Dreams of Stardom (Hollywood SI)

September 2005, Los Angeles

I got out of my Lamborghini and crossed over to hold the door open for the lady accompanying me tonight.

Rihanna looked stunning in the short green dress she had chosen, but I could sense her hesitation. She wasn't entirely comfortable being out tonight. Placing my hand gently on the small of her back, I noticed her flinch ever so slightly. The reaction was brief—she quickly composed herself and offered a small, practiced smile.

"Hey," I whispered, leaning in slightly. "Are you okay? We can go someplace else if you'd prefer."

She shook her head, her gaze lifting to the sleek exterior of the restaurant before us. "I'm fine. It's just…" She hesitated, her eyes tracing the glowing sign above. "Not what I expected."

We stood before Arashi's, one of LA's most exclusive Japanese restaurants. With only five tables available, it was renowned for its privacy and fine dining experience. Pricey for most people, but perfect for someone trying to avoid prying eyes. I had chosen it as the venue for our 'first date' precisely because dining in public could feel intrusive—any fan could walk up mid-meal for an autograph. Tonight, I wanted the focus to be on us, and also to celebrate my monumental YouTube deal with Rihanna.

Yes, you heard that right. After long negotiations that went the entire day, I managed to convince the trio of founders to sell me a 70% stake in their fledgling company. The deal had been tough—lots of back and forth—but I hadn't budged beyond my initial offer: $50 million to the founders and $50 million more as an investment in the company. Even at that price, I knew I was being generous.

That's why I'd taken a brief hiatus from [Harry Potter] to fly to California and finalize the deal in person. California law required the transfer of shares to be registered in-state, so my presence was non-negotiable. My dad accompanied me as my legal guardian, but he'd decided to stay back at our place tonight while I took the opportunity to enjoy an evening out with Rihanna.

"Let's go in," she insisted, her voice firm but her smile still not quite reaching her eyes. "I'm craving sushi."

I knew she was putting up a front, but I decided to save the conversation for later. Offering her my arm, I felt her grip tighten slightly as we made our way toward the entrance. My bodyguard, Paolo, had already coordinated our arrival with the restaurant staff, and they were waiting by the door to greet us.

From the outside, Arashi's appeared unassuming, even quaint, but insiders knew how difficult it was to secure a reservation here. In fact, Dad had to call in a few favors to get us a table.

We were promptly seated, and our non-alcoholic drinks arrived quickly. After placing the order for appetizers, the overly enthusiastic waiter finally left us in peace. I turned my attention fully to Rihanna, ready to start the conversation, but she spoke first.

"I don't think I'm ready for this, Troy," she said softly, her eyes meeting mine with a mixture of vulnerability and determination.

I raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "What exactly do you think I want you to be ready for?"

"A real relationship," she said quietly. "I like you. I like you a lot. But…" Her gaze dropped, drifting away from mine. "...I'm not good enough for you."

For a moment, I was at a loss for words. This wasn't what I had expected, nor had I intended for our time together to carry such weight. Perhaps this date had sent mixed signals.

"I asked you out tonight because I'm heading back to London tomorrow, and we won't see each other for months," I said seriously. "I'm not looking for a serious relationship either. I like you a lot, too—but only as a friend. And even if that weren't the case, you are ten times the person I'll ever be. If anything, it's me who doesn't deserve you."

I meant every word. While I'd long since stopped feeling guilt over taking opportunities from actors of the original timeline, a part of me still believed my success stemmed largely from the unfair advantage of meta-knowledge. Rihanna, in the original timeline, had built her empire through sheer talent and hard work—she didn't need shortcuts or hacks to achieve greatness.

She scoffed softly before letting out a small laugh. "Now I know you're lying through your teeth."

"I'm not," I replied firmly. "You're the sexiest, baddest, meanest, most talented person I've ever met. Did I mention you're the sexiest?"

Her giggle told me I'd struck the right note, and her earlier worries seemed to fade.

"Thank you for saying that, Troy." She reached across the table to take my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. But the lightness of the moment didn't last. Her expression grew somber once again, her voice dropping as she continued. "The last few days have been tough. People have started creating whole websites just to trash-talk me—all because I'm dating you. They've even dug up things about my past and my family that I never wanted anyone to know. Reading some of it…" Her voice wavered. "It's so hurtful. Sometimes, it's too much."

My eyes widened. I had no idea she'd been dealing with this.

