Hello, my alien lovers!

Happy Friday!

Very happy to end a busy week juggling two jobs and a mountain of other commitments. This is how I felt most of this week.

Welcome to Chapter 31!

One of my favorite chapters to write! I hope the set-up makes this chapter a worthy and satisfying pay-off.

Enjoy!

lunus 🩷

If you're new to the story, start with Chapter 1

If you missed the last chapter, Previously on Perilous Love Stars

Maple was going to die, but at least it was in the arms of a superstar. She wondered who would tell her moms and how they’d found out that their only daughter had died from a fall trying to trespass on Daphne Dutrignon’s property. Would Maple also get blamed for Salvatore’s death? Probably. The media loved to spin a story against a woman when possible, and Peyter adored nothing more than attacking Maple. He’d find a way to twist the truth to make her look bad.

The cold rush of water hit her hard, her lungs froze, her entire body shut down in shock. She felt herself sliding deeper into water, alone, detached from Salvatore. She couldn’t see anything, there were bubbles everywhere. She tried to scream, nothing came out. All she heard was the nothingness of the underwater.

She was suffocating, out of oxygen. She knew how to swim, how to get back to the surface. But her limbs weren’t responding, numbed by shock and fear. She blinked, her eyes closing, her vision going dark. That was how she died. Drowned. Just like the 19th-century French prostitute she had been in that previous life. Reincarnation was a bitch. 

Something pulled her. Water rushed into her mouth, and she choked, gasping for air that wasn’t there. The force dragged her up until finally she broke to the surface, her eyes wide open, blinded by the harsh light of day. 

She gasped for air as a bullet flew right past her. 

“Careful!” Salvatore shouted. He was next to her in the water, his arms raised to power a wall of water between them and the shooter. Stray bullets still passed through, but with most losing power as they hit the wall, Salvatore’s hydrokinesis was keeping them alive for now. 

“What’s going on?” Maple managed to say, struggling to swim and keep her head above water at the same time. 

“I think someone is very mad we just landed in their pool.”

Maple looked around. They were in a large pool, deeper than most pools Maple had ever been in. They must have passed the perception filter’s location because she could see the lounge chairs and tarnished white umbrellas around the pool and the mansion that stood behind—four stories tall, and gigantic enough to host twenty bedrooms. The mansion was spread out in the middle of the clearing, with a winter garden the size of Maple’s house and the pool. This wasn’t a just house, this was an estate. 

Ivy grew over the facade’s engravings, sneaking all around the mansion’s exterior walls. The garden circling the estate was in disarray, laced with weeds. The pool water they were in was murky and dirty. The whole place needed a good clean-up. 

“Holy shit,” Maple muttered. She had fantasized about Daphne’s mansion for years, and this didn’t disappoint. 

Another bullet rang right past Maple.

“Enough! Stop shooting at us!” she yelled. 

“You’re trespassing!” a voice shouted back. “I have a right to defend myself!”

Salvatore groaned, and his body shook under the effort to maintain the protective wall of water. It was keeping Maple from seeing who she was talking to. 

“Put the wall down,” Maple said.

Salvatore’s eyes grew wide in confusion. “They’re shooting at us!”

They were, but she had recognized the voice shouting at them from the other side. If Maple was correct, then it was show time. 

“Take it down. Trust me.”

Droplets rolled down Salvatore's face, his long wet hair pulled backwards, the dark fabric of his shirt clinging to his muscles. He moved in the water with ease while Maple was struggling to keep herself above water. But the wall was costing him precious energy.

Maple touched his arm. “It’s okay. I will be safe.” Then, louder, for the shooter, “We want to talk. We’re taking the wall down, but please don’t shoot.”

“I will do what I fucking want! It’s my property!”

Maple coughed, clearing dirty water from her throat. “Ms. Dutrignon, please! We just want to talk.”

Salvatore dropped his arms. They splashed in the water. The wall followed, crashing back into the pool. The after wave almost pulled Maple under. 

Daphne Dutrignon stood at the edge of her pool with a shotgun. The weapon was aimed at them. “Great, you’re crazy fans, is that it? Stalking me? What do you want? Tell me one good reason I shouldn’t just shoot you right here, right now.” 

Salvatore turned to Maple, waiting for her lead. She gaped at the apparition that was Motherfucking Daphne Dutrignon.

