Chapter 1: A Match Made in Hell

The silence in the gleaming conference room of Sterling & Associates was so thick it could have been cut with a knife. Elara Vance sat perfectly poised in her chair, her honey-blonde hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders, her camera-ready smile never wavering even as her agent, Miranda Sterling, dropped what felt like a nuclear bomb.

"'Aetheria's Echo,'" Miranda repeated, sliding the thick script across the mahogany table. "The biggest fantasy epic of the decade. Three-hundred-million-dollar budget. The studio wants you for Lyralei, the warrior princess."

Elara's perfectly manicured fingers traced the embossed title on the script's cover. This was it—the role that could finally break her out of rom-com hell. No more playing the quirky best friend or the girl-next-door who gets the guy after a series of adorable mishaps. This was her shot at being taken seriously.

"It's perfect," she breathed, her practiced smile transforming into something genuine for the first time in months. "When do I start?"

Miranda's expression shifted almost imperceptibly. "There's just one small detail we need to discuss."

The way she said 'small detail' made Elara's stomach clench. In Hollywood, small details were usually career-ending catastrophes in disguise.

"Your co-star," Miranda continued, her voice carefully neutral. "Liam Blackwood."

The name hit Elara like a physical blow. Her smile froze, then slowly melted into something that could have stripped paint from the walls. "Absolutely not."

"Ellie—"

"No." Elara stood so abruptly her chair scraped against the floor. "I don't care if it's the role of a lifetime. I will not work with that pretentious, self-important—"

"—incredibly talented actor who happens to be Hollywood royalty?" Miranda interrupted smoothly. "The son of Marcus Blackwood, three-time Oscar winner? The man whose indie films have grossed over two billion dollars worldwide?"

"The man who humiliated me in front of half of Hollywood at the Golden Globes," Elara shot back, her sunshine persona cracking to reveal the steel beneath. "I haven't forgotten what he said about my 'adorable little comedies' and how I'm 'everything wrong with modern cinema.'"

Miranda sighed, having expected this reaction. Six months ago, at the Golden Globes after-party, Liam Blackwood had made some particularly cutting remarks about commercial films that had been clearly directed at Elara. The entertainment blogs had run with it for weeks, dubbing it "The Blackwood Burn."

"That was months ago," Miranda said diplomatically. "And frankly, this role is too big to let personal feelings interfere."

"Personal feelings?" Elara's voice pitched higher. "He called me a 'manufactured Hollywood princess who wouldn't know genuine emotion if it bit her on her perfectly sculpted ass.'"

"Okay, yes, that was... specific," Miranda admitted. "But think about what this means for your career. Fantasy epics are the new franchise goldmines. And the chemistry tests were—"

"I never did a chemistry test with him."

"You will. Tomorrow. Ten AM."

Elara stared at her agent in disbelief. "You already agreed to this?"

"The studio made it clear that it's both of you or neither of you. They want the buzz, the controversy, the headlines. Let's be honest—the tension between you two is already generating more press than most movies get during their entire promotional campaigns."

As if summoned by her words, Miranda's phone buzzed with a notification. She glanced at it and winced. "Speaking of which, #Starfire is trending on Twitter."

"What the hell is Starfire?"

"Your ship name. Apparently, the fans have decided that your mutual hatred is actually unresolved sexual tension."

Elara felt her eye twitch. "I need a drink."

"It's ten in the morning."

"I need a very large drink."

---

Across town, in the deliberately understated offices of Blackwood Management, Liam Blackwood was having a remarkably similar conversation with his agent, though with significantly more profanity.

"No fucking way," he said, his dark eyes flashing with fury. "I'd rather star in a fucking cereal commercial than work with that vapid, overrated—"

"Careful," his agent, David Chen, warned. "Your father's been in the press enough lately. We don't need you adding fuel to the fire."

The mention of his father made Liam's jaw clench. Marcus Blackwood had been making headlines recently for all the wrong reasons—a series of inflammatory interviews about the "death of cinema" and how "pretty faces" were ruining the industry. The media had been drawing connections between his father's comments and Liam's own Golden Globes remarks.

"This has nothing to do with my father," Liam said through gritted teeth. "I just refuse to pretend that Elara Vance is anything more than a pretty face with decent timing."

"That pretty face with decent timing just opened a rom-com to sixty million dollars last month," David pointed out. "And like it or not, this is the role that could establish you as a leading man outside of your father's shadow."