"Are you okay?" I asked, concern lacing my words. "Ri, you have to promise me you'll stop going online to read that stuff. It's not good for you. Just ignore it."

"That's what my manager says," she admitted shakily. "But it's hard, you know? Sometimes, it's just… too much." She shook her head. "Can we talk about something happier instead?"

I nodded immediately, eager to lift her spirits. "How's your mom doing?"

Her face lit up, and she launched into a string of stories about her family, her voice doing a one-eighty immediately.

I gave her my full attention, though part of me couldn't shake the worry that I felt about her. I knew the temptation to read what people said online—it was all too familiar. When my biological mom had leaked details about my early childhood, I couldn't resist diving into the sea of public opinion. But I liked to think I'd grown since then. These days, I avoided such articles and never sought them out deliberately.

But that's because I've been in the industry for nearly half my life now. Rihanna, on the other hand, was still new to all of this. It made sense that her curiosity would get the better of her. Months ago, when Dad had warned us this kind of scrutiny might happen, she had put on a brave face. But now that it was real, it was clear the experience had left its mark.

Right then, the waiter arrived with our appetizers.

"Thank you," I said with a polite smile before turning back to Rihanna, who seemed much lighter and more bubbly now.

Maybe it's best to keep my concerns to myself and focus on the present.

"Would you like to order the main course?" I asked.

"Let me at least taste the appetizers first," she teased gently before taking a bite.

Her blissful expression told me everything I needed to know—she was loving it. Not one to miss out, I joined her in sampling the fine Japanese delicacies in front of us. The names were too difficult to pronounce, but the taste spoke for itself.

"I ate so much tonight, I feel like I'm about to burst," Rihanna moaned as we stepped out of the restaurant. My arm was draped around her waist, steadying her as she leaned heavily against me.

I chuckled at her antics. "Don't worry, love. Once we're back at your place, you'll burn more calories than you've ever consumed in one night."

Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "Is that a promise?"

"It could be," I said with a grin before leaning in to plant a soft kiss on her lips.

Click.

The unmistakable sound of a shutter cut through the moment, making me freeze. I immediately pulled away and scanned the area. It didn't take long to spot the culprit—a man running toward us with a large camera in hand, flanked by two others with similar equipment.

I cursed inwardly. Wanting a quiet evening with Rihanna, I'd opted to ditch my personal security for the night and had driven her myself. Arashi's was a discreet spot, so this ambush was unexpected. Someone from the staff must have leaked our presence for a quick payout.

"Troy!" The man, likely in his late twenties, shoved a microphone in my face. "Is it true you're dating Rihanna out of pity? There was an article in The Sun about it."

The Sun is the most notorious of tabloids in the UK. So if they say something, it is more likely than not that it would be false.

Rage flared within me, but I swallowed it down. Without a word, I tightened my arm around Rihanna and quickened my pace toward the parking lot, where my car was waiting.

"Come on, Troy," the man pressed, his tone needling. "Just one question. How about you, Rihanna? Are you dating Troy only for his money?"

The other two paparazzi trailed behind us, snapping photos and videos of this interaction nonstop. I kept Rihanna close, shielding her as best I could while we power-walked toward safety.

But then the one shouting the questions crossed the line.

"Hey, Rihanna!" The man from before was following us closely, and this time, he grabbed her arm.

"Don't touch me!" Rihanna screeched, her voice cutting through the night like a knife.

I lost my cool. I knew I shouldn't have, but in that moment, I didn't care about anything else. Grabbing the man's wrist, I forcibly pried it off Rihanna and held it in an iron grip. He had the audacity to grin, as if he'd hit the jackpot—but his smug expression vanished when I judo-flipped him to the ground. Hard.

He groaned in pain, clutching his back as he lay sprawled on the pavement.

Now that I had grown physically, it was easier to fully utilize the martial training I had honed over the years.

Rihanna's eyes widened in shock, her face pale. "You shouldn't have done that, Troy," she said, her voice trembling. "He could sue you."

"I don't care," I said fiercely, taking her hand in mine. "When you're with me, no one touches you without your permission."

I glanced down at the man writhing on the ground. "He wouldn't have dared if we were in London. The laws there actually protect underage kids from harassment by paparazzi. But here we are, in the so-called land of the free."

Turning toward the two remaining men, who were still recording with their cameras, I barked, "You two. Turn off your cameras."

