Chapter 2: The Faceless Ghost in Red

I burst into tears. Honestly, I’ve seen countless ghosts, but I was still scared to death.

It wasn’t just fear—it was the kind of bone-deep terror that makes your whole body shake. My eyes stung, and I didn’t care who saw me crying.

Only I could see the ghost in the pool. The crew just looked confused.

One of the camera guys gave me a thumbs-up, mouthing, “Nice job!” I wanted to scream at him that this wasn’t acting, but my throat had closed up.

Even the director gave me a thumbs up behind the camera. "Great acting, keep going—this is exactly what we want."

He looked so pleased, completely oblivious to the fact that I was seconds away from passing out. Showbiz, I guess.

Meanwhile, the live chat was blowing up:

[Savannah Brooks must be possessed by a drama queen. She sees a ghost three minutes into the show? Who’d believe that?]

[She’s not even trying to be subtle. Give her an Oscar for overacting!]

[I used to criticize her acting, but I admit I was too harsh. Her acting’s pretty good—she really looks like she saw a ghost.]

[Sis, tell us what kind of ghost you saw! Don’t just cry. Didn’t you set up a strong female persona? Now you’re scared to tears?]

[If it’s real, say hi to the ghost for me. If it’s fake, I hope you really see a ghost tonight.]

I was so scared I kept backing up, nearly falling—until a warm, steady hand caught me.

His grip was steady, grounding me. I clung to it like a lifeline, my heart still racing. For a second, I could almost breathe again.

Then I heard a calm, soothing voice behind me: "Don’t be afraid."

It was calm, soothing—like he’d seen this a thousand times before. I turned, relief flooding me.

I turned to look. The man who caught me? Julian Whitaker—the biggest star in the industry.

He looked even better in person—tall, calm, with a steady gaze that made you feel safe, no matter how crazy things got. The kind of guy who could talk you down from a panic attack with just a look.

Fans liked to joke: he could rule the industry on looks alone, but he insists on relying on skill and hard work.

He was the whole package—talent, charisma, and a reputation for being unflappable. The kind of guy who’d bring soup to a sick friend, or rescue a kitten from a tree, all while looking like he stepped out of a magazine cover.

And, as luck would have it, Julian Whitaker was also a guest on this show.

I couldn’t believe my luck—or maybe it was fate. Either way, I was grateful he was here.

He wore a rosary bracelet on his wrist, and I swear it almost glowed in the dark.

I don’t know if it was the power of suggestion or something real, but the air around him felt lighter, safer. I found myself breathing easier just being near him.

I felt like I’d just grabbed a lifeline and thrown myself into his arms.

I didn’t even care about the cameras. Survival first, dignity later. His arms were strong, steady, and I held on like my life depended on it.

As expected, that move got me roasted by his fans.

[Is Savannah Brooks sick? First time meeting our idol and she throws herself at him? So cheap!]

[Let go of our idol, I’m not kidding!]

[Pretending to see a ghost just to flirt with our idol—scheming woman exposed.]

[Let go of him! Don’t hug him or I’ll lose it!]

Honestly, I value my life more than my reputation.

Let them talk. I’d rather be alive and hated than dead and adored. The internet could roast me all they wanted.

Besides, Julian and I had just signed on to work together in a drama. Not that anyone knew that yet.

That little secret gave me just enough confidence to hold on a bit longer. After all, we’d have to get used to each other eventually.

A little publicity never hurt anyone.

If the producers wanted chemistry, I’d give them chemistry. Even if it was just fear-induced.

"Julian, there’s a faceless female ghost in the pool. Did you see her?" I clung to him, peeking over at the pool.

I was half-hoping he’d laugh it off, tell me I was imagining things. But he looked deadly serious, eyes scanning the water.

Wait—how did the faceless ghost just vanish like that?

One second she was there, the next—gone. The pool looked empty, the water still as glass.

Maybe she was scared off by Julian’s rosary beads.

I didn’t know how this stuff worked, but I wasn’t about to let go of my lucky charm.

I was about to let go when he said, dead serious, "I saw her. Red plaid retro swimsuit, big wavy hair, face peeled off—one fierce ghost."

He described her perfectly, down to the blood and the twisted smile. I shivered, clutching him tighter.

