I had only ever been in two crisis meetings in my time. The first was the intervention for legendary stage and voice actor Robert Stanton for his binge-drinking habits and his wandering hands in the make-up chair. He had called it a witch-hunt, but everyone else had simply called him out. He was killed off in a flash-flooding disaster. But when the front-cover spread hit, serious damage control was necessary, and I was called to my second crisis meeting.

Scott was a reigning Gold Logie winner, and Damon and Cassie’s tumultuous relationship was a huge ratings driver; it was widely believed that if our characters ever got married, the event would break the Internet. The photographic proof of our real-life liaison had surely sent the Interweb into meltdown, not to mention the studio heads we were forced to meet with.

We had built a brand, a fantasy for young, daydreaming housewives and wide-eyed teenyboppers, and now one magazine article had smashed that dream. No one wanted to see Cassie as a homewrecker, and people certainly couldn’t get their heads around Scott’s secret, pregnant girlfriend. But as I sat in that room, it hadn’t taken me long to realise that I was the only person unaware that Scott was in a relationship with someone other than me. It was almost incomprehensible how blind I had been to his many, many flaws.

I’d declined the stress leave that was offered. I wanted to stand my ground, to show that I wasn’t the villain here, the cheater. He was the homewrecker; it just so happened that the title was under my picture. I’d been mad, madder than hell, and Ziggy had been equally outraged by the double standards. The men’s club had sheltered their commodity. It had left a sour taste in my mouth, and the prospect of another stoush with those old dinosaurs caused my spine to tingle unpleasantly.

‘What now?’ I sighed, unravelling my bandage and moving past the divider to my little bedroom to ditch the flamingo PJs, probably not the best attire to front the big bosses in.

Ziggy took a seat and waited, which was unnerving, silence falling between us as I pulled on some jeans and a top. I sat opposite her at the small table, my stomach churning. ‘Do we have to meet with Sal?’

‘Yes, he wants to see us now.’

Okay, this was bad. Really, really bad.

‘And you’re here to give me the heads-up?’

Poor Ziggy – being the bearer of bad news seemed to be her job of late, tentatively sliding magazine covers in front of me before schooling me in damage control. But today, mercifully, there was no magazine to be seen, and I felt a bubble of relief inside of me. It didn’t last very long.

‘Danielle Kendall has given an exclusive interview to The Desk.’

My blood ran cold. The Desk was a primetime topical news program, with killer ratings and award-winning interviewers. I had appeared on the program myself – it was the go-to place for promotion.

I sat in silence, unable to press for more, but Ziggy continued regardless.

‘Look, I am not going to sugar-coat it for you, Abby. I think you need to hear it – all of it – before you meet with the heads.’

I nodded. ‘Hit me.’

‘Based on the teary snapshots they have been promoting, it’s going to be brutal. She’s pregnant and popular, and you are the scarlet woman, the villain.’

I closed my eyes; it was everything I had predicted.

‘I’m going to try to talk to her again. She needs to know that I had no idea they were together. If I had known, there would be no way I would even – ’

‘It’s no use, Abby, she’s going to stand by her man and play happy families. There’s no amount of talking to her that will help, and I seriously advise against it.’

I could see it now, on the cover of a women’s magazine. Danielle and Scott dressed in white, standing in their white kitchen, holding their little bundle of joy, under the title ‘The gift that saved our relationship’. Tabloids were nothing if not predictable.

‘What do I do?’

‘Be calm, professional. We have your back, Abby. Sal is a reasonable man. He has known you a long time, and this is not their first rodeo.’

‘Is Scott going to be there?’

‘He’s in a separate meeting right now.’

‘Good,’ I nodded. I just couldn’t see him right now.

I hoped that they were telling him to mop up his mess, do an interview himself to confess his sins, take responsibility for being a two-timing rat, flirting and feeling me up in my trailer. Stolen kisses and promised futures. All a big fat lie. I knew I had to be professional, but if saving my reputation meant throwing Scott under the bus, then so be it. Despite the situation being far from ideal, I was filled with a new sense of calm and confidence. Or maybe that was the power of Ziggy, who was always preparing me for my most important roles.

I rubbed my clammy hands along my thighs. ‘Okay, well, let’s do this.’

Ziggy stood, moving to the trailer door and opening it for me.

‘Remember, Abby: cool, calm and professional.’

‘You have to be fucking kidding me!’

Ziggy’s nails dug into my knee so hard that I felt their bite through the denim, but in that moment I welcomed the pain: maybe it would wake me up from this nightmare.

I stood abruptly, my chair flinging back and falling to the ground. ‘You’re killing me off?’

I thought Sal might have looked troubled. Lord knew Derek was squirming in his seat. Ziggy’s hands were now on the table, clasped together so tightly that her fingers matched the red-coloured tips of her manicure.

‘We think it would be for the best, in light of what is unfolding.’

‘Unfolding? I’ll tell you what’s unfolding – Scott’s oversized tongue of lies.’

‘Abby,’ Ziggy warned, but I wasn’t listening. Apparently being told that you were going to be killed off derailed any form of logical thinking.

‘Scott’s a separate issue,’ said Derek, causing a stern look from Sal, who apparently thought he had said too much already.

‘So is he going to get killed off too? A boating accident, maybe? A mudslide? Freak kite-flying accident causing decapitation? Seriously, you guys should be writing this stuff down.’

Derek’s lips pressed together in a grim line; his expression told me everything I needed to know.

I scoffed. ‘Of course, nobody drops the golden boy.’

‘Believe me, Abby, we do not make these decisions lightly,’ Sal countered.

‘Sure, but hey, just think of my death ratings, right? I bet it made it a little less difficult.’

Sal’s grey eyes sliced straight through me. I could tell he was trying his best to remain professional, when all he really wanted was to slam the door behind me. I was obviously not doing myself any favours, but I didn’t care. My world as I knew it was falling apart and there was nothing that I could do about it.

Then, bless her, Cyclone Ziggy rose to her feet. ‘Naturally Abby’s financial contract will be honoured in light of the “situation”. We wouldn’t want there to be any further news stories about discrimination or workplace bullying.’

‘Now listen here, Zig – ’ Sal’s words were cut off by Ziggy raising her hand.

‘Save it, Sal; full entitlements will be paid, and a statement will be given by Abby, not you, about her decision to leave the show to pursue a career outside of Australia.’

My head snapped around. What was she doing? Had she lost her mind?

Sal grinned, and it was cold. ‘Oh, pursuing other avenues already? Sounds like I’m doing you both a favour, then.’

Ziggy matched his smile. ‘More than you realise.’ It was a smile that said, ‘Don’t fuck with me.’ As much as Sal could be frightening, Ziggy in business mode was downright terrifying.

We walked out of the office together, me feeling nothing but hopelessness, while Ziggy seemed energised, a fiery spark in her eyes.

‘What am I going to do, Zig?’ I tried to keep tears from welling in my eyes.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry. By the time I’m through with him you’ll have your entire trip funded.’

‘Trip?’

Ziggy smiled, and she was terrifying again. ‘Time for a change, Abby Taylor!’