The older one stammered, "Y-You can't tell us what to do."

"I won't harm you," I said sharply. "But turn them off and hear me out. I won't touch you as long as you don't touch me or anyone with me."

They exchanged hesitant glances before complying. Good. At least some people still had a shred of common sense.

"Here's how this is going to go," I began, gesturing toward the man on the ground. "We'll be suing him for assaulting my girlfriend. As for you two, you have two choices. Either you sell the video footage to me right now, and I'll pay each of you $10,000. Or, you can prepare to be sued. I'm super rich, and I won't hesitate to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars tying you up in court for years if I have to. So, what's it going to be?"

The younger man spoke first, his voice hesitant. "I'd like the $10k."

"Good choice," I said with a cold smile before turning to the other man. He hesitated for a moment but quickly nodded in agreement.

"I don't have a check on me," I continued. "Come to my residence tomorrow morning, and you'll get your payment. Now, hand me your memory cards."

"What if you don't pay us tomorrow?" the younger man argued.

Without missing a beat, I pulled out my credit card and handed it to him. "Here. Keep this. Consider it insurance. If I don't pay you back, use it to buy whatever you want—up to $20k. Now give me the memory cards."

They hesitated briefly but ultimately complied, handing over the memory cards. I pocketed them, then crouched down to the man still lying on the ground and removed the memory card from his camera as well. Part of me wanted to smash the camera, but I was calm enough now to resist the urge.

With the cards secured, I turned to Rihanna and guided her toward the parking lot, keeping a protective arm around her.

She didn't say a word the entire walk to the car. It wasn't until we were seated inside that she finally broke the silence.

"You shouldn't have hit him," Rihanna said softly as I drove past the restaurant. Her voice carried a mix of concern and worry. "He'll cause a big controversy for you."

"I don't care," I said with utmost seriousness, my hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. "Your safety is far more important than any controversy."

Rihanna didn't respond with words. Instead, she leaned over, resting her head on my shoulder. As much as the restrictive car space allowed, she wrapped her arms around me in a heartfelt embrace.

"Thank you, Troy," she whispered.

I smiled softly at her, stealing a quick glance before focusing back on the road. I sped away toward our destination, determined to put the night's events behind us.

(Break)

Breaking News! Troy Armitage attacks innocent paparazzo for taking his photograph with his girlfriend.

The video looped relentlessly on the television screen. It began innocuously enough, showing Rihanna and me exiting the restaurant together like any other couple enjoying a quiet evening. The footage captured our kiss, but then the scene shifted.

The three paparazzi arrived, cameras in hand, and the tension escalated. The video cut abruptly to the moment I judo-flipped the man to the ground. Without audio, the story spun its own narrative—one where I was painted as a violent aggressor, snatching memory cards from defenseless photographers. The angle cleverly obscured the part where I handed over my credit card, leaving only the visual of the two men reluctantly handing over their memory cards.

"Troy Armitage, the actor known for playing Harry Potter, has shown everyone the ego child stars possess," the anchor droned, the disdain dripping from her voice. "He seems to think he's above the law…"

Dad muted the TV with a sigh and turned to face me. I'd just walked in after spending the night at Rihanna's, but his expression told me this was not going to be a pleasant conversation.

"Care to explain what happened, son?" he asked tiredly, leaning back in his chair.

I frowned, my eyes glued to the screen where the video replayed on loop. "Damn it!" I swore under my breath. "There was a fourth guy! I didn't even see him."

Dad's brow furrowed deeply. "What do you mean?"

I launched into a detailed explanation of the events from last night, recounting every moment as clearly as I could. With each word, Dad's frown only deepened.

"This doesn't add up," he said finally, rubbing his temple. "Plenty of celebrities go to Arashi's. It's known for being discreet, professional, and off-limits to paparazzi. For those guys to show up at the perfect time and provoke you—a minor—into reacting? That's not normal."

I stayed silent, mulling over his words. He was right. Something about the situation felt off.

Dad leaned forward, his tone more serious now. "The more I think about it, the more it feels like someone set this up. Deliberately."

A grim realization settled over me. "There's one way to find out," I said quietly. "The two paparazzi should be here in a few hours to collect their payment. Let's see what they have to say."

______________________________________________

AN: This is the first time a chapter is written entirely based on reader suggestions. One of the readers essentially gave me the entire summary of this chapter, and I had to include it because the idea won't leave my head.

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