Everything about the soap icon was gargantuan. Her glossed lips bursting with fillers. Her shell-like breasts bursting with implants. The purple, fur-lined nine-inch heels she stood on. The mane of vivid red hair framing her head. The open, flowery silk kimono revealing an emerald blue lace bodysuit. The wrinkles on her face, barely visible, hidden behind layers of Botox. Her eyes, grey-blue, nesting the same tornadoes of emotions they had decades ago on TV. Shiny stiletto nails aching to press the trigger of her shotgun.

Daphne Dutrignon was here, in front of Maple, finally, after all this time—after all those years watching her on the show, re-watching old seasons of the show to recapture the magic brought by her acting. Daphne always stole every scene, every storyline, and every episode. For the past week, she’d stolen Maple’s life, and now here she was. Ready to shoot a starstruck Maple in the head.

Maple managed to say, “We’re fans, and maybe a little bit crazy, but we’re not ‘crazy fans’ and we’re not here to stalk you.”

Daphne kept the weapon aimed at Maple. “Maybe I should have defined what ‘a good reason not to shoot you’ is because that didn’t sound like one to me.”

“Can we get out of the water and talk?” Maple asked, glancing at Salvatore. 

He carefully watched the conversation unfolding, a strain on his face. Using his powers was costing him more than he’d like to let on. A grim reminder that he was dying, and that they had no idea how to help him. 

Daphne shouted back at Maple, “You’re fine where you are. Also, why do you look so familiar? Have we met before?”

“No, never. Maybe you saw me online—”

“I don’t believe in the Internet,” Daphne snapped back. “I’m sure we’ve met before.”

Salvatore spoke low. “Maybe you have and don’t remember?”

Maple had to roll her eyes. “I would remember meeting Daphne Dutrignon. She’s just confused.”

“I’m not confused, asshole!” Daphne walked closer to their spot in the pool. The shotgun was still propped up to end Maple’s life at any moment. “Who are you?”

Salvatore moved himself between Maple and the gun. “I’m Salvatore Suárez.”

Daphne took one good look at him. Nodded once. “And who is she?”

Maple grabbed onto Salvatore’s arm, steadying herself in the water. “Maple Defleuvier. Showrunner of Betteraves & Betrayals.”

The gun shook a little, then lowered. Recognition flashed through Daphne’s eyes. “I know that name. You write alien smut, don’t you?”

Holy shit, Daphne Dutrignon knew her writing? That was unexpected. Maple held on tighter to Salvatore, feeling dizzy. 

“Not just smut,” she corrected.  “Romance.”

Daphne Dutrignon scoffed. “Yeah, your romance is okay. The alien smut is really where it’s at. I stick to the sex scenes.”

Maple didn’t know how to feel about that. “Oh. How… You don’t know how to read.”

“Maple, that’s rude,” Salvatore gently protested.

“Yeah, that’s fucking rude, asshole!” Daphne yelled, re-aiming the gun at her. “Audiobooks exist!"

“Okay, fine, sorry! I’m glad you’re a fan of my work—”

“Slow down your rollers, sweetie. I didn’t say ‘fan.’ I listen to your smut when I get off sometimes. Big difference, alright?”

Two things dawned on Maple at once. One, Daphne Dutrignon used her work as porn—to which Maple had a lot of feelings on—and two, Daphne Dutrignon was utterly fucked up. The smell of die-hard whiskey was perceptible from where they were in the water. The woman standing before them was nothing like the glamorous actress Maple remembered. She was a mean drunk armed with a shotgun.

“Let us out of the pool and we’ll talk, okay?” Maple offered, sensing her legs tiring, her body aching from the strain of the past five minutes. Flying, being shot at, crashing, drowning, and being shot at again. The adrenaline was starting to run out.

“You’re an intruder. Why would I want to talk?” Daphne retorted. 

“You just said you read my books!”

The former actress arched a sharp eyebrow. “And? Did you get a fucking invitation? Did I fucking call you to my house, Maple Defleuvier? Did I? I don’t fucking remember doing that.”

Salvatore’s eyes widened in shock. “A lot of swearing.”

“Yes, pretty face, I swear a fucking lot, so what? It’s my house you’re invading.”

“There was no bell!” Maple cried out.

“Maybe there’s a fucking reason why there’s no fucking bell! Have you thought of that?”

“There was no number to call! I didn’t know if you’d get my letter on time, if you could even read it—”

“Not cool,” Salvatore hushed at the same time Daphne shouted, “Again with the illiterate jokes!” 

Maple splashed the water in frustration. “I’m trying to save the show, if you could just let me—”

Daphne moved her shotgun upwards, facing the sky, and shot. She waited for the shock to settle on Maple and Salvatore. Maple’s fingers were digging into his forearms.

