Hollywood Royalty Does Not Need Clout

An indiedarling actress and her softboy younger brother were building their entire brand around being "humble and unbothered." But during a hit reality show, they "accidentally" let slip some massive secrets: their grandfather is a legendary Hollywood titan, they grew up in the ultraexclusive gates of Beverly Park, and the sister’s boyfriend is none other than the city's most mysterious, oldmoney heir.

The internet immediately lost its mind: [My lord and lady! Where do I sign up to be your livein maid?

I will work for free!] [How is it possible to be this gorgeous and this successful?!] [Drop the tutorial on how to be reborn into this family, please!] Standing off to the side, my sister and I were completely dumbfounded.

Excuse me? Since when did my family have a secret set of siblings we’d never heard of? … My sister, Flora, and I started out as child actors.

We've worked ourselves to the bone since we could walk.

I was the type to take any role—from the leading lady in a prestige drama to a minor character who gets killed off sixty seconds into the pilot.

Flora, on the other hand, was a method actress to her core; she once shaved her head without a second thought just to play a troubled teenager.

In the industry, they called us the "hustle sisters." To promote our respective new projects, we agreed to gueststar together on the country's most popular variety talk show, "The Round Table".

Of course, the producers wanted drama. The viewers quickly noticed that the show had invited another set of siblings to serve as our direct foils.

The sister, Kylie Holloway, was famous for her effortless "cleangirl" aesthetic, while her brother, Lewis, had starred in a few obscure indie art films.

They branded themselves on being lowkey, detached, and above the petty drama of Hollywood. Basically, the exact opposite of our relentless hustle. The kicker?

Not long ago, the Holloway siblings had hinted in an interview that their grandfather was the creative mastermind behind the legendary 1996 Centennial Olympic ceremonies.

The clip went viral on TikTok, racking up millions of views.

Internet sleuths even dug up photos of their alleged daily hangout spots, which just so happened to be inside the gated estates of Beverly Park—where land is practically paved with gold.

Fans swooned, calling them reallife trustfund royalty who were just "deigning to experience normal life." With the producers framing us as opposites, a toxic fan war erupted overnight. [Oh my god, no wonder the Holloways have such an elegant vibe!

They're literally Hollywood royalty.] [Finally, some actual class on our screens instead of the usual desperate tryhards.] [I watch reality TV for this kind of effortless, oldmoney energy, not to see Valerie and Flora Lancaster acting like desperate attentionseekers.] [Well, when you come from nothing, you have to claw and scrape for every second of screen time.

Sad, really.] [If our precious Kylie cared about clout, she'd have destroyed those two Lancasters years ago.] Even our publicists started panicking. "Maybe you girls should tone it down?" they warned us. "Don't steal the spotlight.

If you look too aggressive, the internet will tear you apart. Besides, they have serious backing.

Let's play it safe." "Yeah... in this economy, people want to romanticize the easy life of the rich.

They don't want to watch the grim reality of workingclass grinders." I was genuinely baffled. "Grinders?" I comforted them. "What’s wrong with working hard?

We earn every cent we make with our own sweat. There’s absolutely nothing to be ashamed of." And honestly, I couldn't understand why everyone was losing their minds.

Just because their grandfather supposedly planned the Olympics? My grandfather "actually" did that.

Flora thought about it for a long time too. "It’s weird," she whispered. "The people who actually own those Beverly Park estates are currently living in Europe.

And as far as I can recall, we don't have any neighbors named Holloway." We brushed it off. Work was our priority, and we had a show to shoot.

Soon enough, the day of filming arrived. "The Round Table" was a massive hit, and the entire episode was being broadcast live.

We were set up in a cozy, rustic courtyard, gathered around an outdoor fire pit to drink tea and chat.

Flora and I naturally took our seats in the quiet corner, wanting to stay out of the way.

Meanwhile, the Holloway siblings walked in and sat right in the center seats without a moment's hesitation. The sheer entitlement was palpable.

