What If?

Chapter 3: Navigating Fame

**Kirsty’s Perspective**

I wake up to the sound of my phone buzzing incessantly on the nightstand. Groggily, I reach out and grab it, squinting at the bright screen. Dozens of notifications flood the screen—texts, emails, social media alerts. My heart skips a beat as I remember where I am, who I am. I’m Andrea Willows now.

Sitting up in bed, I take a deep breath and glance around the luxurious bedroom. The bed is enormous, with silk sheets and plush pillows. The walls are adorned with awards, framed photos of Andrea with other celebrities, and designer clothes hung neatly in a walk-in closet. Everything screams wealth and fame—everything I’ve ever wanted.

But it also feels… overwhelming. I have no idea how to handle any of this.

My phone buzzes again, and I see a text from someone named Cassidy. The name is familiar—probably one of Andrea’s friends or colleagues.

*Cassidy:* *Hey, we’re meeting at 10 for the shoot. Don’t be late!*

Shoot? My heart races as I realize I have no idea what Cassidy is talking about. I quickly scroll through Andrea’s calendar, trying to find any details about this shoot. There it is—*Photo shoot for Vogue, 10:00 AM*.

I glance at the time and realize I have less than an hour to get ready. Panic sets in as I jump out of bed and head for the bathroom. What do I wear to a Vogue photo shoot? How do I even act? I’ve seen Andrea in interviews and on social media, but that’s not the same as actually being her.

After a frantic shower, I throw on one of the designer outfits hanging in the closet—a sleek black dress that looks expensive. I try to do my makeup the way I’ve seen Andrea do hers, but my hands are shaking, and it doesn’t come out right. The result is a far cry from the flawless looks she usually sports.

By the time I’m ready, I’m already running late. I grab my phone and rush out the door, hoping I can fake my way through this. As I step into the car waiting outside, I try to calm my nerves. This is what I wanted, right? The fame, the glamour, the excitement. But now that I have it, I feel like I’m in way over my head.

The car pulls up to a sleek studio, and I’m greeted by a swarm of people—photographers, stylists, makeup artists. They all greet me with bright smiles and enthusiastic chatter, but I can barely keep up. It’s like stepping into another world, and I’m completely out of my depth.

Cassidy, a tall, elegant woman with perfectly styled hair, approaches me with a clipboard. “Andrea, darling! You look fabulous. Ready for the shoot?”

I nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah, of course.”

She doesn’t seem to notice my nervousness as she leads me to the dressing room. As soon as I sit down in front of the mirror, a team of makeup artists and stylists swarms around me, transforming me into the version of Andrea that the world knows and loves.

I watch in the mirror as they work, feeling like an imposter in my own skin. But there’s no turning back now. I have to pull this off.

The shoot itself is a whirlwind. The photographer barks instructions at me, and I try to follow them as best as I can. Smile, turn, pose. It’s all so different from anything I’ve ever done before. But somehow, I manage to get through it without making a complete fool of myself.

When it’s over, Cassidy pats me on the back. “Great job, Andrea. You were perfect.”

I force another smile, feeling a mix of relief and exhaustion. But as I walk out of the studio, I can feel the weight of the day pressing down on me. This life is intense, far more than I ever imagined. And yet, there’s a thrill to it—a kind of high that comes from being in the spotlight, from knowing that the world is watching.

As I step back into the car, I can’t help but think about Andrea. The real Andrea. What must she be feeling right now, stuck in my old life? Is she struggling like I am? Or has she figured it all out already? I don’t know, and that uncertainty gnaws at me.

Back at Andrea’s penthouse, I collapse onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The city skyline stretches out before me through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a reminder of the life I’ve always wanted. But as I sit there in silence, I realize that the fame and fortune I craved come with a price—a constant pressure to be perfect, to perform, to maintain the image the world expects.

I grab Andrea’s phone and scroll through her messages. There are dozens—friends, fans, business associates. I skim through them, trying to get a sense of her life, her relationships, her world. But it’s all so overwhelming. How does she keep up with all of this? How does she manage to stay on top of everything, always smiling, always perfect?

As I continue scrolling, I come across a message from someone named Rachel.

*Rachel:* *Hey Andrea, haven’t seen you around much lately. Everything okay? Miss our coffee chats. Let me know when you’re free!*

I pause, my thumb hovering over the screen. Rachel… that name rings a bell. Could it be Rachel, Andrea’s best friend? I vaguely remember seeing them together in photos online, always laughing, always looking like they were having the time of their lives.

Without thinking, I type a quick reply.

*Me:* *Hey, Rachel! Yeah, sorry I’ve been so busy. I’d love to catch up soon. How about tomorrow?*

I hit send before I can second-guess myself. Maybe meeting Rachel will give me some insight into Andrea’s life, into how she navigates all of this. Maybe she can help me figure out how to keep this charade going.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. I order takeout—something fancy from a restaurant I’ve only ever dreamed of eating at—and try to relax. But my mind keeps drifting back to the day’s events, to the pressure of living up to Andrea’s image.

What if I can’t do it? What if I slip up and someone realizes I’m not really her? The thought terrifies me. But at the same time, I know I can’t back out now. I wished for this life, and now I have to live it.

As I lie in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m in way over my head. But I also can’t deny the excitement, the thrill of being someone else, even if it’s just for a while. Tomorrow, I’ll meet Rachel, and maybe she can help me navigate this crazy, glamorous life.

But for now, all I can do is hope that Andrea is doing okay in my old life—and that I can keep up this act long enough to figure out how to make it work.