The words hit their mark. Liam's greatest fear—that he'd never be seen as anything more than Marcus Blackwood's son—was exactly what David was counting on.

"The character of Kael is complex," David continued. "Morally ambiguous, tortured, everything you love about the roles you choose. And the script is actually good. Better than good. It's the kind of fantasy epic that could launch a decade of sequels."

Liam ran his hands through his dark hair, a nervous habit he'd never been able to shake. "Have you seen the social media response to the casting announcement?"

"You mean the fact that your supposed 'feud' with Elara has generated more online buzz than any movie casting in the past five years? Yeah, I've seen it."

"They're calling us Starfire," Liam said with disgust. "As if we're some kind of... couple."

"The internet loves enemies-to-lovers stories," David said with a shrug. "And the studio loves the free publicity. They're talking about a marketing campaign built entirely around your chemistry."

"We don't have chemistry. We have mutual loathing."

"Same thing, cinematically speaking."

Liam stared at his agent in horror. "You're actually suggesting I fake romantic chemistry with someone I can't stand?"

"I'm suggesting you do your job," David replied calmly. "Act. Pretend. Use that method training you're so proud of. Besides, the contract is already signed."

"I haven't signed anything."

"Your father did. He's executive producing."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Liam felt his world tilt slightly off its axis. "What?"

"He bought the rights to the source material six months ago. This was always going to be a Blackwood production. He specifically requested you for the lead."

"He what?" Liam's voice was barely a whisper.

"Apparently, he thought it would be good for your career to work with someone who 'challenges you professionally.'" David's tone made it clear he was quoting directly.

Liam slumped back in his chair, the fight draining out of him. Another puppet show orchestrated by his father, another reminder that his career was still being managed from the shadows. "So I don't have a choice."

"None whatsoever. Chemistry test is tomorrow at ten."

---

The next morning, Elara arrived at the studio lot with all the enthusiasm of someone heading to their own execution. She'd spent the night researching every interview Liam had ever given, looking for ammunition. What she'd found instead was a pattern of thoughtful, intelligent responses about craft and art that made her hate him even more—because it meant he wasn't just an asshole, he was a talented asshole.

She found him in the waiting area outside the chemistry test room, slouched in a chair with his trademark brooding expression, dressed in his usual uniform of black jeans and a dark henley. His hair was perfectly tousled in that way that probably took an hour to achieve but was meant to look effortless.

"Vance," he said without looking up from his phone.

"Blackwood," she replied, settling into a chair as far from him as possible.

The silence stretched between them like a chasm. Finally, Liam spoke.

"Just so we're clear, I'm planning to be completely professional about this."

"How magnanimous of you."

"I'm serious. We're both adults. We can put aside whatever personal issues we have for the sake of the film."

Elara turned to stare at him. "Personal issues? You publicly humiliated me at the Golden Globes."

"I made some comments about the industry. If you took them personally, that's not my fault."

"You looked directly at me when you said them."

"I was looking at a lot of people."

"You used air quotes when you said 'actress.'"

Liam finally looked up from his phone, his dark eyes meeting hers. "Maybe if you took on roles that actually challenged you instead of playing the same character in different wigs—"

"Don't." Elara's voice was sharp enough to cut glass. "Don't you dare lecture me about artistic integrity when you've been coasting on daddy's name your entire career."

The words hit their mark. Liam's face went very still, and for a moment, Elara thought she might have pushed too far. Then his expression shifted into something cold and dangerous.

"At least I earned my roles through auditions instead of whatever it is you do."

"What exactly are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm stating a fact. You're a product, Vance. Manufactured, marketed, and sold to the masses. The only reason you're here is because you test well with focus groups."

Elara stood up, her hands clenched into fists. "You arrogant, pretentious—"

"Ms. Vance? Mr. Blackwood?" A production assistant appeared in the doorway, clipboard in hand. "We're ready for you."

They stared at each other for a long moment, the air between them crackling with tension. Then Elara forced her signature smile back into place and walked toward the door.

"This is going to be a long shoot," she muttered under her breath.

Behind her, Liam's lips curved into what might have been a smile. "Looking forward to it."

As they walked into the chemistry test room, neither of them noticed the production assistant's knowing smirk or the way she immediately pulled out her phone to text someone: "You're not going to believe the sparks flying between these two."

The battle lines were drawn. The contracts were signed. And somewhere in the depths of social media, #Starfire was about to explode into something neither of them could have imagined.

The war between Elara Vance and Liam Blackwood was about to begin.