The host immediately handed them the microphone. "It’s incredible," the host said, beaming. "You two have kept such a low profile in the industry, but it turns out your grandfather is none other than the legendary director Charles Holloway." Charles Holloway.

My grandfather. Flora and I both froze. The familiar name pulled our attention straight to them. By a bizarre stroke of luck, they shared my grandfather’s last name.

But my grandfather had actually taken my grandmother’s surname—Lancaster—when they married, building his empire with her family’s immense wealth.

He only kept "Holloway" as his professional director pseudonym. That was why Flora and I went by Lancaster.

Kylie tilted her head, letting the camera catch her soft, unbothered expression. "That’s all in the past, really.

We just want to focus on doing our jobs." Lewis gave a boyish, dimpled smile that was practically engineered to make fans swoon. "Yeah, Grandfather is eighty now.

If he finds out we made him go viral again, he’ll never let us hear the end of it.

He hates the fuss." The live chat stream instantly erupted. [Oh my god, this is literally a movie come to life.] [Can we talk about their dynamic?

Kylie is the poised, cool older sister and Lewis is the sweet, playful younger brother. That dimple is killing me!] [They clearly have such a warm relationship with their grandpas.

So wholesome!] Beside me, Flora snorted. She quietly tapped her phone screen and slid it over to show me a photo she’d just received.

It was a picture of our grandfather, currently kneeling on a pile of LEGO bricks in his living room. "I just texted Grandfather," Flora whispered, suppressing a laugh. "I asked him if he had a secret family he forgot to tell us about." "And?" "He panicked and started kneeling on LEGOs to prove his absolute innocence to Grandma." I shook my head, tapping her forehead to quiet her down. "Don't say anything yet.

We'll let PR handle this later.

Knowing Grandfather's temper, he'll probably log onto his verified account and start a digital war anyway." Unfortunately, our hushed whispering and suppressed giggles didn't escape the cameras.

The live chat noticed. [Wait, what is up with the Lancaster sisters? Are they seriously jealous of someone else's pedigree?] [Look at those smirk faces.

That is so meanspirited...] [Don't be so harsh, maybe they're just curious.

I mean, given their Blist status, it's not like they'd ever get to run in the same circles as the Holloways.] [Gross.

I actually liked them before this, but seeing them act like bitter mean girls in front of actual class is disappointing.] [Are we seriously still tearing other women down in this day and age?

Get a grip.] If I could see the live comments, I would have had a thousand questions.

But the host, sensing the rising engagement, immediately pointed the microphone at Flora and me, eager to play up the contrast.

The host smiled warmly. "With genes like that, I'm sure it's only a matter of time before you two surpass your grandfather's legacy.

But why don't you ask Valerie and Flora for some advice?

After all, they're the reigning hustle queens of the industry." Kylie gave us a brief, dismissive glance before looking away.

Her posture practically radiated aristocratic disdain. "Of course. But Lewis and I prefer to take our time.

We want to polish our craft and select meaningful scripts, rather than just taking any mindless gig that comes our way." Lewis nodded, his tone dripping with fauxinnocence. "I really admire how the sisters can spend three hundred and sixtyfive days a year on dusty soundstages.

I could never do that. I can only perform when a character truly speaks to my soul." My eyebrows twitched. That wasn't just a subtle dig; it was an open insult.

The passive aggression was staggering, yet the live audience ate it up. [Oof, look at Valerie’s face. She’s fuming!] [I mean, they’re not wrong.

Calling them 'hustlers' is just a nice way of saying they can’t book prestige roles, so they have to accept trashy network television.] [Exactly.

Valerie has won some minor awards, but look at her sour expression.

She can't even fake a smile.] [Makes you wonder how they actually got those awards in the first place.] [Can all actors please take notes from the Holloways?

It's so refreshing to hear someone speak the truth!] I clenched my jaw. Years of media training kept me from starting a screaming match on live television.

If my family saw me getting into a petty argument with some Dlist influencers on a variety show, I’d never hear the end of it. But Flora didn't have my restraint.

She had always been the fiery one.

