipment delivered within twenty-four hours." "Anonymous. Keep my name entirely off the paperwork." The supply list pinged my phone a minute later. I turned to my assistant, Emma. "Help me contact these wholesale suppliers. We need medical supplies, burn kits, and rations. Run everything through my personal bank account." Emma gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Fiona, this is going to cost over five million dollars!" "I know." "B-but you've been saving that money for years!" "People are dying, Emma." During the three-day media blackout, every social feed was flooded with tragedy and rescue updates. On the evening of the third day, celebrities began publicly posting their donation receipts. Travis's agency was the first to drop a press release: [Travis donates $1,000,000 to the disaster relief efforts. Praying for peace.] The comments instantly praised him: [Travis has such a golden heart!] Right after, Chloe posted her own: [Doing my small part. Donating $3,000,000 to stand strong with the families in the disaster zone.] Attached was a pristine donation certificate signed: Richard, Eleanor & Chloe Bennett. Eleanor reposted: [So proud of our daughter.] Richard reposted: [A humble contribution from the Bennett family.] I refreshed Instagram and scrolled down. Naturally, my name was nowhere on any official list. The comment sections, however, didn't forget me: [Where's Fiona? Did she donate anything?] [The cheapest star in Hollywood strikes again - not a single dime.] [People are literally burning to death, and these millionaires can't spare a cent. Truly heartless.] I locked my screen. Donating is an act of conscience, not a public competition. There was no need to justify myself. Two days later, an embossed gold invitation to an elite charity auction arrived at my apartment. I opened it and checked the host organization. Interesting. Brenda burst into my dressing room just as I was flipping through the auction catalog. "Fiona! Have you lost your mind?!"