“Because you don’t even know me. You just think you do, which is pretty ironic.”

“Really, Nicole, it’s like you pick and choose what you want to hear whenever I talk to you.” Her tone oozed with frustration. “Let that go and listen to me.” She leaned forward, eyes boring into Nicole’s. “I know what happened to you. I know what happened to your parents. I know what you want because of it.”

Nicole’s actor brain struggled to find the words to capture the feeling seizing her in that moment. Charismatic didn’t come close to describing what Jewel was. Magnetic? Compelling? No, those weren’t right either. In her diary entries on Golden Rule, Jewel had an intense level of authentic sincerity—she’d tell you the sky was green and you’d believe her because you knew she would never lie to you.

Up close and personal, it felt like Jewel had the power to stare your deepest, darkest desires right in the face. Somehow, they appeared in the forefront of Nicole’s mind—she couldn’t think about anything else. The only child of two only children. No aunts, uncles, cousins, or grandparents that she knew of. The last in her family’s bloodline. If Nicole didn’t make a name for herself, her parents would fade away into nothingness.

That’s why she wanted to be famous—as long as people knew her name, she could force them to know theirs too.

“Nothing will stop you from leaving your mark on this world,” Jewel said. “Nothing.”

FRIDAY, 10:15 P.M.

Stella balanced her tablet on her chest. She’d have a crick in her neck soon if she didn’t sit up, but Golden Rule was just. So. Addictive. No wonder her parents refused to let her idly scroll on the internet.

An hour ago, she opened the app fully intending to make the next episode of Stella Says and had been utterly ensnared. It hadn’t occurred to her that she had access to the entire app, not just the livestreaming function. Her voyeur count had skyrocketed. Her notifications were bursting with video replies from people introducing themselves and asking questions for another Q&A.

Stella didn’t know how many videos she’d already burned through. Click. Watch. Give them a Gold Star. Repeat. Most weren’t longer than thirty seconds—easily consumable like potato chips. One chip, two chips, and before you know it the whole bag is gone.

Her pulse jumped when she spotted a somewhat familiar face in the frame of the next thumbnail. She clicked on it.

“Hi, Stella! I’m Harlow’s sister, Winnow.”

Both had burning gold-tinted hazel eyes and that ethnically ambiguous look yet still white-passing skin tone, but Harlow’s face was rounder, her body softer. She had jet-black hair and a mole just below the right corner of her bottom lip, while her sister had purple hair and severe cheekbones.