She snatched the microphone, her striking, sharp features hardening. "I’m sorry," Flora said, her voice icy and deadpan. "I didn't realize my grandfather had adopted two new grandkids." "You have some nerve claiming you're going to surpass his legacy on a couple of indie shorts." The chat went chaotic. [Did she just claim Charles Holloway is her grandfather?

Are the Lancasters serious right now?] [I was literally just thinking, how does Kylie have the audacity to compare herself to Charles Holloway?] [Wait, but their last name is Lancaster.

How are they related to Holloway? Did she lose her mind and just start lying?] [Exactly! And why can't a granddaughter make a joke about her own grandpa?

Flora is just bitter because she has zero class.] Kylie’s expression faltered, her polished facade slipping for a fraction of a second.

Another guest on the show, eager to defuse the tension, spoke up. "Wait, you're saying Charles Holloway is your grandfather? But that's impossible.

I remember seeing a viral article a few weeks ago showing him out with his grandchildren, and it was a brothersister duo." Hearing this, Kylie quickly regained her composure. "I don't know what you're trying to pull," Kylie said smoothly. "But Grandfather has always told me that if I work hard, I'll make him proud one day." She paused, reaching into her clear phone case to pull out a slippedin piece of paper. "He actually wrote me a personal note of encouragement.

I keep it with me everywhere I go." She subtly angled the paper toward the main camera lens. Lewis lifted his chin proudly. "Oh, Kylie, don't fall into their trap.

If Grandfather is watching this right now, he's probably laughing his head off at how desperate some people are." Flora stared at the handwriting on the note and froze. "That... is actually Grandfather's handwriting." Being the hothead she was, she looked ready to lunge forward and tear the paper from Kylie's hands. "How dare you use his personal autograph to pull off a scam like this!" I placed a firm, calming hand over Flora’s wrist. "Easy," I murmured.

A few weeks ago, Grandfather had been invited to present at a major film festival, and Flora and I had gone to pick him up from the venue.

At the time, Flora had just chopped her waistlength hair into a severe pixie cut for her upcoming military drama.

The paparazzi photos from that night had been incredibly blurry—just a grainy shot of Grandfather walking with a woman and what looked like a young man with short hair.

To the public, it looked like a brother and sister.

And right after those photos leaked, Kylie had started dropping hints in interviews about her "legendary grandfather." It had been a calculated play from the very beginning.

I leaned in and whispered the realization to Flora. I wanted to see exactly how far these two were willing to push this lie.

Flora gave me a subtle thumbsup beneath the table. "Brilliant, sister." But to the outside world, our quiet whispering looked like defeat.

The chat, already biased toward the "chic, oldmoney" Holloways, turned on us completely. [I don't even know what Flora was trying to pull.

The real heiress is literally sitting right there with receipts!] [The instant karma is sending me!

Who just tries to claim a legendary director as their grandpa on live TV?] [She carries his handwritten letter in her phone case. You can't fake that.

My face hurts from laughing at the Lancasters.] The producers were ecstatic.

They had expected a simple promo gig, and instead, they had landed the exclusive reveal of Charles Holloway’s grandchildren—complete with a massive family feud.

The director immediately sought to capitalize on the drama. "We've all heard that Kylie and Lewis live in the exclusive gated community of The Summit," the director spoke into the earpieces. "Since our studio lot is actually just ten minutes away from those estates, would you mind taking us on a quick tour to see how the other half lives?" Flora and I exchanged a look of pure bewilderment.

The Summit was incredibly exclusive, with only a handful of multimilliondollar estates. Since when could any random person just breeze past security and film a reality show there?

Kylie's expression tightened slightly at the request. "I...

I didn't expect the paparazzi to track our address," she hesitated, looking appropriately delicate. "I'd really have to ask my family first.

Security is quite strict." The other guests gasped. "Are you going to call Charles Holloway himself?" "Oh my god, I am his biggest fan!

If we even get a glimpse of him, my life will be complete!" "Seriously, the man is a total recluse these days." As the excitement built, Lewis chimed in with a sly grin. "Kylie, are you going to call your boyfriend?

