Fame was not new to him, but this kind of attention was.
His latest project changed everything.
The show—a sexy drama centered on a secret relationship between rival team players—was his first openly LGBTQ+ role. Ryder had never hidden who he was, but he had never made it official either. Hollywood had a way of encouraging silence that looked like “privacy.” This time, he chose visibility.
His co-star was a revelation. Younger, sharper in a way that felt untrained and real. A rising actor who had built his following on short films online. He wasn’t polished yet—and that was the point.
They filmed while the show aired. Fridays became events. Social media exploded weekly—edits, theories, edits of their on-screen tension set to sexy songs. Fans didn’t just love the characters; they loved them. Behind-the-scenes photos. Gym selfies together. Late-night food runs posted with no captions. Too close to be coincidence. Too genuine to be strategy.
The studio was already buzzing before they even sat down.
Rhett Rivera walked out first—black suit, the kind of effortless confidence that showed he knew what he was doing. Late twenties, absurdly fit, face carved by genetics and discipline. Applause thundered. Then his co-star followed, grinning like he’d just been told a joke no one else was in on. Jeans, and a quarter zip, hair a little too perfect to be accidental. The contrast between them always hit people first: Ryder, composed and magnetic; him, all chaos wrapped in charm.
They sat. The crowd barely settled.
The host smiled, professional, practiced. “Congratulations on the success of Icebound Hearts. Fridays have officially become dangerous for the internet.”
Rhett glanced back at him with that look—half fond, half please behave.
“Considering you guys can see our asses…it better be” he joked, laughter exploded across the room.
They talked about filming while the show was still airing, about the pressure, about how weird it was to see edits of themselves before scenes were even finished. Rhett answered smoothly, thoughtfully.
“And working together so closely,” the host continued, carefully, “especially on a project that’s… emotionally intense. You two have undeniable chemistry.”
Rhett nodded. “We worked very hard on that.”
His co-star tilted his head. “That’s one way to phrase it.”
The audience oohed. Ryder shot him a warning look that didn’t work at all.
The host laughed, then shifted, voice still light but intentional. “Fans have noticed how close you’ve become off-screen too. You’re everywhere together—events, social media, vacations. You seem… inseparable.”
Rhett stayed calm. Media-trained to the bone. “We became good friends. When you’re filming twelve hours a day, it happens.”
“Mhm,” the host said. “And yet—” she gestured vaguely, like she was brushing dust off the air, “—the internet is saying the opposite, making shipping edits of you two.”
The crowd laughed again.
Rhett smiled, polite. “The internet has a lot of free time”
His co-star leaned forward, elbows on knees.”So much free time.I’m impressed, honestly.”
The host turned to him. “How do you handle the speculation?”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Poorly. I mean,” he continued, “I was media-trained. Truly. Slideshows. Seminars. A whole PowerPoint. Did nothing for me.”
The host grinned. “That’s comforting.”
The host sensed it then—that electric almost-there feeling. She softened her tone. “Rhett, this is your first LGBTQ+ project. It’s meant a lot to people. Has it changed anything for you?”
He took a breath. “Yes,”he said honestly. “It made me stop hiding parts of myself that I’d been editing out for years.”
The room quieted.
His co-star looked at him then, genuinely,the jokes slipping away for half a second.
“So,” the host added gently,“people are asking if what we’re seeing is chemistry for the camera… or something more.”
“It’s real.”Rhett answered honest.
His co-star blinked, then laughed nervously.“Wait—are we—” He pointed between them. “Is this the moment?”
“We’re dating,” Ryder confirmed.”We have been for a while.”
The crowd exploded