His words scared me so much I hugged him tighter. "That’s exactly what I saw!" I cried.

I wasn’t faking it. The fear was real, and his confirmation made it worse. I buried my face in his shoulder, trying to steady my breathing.

For the first time, the director and crew looked genuinely creeped out.

For the first time, the director seemed rattled. The camera guys exchanged nervous glances, suddenly less sure about what was real and what was just good TV.

And just like that, the live chat exploded again.

[I don’t believe Savannah Brooks, but Julian Whitaker definitely wouldn’t lie.]

[So there really is a faceless female ghost in the pool?]

[Red plaid retro swimsuit, big wavy hair… why does that sound so familiar?]

[Either way, Savannah clinging to our idol is a bit much, isn’t it?]

Honestly, anti-fans, if you were here and saw a faceless ghost like that, you’d throw yourself into his arms, too.

No shame in survival. I’d pay good money to see any of those keyboard warriors spend one night here.

At that point, the other four guests showed up, one after another. They were:

Oscar winner Marcus Reed.

He had that old-school gravitas, the kind of guy who wore a suit even off camera. Rumor was, he could recite Shakespeare backwards if you asked him.

Pop king Eric Choi.

He was all swagger, with a million-watt smile and a fanbase that rivaled Julian’s. His laugh was infectious, cutting through the tension like a ray of sunlight.

Oscar winner Autumn Price.

She was elegance personified—every movement precise, every word measured. The kind of actress who could break your heart with a single glance.

Young actress Riley Monroe.

She was the wild card—young, ambitious, and not afraid to speak her mind. Her energy filled the room, bouncing off the walls like a pinball.

After what happened earlier, the director and camera crew were a weird mix of solemn and excited.

You could feel the mood shift. The crew was on edge, but the director looked like he’d struck gold. Ratings, baby.

The director gathered all six of us in the mansion’s living room to announce the rules.

The room was cavernous, with old portraits staring down at us. The air was thick, the tension palpable. The director’s voice echoed off the walls.

This mansion has three rooms. Tonight, the six of you will pair up and sleep in whichever rooms you draw.

He laid out the rules like it was a game show, but you could see the nervousness in everyone’s eyes. No one wanted to end up alone.

Every corner of the mansion could be a crime scene. Ghosts could show up anywhere.

The director’s words sent a chill through the group. I glanced at the others—no one was smiling now.

After explaining the rules, the director said, "Now, you can pick your roommate. If you both pick each other, you’ll be paired."

He grinned, clearly enjoying the drama. I could practically hear the producers rubbing their hands together in the control room.

As soon as the director finished, everyone’s eyes went straight to Julian Whitaker.

No surprise there. If you had to spend a night in a haunted house, you’d want the guy with the exorcist reputation on your team.

Everyone knew Julian grew up in a monastery, learned martial arts, did his own stunts, and always wore those rosary beads—he was basically a saint.

He was basically a walking good luck charm. The rest of us looked like we were picking teams for dodgeball, and everyone wanted Julian.

Rumor had it he was also an exorcist, though no one knew for sure.

Some said he’d cast out spirits on set, others said he just had good PR. Either way, I wasn’t taking any chances.

Marcus Reed and Eric Choi both tried to claim Julian as their roommate.

They were quick, voices overlapping as they tried to claim him. It was almost comical, if you ignored the fear in their eyes.

Autumn Price and Riley Monroe hesitated—it felt weird to pick a guy as a roommate on live TV.

They exchanged glances, weighing their options. Old-school values die hard, even in Hollywood.

My mind raced. With my ghost-attracting body, it didn’t matter what I did—ghosts would find me.

I could already feel the chill in the air, like something was watching me from the shadows. My skin prickled, and I knew I had to act fast.

Of all the other guests, only Julian looked like he could actually protect me. Those rosary beads seemed to keep the ghosts at bay.

Everyone else looked as scared as I felt. Julian was the only one who seemed calm, his eyes scanning the room like he was sizing up the spirits.

If I wanted to survive till morning, I had to pick him as my roommate.

No way was I spending the night alone. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the backlash.

Gritting my teeth, I threw caution to the wind. "Julian, can I choose you?"

My voice was steady, but my hands shook. The whole room went silent, all eyes on me.

My words stunned Julian—and the rest of the room, too.