He's the one who actually handles the estate logistics anyway." That sent a shockwave through the room.

For weeks, there had been rumors that Kylie was dating a mysterious, ultrawealthy heir who also lived in The Summit.

Kylie’s cheeks flushed a delicate, practiced pink. "Yes, I just texted him.

He said we can go ahead and do a quick walkthrough." With their narrative perfectly aligned, they had successfully solidified their status as Hollywood royalty.

The live comments went wild: [Oh my god. Her grandfather is a cinematic genius, she lives in The Summit, and her boyfriend is a literal billionaire heir.

How do I unlock this lifestyle?] [Please let me be your housemaid!

I'll clean the marble floors for free!] [They are literally the main characters of the universe.] [Reincarnation goals.] I don't know what kind of lie Kylie spun to the gate guards at the community entrance, but within twenty minutes, the entire production crew and camera team were marching up the winding, manicured streets of The Summit.

But as we got closer, a strange sense of dread settled in my chest. Wait. Why were we walking toward my street?

For a brief, terrifying second, I wondered if my parents had actually adopted a secret set of siblings without telling me.

But then Kylie turned right, stopping directly in front of the massive, modern estate right next to mine. I froze.

Because that house belonged to my childhood best friend—and the man I'd been unofficially seeing—Will Harriet.

And Kylie had just claimed she needed to ask her boyfriend for permission to enter. Had Will been seeing Kylie behind my back? Beside me, Flora let out a quiet, wicked chuckle.

She nudged my arm, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, well. Will has been out of the country for months, and he comes back to a livein girlfriend?

Now "this" is a show." She leaned in, whispering, "Valerie, remember: don't lose your cool." I ground my teeth. "Oh, I'm perfectly cool." The estate was breathtaking.

I watched in silence as Kylie stepped up to the massive double doors, punched in a very familiar passcode, and pushed the door open.

She turned to the crew with a welcoming, slightly apologetic smile. "My grandfather and my boyfriend aren't home right now, so I'm sorry you won't get to meet them.

But please, make yourselves at home and have some refreshments." Before she could even finish her sentence, a figure appeared at the top of the grand spiral staircase. It was Will.

He was dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his tie perfectly knotted, looking every bit the cold, aristocratic heir he was.

He looked down at the sudden influx of strangers in his foyer, his eyes instantly turning to ice. Until his gaze landed on me. Our eyes met across the cavernous room.

He arched an elegant eyebrow. "What is going on?" his eyes seemed to ask. In the live chat, an eagleeyed viewer recognized him immediately. [Holy crap!!! That's Will Harriet!

The actual heir to the Harriet shipping and real estate empire!

I saw him once at a charity gala in New York—he is ten times more gorgeous in person.] [Kylie is literally winning at life.

How did she bag him?] [Wait, is it just me, or did Will look straight at Valerie the second he walked out?] [Please, Valerie was probably just staring at someone else's boyfriend like a thirsty fan girl.

Classic social climber behavior.] The other guests on the show gasped in awe. "Oh my god, is that Kylie's boyfriend?" "They look like they belong on a magazine cover!" "Hi, Mr.

Harriet! Nice to meet you!" Everyone was whispering and grinning, but I noticed that Kylie’s face had gone completely bloodless.

Her hands were trembling as she stood frozen at the base of the stairs.

Will looked at the cameras, then at the fawning guests, and pieced together the situation with effortless ease. A cold, dangerous smirk touched his lips.

He began walking down the stairs, initially heading straight toward me.

But when he saw the warning glare I shot him, he stopped in his tracks, looking like a kicked puppy, and reluctantly turned his attention back to the crowd.

I wanted to see exactly how he was going to explain this. Will’s gaze swept over the room, landing squarely on Kylie.

His voice, usually warm when he spoke to me, was now sharp enough to cut glass. "I'm sorry," he said, his tone dripping with mockery. "But since when did my house get a new mistress?" "Or are we calling home invaders 'girlfriends' now?"