Todd had been a background actor for years. He’d played “Man Drinking Coffee #3,” “Guy at the Bus Stop,” and even “Zombie #27.” It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills—barely.

And then came Lights in the Fog, the latest thriller starring Chase Kensington, Hollywood’s golden boy. Chase’s face was everywhere: billboards, soda commercials, and smug little award acceptance speeches. Everyone adored him.

Todd hated him.

It started on day one of filming when Chase breezed onto the set, sunglasses on, ignoring the director’s greeting. He spent more time checking his reflection than rehearsing. During a break, Chase “accidentally” knocked Todd’s coffee onto his script and muttered, “Watch where you put your stuff, man.”

By day three, Todd had seen enough. Chase berated a crew member for bringing him lukewarm kombucha. He made fun of an extra’s shoes, loud enough for everyone to hear. And the cherry on top? Chase pulled a diva tantrum and delayed filming for two hours because the lighting wasn’t “capturing his essence.”

That’s when Todd decided he’d had enough.

Using his phone, Todd began secretly recording everything. The tantrums. The snide remarks. The way Chase would glance at himself in every reflective surface, muttering, “God, I’m good-looking.” Todd even caught Chase pretending to cry during an emotional scene, only to wink at the makeup artist when the director yelled “Cut!”

But Todd wasn’t just recording. He was planning.

Two weeks later, during a big night shoot, Todd made his move. Chase was in the middle of delivering a dramatic monologue when Todd, dressed as “Man in Background,” dropped his coffee cup loudly on purpose.

“Cut!” the director yelled. Chase turned, his face reddening. “Who the hell was that?”

“Me,” Todd said innocently. “Sorry, I just got distracted by your… essence.”

Chase narrowed his eyes. “You think you’re funny?”

“No,” Todd said. “But this is.” He pulled out his phone, hit play, and let the entire crew hear a clip of Chase mocking the director behind his back.

The set went silent. Chase’s face fell as whispers spread.

Todd wasn’t done. “Oh, and there’s more where that came from,” he added, pocketing his phone with a smirk.

The next morning, Todd uploaded the footage to a fake social media account, titling it, The Real Chase Kensington. It went viral in hours.

By the end of the week, Chase had issued a tearful apology, his publicist resigned, and Todd? Todd got his first speaking role in an indie film.

“Revenge is sweet,” Todd muttered as he read the latest headline about Chase. Then he smiled, sipping his coffee. This time, it stayed in his hands.