“I don’t care why you’re here, either of you,” Daphne said, in a tone that promised another bullet if Maple pushed her too far. “This is my private property. I’ve built this shit like a fortress for a reason. You weren’t invited. Get the fuck out.”

Maple met Daphne’s cold eyes. It was her break-or-make moment. If she said nothing, did nothing, Daphne would walk back into her mansion. It was Maple’s opportunity to save the show, to prove to everyone she was a good showrunner. If she got shot for it, then so be it.

“Come back to Betteraves & Betrayals. I read your memoirs more times than I care to admit to know exactly how much the show means to you. Come back to Sobriquet Lake with us.”

Daphne's eyes turn to disdain, frightening Maple. They soured, a great pain hiding behind. “There’s nothing left for me in that town.” She carelessly threw the gun on one of the lounge chairs and gave Salvatore another look, frowning at what she saw. Then, she turned, walking back to her lair.

“That’s not true,” Maple called back. “There’s Chantal.”

Daphne stopped. Maple knew this was wrong, that using Ms. Parvière’s feelings to coerce Daphne into listening to her was emotional manipulation. 

But she had a show to save. 

“Chantal still cares for you. She’s not the only one! Remember Loretta—Henrietta Herrera’s kid? She always shares stories about you on set, how you always had candy for her or when her high school boyfriend cheated, you smoked together for hours, talking about boys and heartbreaks. Davenport, who you don’t know, but who I’d categorize as a chaotic homosexual with a god-like talent for beautifying anyone he touches, has a framed poster of you in his bedroom. Maurice named one of his lights after you. Cruz, our line producer, daydreams about working with you. You’re a legend amongst everyone in the crew. You made Betteraves & Betrayals into an iconic show. So many people love and respect you for it. If you could just give us a chance to plead our case, please. Chantal really isn’t the only one who cares about you.”

A bird croaked.

Salvatore’s breathing was heavy. His skin was warm. The water was cold.

Another bird croaked. Maple didn’t know how she knew it was a different bird.

Daphne said nothing. Time elongated, compressing and expanding all at once. Maple felt her grip loosen on Salvatore’s arm. Her throat was dry while her entire body was wet and submerged under water. 

Daphne didn’t turn. She kept quiet, unmoving.

Salvatore's arm slid to Maple’s waist, supporting her, helping stabilize her body in the water. Salvatore’s touch was like fire in a well of cold. Maple craved for more.

Daphne cleared her throat. “What about you?”

Maple froze, taken aback by the question. “Me?”

“You gave a great speech about everyone else. But Chantal or Henrietta’s kid aren’t the ones invading my property right now, are they?”

“She wrote you a letter when she was a kid,” Salvatore said. 

Maple wondered if she could drown now. She turned to Salvatore, pissed and curious all at once. “How do you know?”

His hand reached underwater for his back pocket. He retrieved a small, frail, completely soaked piece of paper. “It fell on the ground of the motel room the first night of our trip. I picked it up and held onto it for you. Thought it might be important.”

She grabbed the letter she’d written to Daphne Dutrignon all these years ago. Her handwriting was now a pool of black ink across the page. Even if she could dry it, it’d be ruined.

“What did the letter say?” Daphne asked. 

Maple felt tears in her eyes. She blinked, and they rolled down her already wet cheeks. “I asked for a signed picture of you for my grandmother. She was going to celebrate her 90th birthday. She died two days after I wrote the letter. That’s why I never sent it. Then, you left the show anyway. Suddenly, I was all alone. I’d lost two role models in my life.”

Maple wiped her cheeks with wet hands, then stopped when she realized how fruitless the endeavour was. “I’m sorry I trespassed on your property, but I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t truly believe that you are the only person who can save our show. I grew up watching Betteraves & Betrayals, dreaming that one day I could be part of something that special. When I was bullied at school, I watched the show to escape. When I burned out after juggling full-time jobs while writing my novels, I found strength watching your fictional daughter go through challenges of her own. This show is my life—this job is my life! And maybe that’s insane to say, but that’s true. I have friends and a community thanks to Betteraves & Betrayals. If there’s even a slim chance of saving the show by travelling for days across the province to trespass on your property and convince you to come back, then I had to take it.”

"That was a fucking long speech." Daphne exhaled dramatically. “I’m tired. I guess you can stay the night, as long as you leave me alone. Find your own bedroom and stay off the 2nd floor. We’ll talk in the morning. Hopefully, you’ll be gone before I finish my coffee.”

She strolled back to her mansion, her kimono flying open behind her. A queen striding back to her castle.