Cassius had no idea how long he'd slept. All he knew was that the dream felt like an earthquake—constant shaking and rumbling.
He forced his eyes open and checked his phone. 7:20 a.m. Less than two hours of sleep.
Eight missed calls from Rob. Three from Kristen. Several from unknown numbers.
Unread messages: 99+.
"What the hell…"
He sat up, still groggy, and opened the latest voice note from Rob.
"Cass! Where the fuck are you? Get online right now—shit's hitting the fan!"
Rob's voice was raw and frantic, background noise full of keyboard clacking and shouting.
Cassius frowned and opened Twitter.
Trending:
#CassiusAnneHathawayHotelMeeting
#CassiusCheating
#KristenGetsCucked
The fog in his head vanished instantly.
He tapped the first tag. The top tweet was from a paparazzi account with a nine-panel photo dump.
The first shot showed him and Anne at the hotel entrance—Anne holding the door open as he walked in. Crystal clear, both faces recognizable.
Panels two through eight were shots of the hotel room window from outside. Curtains drawn, but the lights were clearly on inside. Timestamps ran from 8:30 p.m. to 3 a.m., one every thirty minutes.
The ninth photo showed Cassius stepping out at dawn, rubbing his lower back with a tired look on his face. Anne waved goodbye from inside.
Interstellar leads caught in seven-hour hotel rendezvous! Cassius leaves exhausted at sunrise, Anne sees him off. Sources say his official girlfriend Kristen Stewart is still in the dark. Is romance brewing on Nolan's new film set?
Already 50,000 retweets. Comments exploding:
"I knew it—one guy, one girl, locked in a room for seven hours… I don't even need to finish that sentence."
"Kristen's getting cucked and doesn't even know it."
"actors really can't be trusted. Barely famous and already fucking around."
Cassius's stomach dropped.
This was bad.
He kept scrolling and found something even worse.
Another account had posted "chat logs" from someone whose avatar looked suspiciously like his, sexting a fan with graphic details and setting up a hotel meetup.
Exclusive: Cassius sleeps with fans—private chat logs exposed! Image collapse!
That post had 30,000 retweets.
The comment section was a war zone:
"Disgusting. So everything before was fake."
"Unfollowed. Done."
"Kristen should dump his ass. This kind of trash isn't worth it."
"Is Nolan gonna recast him?"
Cassius's phone started ringing again. Rob.
"You saw it?"
Rob's voice was hoarse. He'd clearly been up all night dealing with this.
"I saw it."
Cassius tried to stay calm. "The photos are real, but the story's completely twisted. Anne and I were running lines. Working on the script."
"I know that! But nobody else does!"
Rob slammed something in the background. "The paps got you walking into the hotel together, seven hours inside, and you coming out rubbing your back at dawn. The visuals are fucking damning."
"So what do we do?"
"I've already got the team prepping statements, but we need you, Anne, and Kristen on the same page. Anne's already looped in—her agent's losing her mind."
Rob was firing off instructions rapid-fire.
"And I still can't reach Kristen. You need to call her right now before this turns into a bigger misunderstanding."
Cassius's chest tightened. He hung up and immediately called Kristen.
She picked up on the first ring.
"Hey."
Her voice sounded tired.
"Kristen, those pictures—"
"I know, Cassius. I believe you."
She cut him off before he could explain.
"I don't care what the internet says. I know the real you, not whatever fake persona they're trying to sell."
Cassius felt a sudden rush of warmth. In a moment like this, trust was everything.
"Thank you."
"This needs to be handled fast. The story's already blowing up. I'm posting on Twitter right now."
She hung up.
Seconds later, Kristen's new tweet appeared:
"Woke up to the news and honestly? Laughed my ass off. @Cassius @AnneHathaway running lines in a hotel room gets turned into a secret affair? Hollywood paps have better imaginations than Nolan. The 'sleeping with fans' chat logs are a solid Photoshop job—next time remember to clean up the avatar edges. Trust doesn't need explaining, but rumors do. Waiting at home for @Cassius to get back."
Attached was a selfie of her in pajamas, no makeup, sitting in her living room with Cassius's jacket clearly visible on the coat rack behind her.
The tweet was smart as hell.
Cassius immediately retweeted it with his own post:
"Ran lines with @AnneHathaway until 4 a.m. for Interstellar. Learned a ton. Didn't realize seven hours of work could get spun like this. Hollywood paps should consider writing sci-fi novels instead. As for those Photoshopped chat logs, lawyers are already on it."
He attached a photo of Anne's notebook pages—pages and pages of handwritten notes, both their handwriting visible, dated last night.
The tweet went live and comments started pouring in:
"I knew it was bullshit!"
"Seven hours of running lines? That's some serious dedication. I'm impressed."
"Lawyer up. Good move."
"Running lines? In a hotel room? Sure, buddy."
"Seven hours of 'running lines'? You two rewriting the whole damn script or what?"
Someone had already photoshopped Cassius and Anne's faces onto a movie still with a glowing green magic book in the middle.
This is the legendary night-light script?
Fuck.
The meme had officially landed on him.
Cassius stared at his screen, completely done.
Ten minutes later, Anne posted her own statement:
"As an actor, going the extra mile for a role is part of the job. Thank you @Cassius for last night's guidance—it deepened my understanding of Dr. Amelia. Attached are some of our discussion notes and a timeline. The truth speaks for itself. Also, highly recommend this hotel's coffee—free refills and perfect for all-nighters."
Nine-panel photo: close-ups of the notebook, coffee cups, script annotations, the receipt for the late-night food delivery (timestamp 1:30 a.m.), and a slightly blurry living-room security cam still showing the two of them sitting on the couch with the coffee table between them.
The evidence chain was airtight.
Once the three statements dropped, the narrative started splitting.
Some people believed them and called the paps out for overstepping.
Others doubled down, insisting the evidence was staged.
"Receipts can be reprinted. Security footage can be faked. Notes can be written after the fact."
"Seven hours of pure running lines? Are you two saints or something?"
"Kristen's an actress too—of course she's playing along."
Cassius scrolled through the comments, feeling drained.
People only believed what they wanted to believe.
His phone rang again. Rob.
"First wave's mostly contained, but the heat's still climbing. Bad news though—your fake relationship contract with Kristen just got sold to TMZ for big money."
"What?"
Cassius almost dropped the phone.
Only a handful of people knew about that contract. How the hell had it leaked now?
"One of her former assistants. Sold it for half a million."
Rob sounded grim. "TMZ already verified it. The story drops tonight."
"Does Kristen know?"
"I just told her. She's pissed."
Cassius hung up and opened Weibo.
Sure enough, domestic trending was on fire too.
#CassiusNightLightScript
#CassiusKristenContractRelationship
#AnneHathawayCaughtInTheMiddle
But the reaction was completely different from the West.
"Cassius is a fucking legend. Kristen and Anne at the same time?"
"I'd die happy if I were him."
"Jealous as hell. What kind of main-character energy is this?"
"Sleeping with fans was fake, right? With Kristen and Anne on the roster, why would he need fans?"