Allyson's palms were pressed flat against the hard plane of Byron's chest. She could feel the steady, heavy thud of his heartbeat through his dress shirt.

Her face burned. The heat radiated down her neck.

The rapid-fire clicking of the cameras sounded like a firing squad. They were capturing every millimeter of this disaster.

"Let me go," Allyson whispered, her voice trembling.

Byron looked down at her. A dark, suppressed emotion flickered in the depths of his eyes. His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking visibly under his skin.

Slowly, agonizingly, his fingers uncurled from her waist.

Allyson took a step back. A sudden gust of wind swept across the carpet.

The broken zipper on the back of her cheap dress finally gave out completely. The cold air hit her bare spine. She shivered violently, her hands flying to her back to hold the fabric together.

Byron's eyebrows pulled together in a sharp frown.

Without a single second of hesitation, he reached up and shrugged off his custom, priceless suit jacket.

The crowd gasped, the sound loud and sharp.

Byron stepped forward and draped the heavy jacket over Allyson's trembling shoulders. The fabric was still warm from his body. The scent of cedar wrapped around her like a physical embrace.

Joanne stood ten feet away, her perfectly manicured nails digging so hard into her palms that they nearly drew blood. Her face was a mask of pure jealousy.

The reporters surged forward like sharks smelling blood in the water. They shoved their microphones over the velvet ropes, practically hitting Allyson in the face.

"Allyson! Was this a calculated stunt to get his attention?" a reporter screamed, his voice dripping with venom.

All the blood drained from Allyson's face. The multi-million dollar penalty clause of their secret marriage contract screamed in her head. If she exposed them, she would be ruined forever.

She forced her lips to stretch into a wide, painfully fake smile. She took another half-step back, creating a physical distance between her and Byron.

She bowed deeply to the cameras. "Not at all. Mr. Estes is just a highly respected senior colleague who was kind enough to help a clumsy junior."

The air around Byron instantly dropped ten degrees.

He didn't say a word to contradict her. He just slowly turned his head and locked his eyes on the reporter who had asked the question.

The look in Byron's eyes was lethal. It was a silent, suffocating threat.

The reporter swallowed hard and instinctively took a step back, the microphone lowering in his shaking hand.

Byron's security team finally broke through the chaos, forming a physical wall between the stars and the press.

Allyson pulled the oversized jacket tighter around herself. She kept her head down and practically ran toward the end of the carpet, fleeing the flashing lights.

Byron stood perfectly still, watching her retreating figure until she disappeared into the shadows. Only then did he turn and walk into the venue.

As soon as Allyson reached the dark corner near the exit, Hollie grabbed her arm and yanked her into the waiting Lincoln.

The heavy car door slammed shut. The silence inside the cabin was deafening. Allyson let out a shaky breath, her chest heaving.

Hollie stared at the men's jacket draped over Allyson. Her eyes scanned the fabric like an x-ray machine.

"Do you have any idea what you just did?" Hollie grabbed her own hair, looking crazed. "This PR nightmare is going to end your career!"

Allyson slowly slid the jacket off her shoulders. She hugged it to her chest, her fingertips mindlessly stroking the expensive wool.

Hollie leaned in close, her eyes narrowing. "You signed that NDA three years ago. Who the hell is this secret husband of yours? Is he a mobster? A politician?"

Allyson's heart skipped a beat. She looked at Hollie, a bitter, reckless urge rising in her chest.

She offered a casual shrug. "Actually, my secret husband is Byron Estes. The guy on the red carpet."

Hollie stared at her for two full seconds.

Then, Hollie threw her head back and let out a loud, barking laugh. "Right. And I'm married to the President. Stop making sick jokes and help me draft an apology statement."

Allyson watched her manager laugh. She forced a bitter smile onto her own lips and turned her head to look out the dark window.

The next morning, Allyson sat cross-legged on her faded living room rug, a thick blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

She stared at her phone. The hashtag AllysonGetOut was trending at number one.

Hollie's phone vibrated violently on the coffee table. Hollie snatched it up, her face tight with stress. As she listened to the person on the other end, her expression morphed from anger to utter shock.

Hollie slowly lowered the phone. She turned around, staring at Allyson, who was dry-swallowing a spoonful of cheap cereal.

"That was Dexter Finch," Hollie said, her voice hollow. "The executive producer of the reality show Heartbeat Rules."

Allyson choked on her cereal, coughing into her fist. Dexter Finch was the king of reality TV.

"He wants you on the new season," Hollie continued, tossing a thick contract onto the table. "But don't get excited. He wants you because of the hate traffic from last night."

Allyson picked up the contract.

"He wants you to play the villain," Hollie explained, her tone grim. "The desperate, clingy woman who tries to ruin everyone else's romance. And worse... Byron and Joanne are the headline guests."

Hollie sat down heavily. "Don't do it, Allyson. If you go on there and act like a stepping stone for Joanne, the internet will bully you into quitting the industry."

Allyson flipped to the last page of the contract. Her eyes locked onto the payment figure. It was a number with an obscene amount of zeros.

Her breathing sped up. This was exactly the amount she needed to pay the termination fee to her bloodsucking agency.

Without a word, Allyson grabbed a pen and signed her name on the dotted line.

Hollie buried her face in her hands, groaning in despair.

An hour later, Allyson pushed open the door of a dusty, rundown bookstore on the corner of her street. The bell above the door jingled weakly.

She navigated through the narrow aisles, her eyes scanning the self-help and romance sections. She needed material. She needed to be the most obnoxious, clingy villain reality TV had ever seen.

Her eyes landed on a bright pink spine tucked in the bottom corner.

100 Cheesy Pickup Lines to Make Him Yours.

She pulled it out and flipped to a random page. The words printed there were so incredibly cringe-inducing that a physical shudder ran down her spine. Goosebumps erupted on her arms.

It was perfect.

She walked to the counter and slapped a five-dollar bill down. The old man behind the register glanced at the garish pink cover, raised a single, judgmental eyebrow for a fraction of a second, and then wordlessly took her money. Allyson pulled her baseball cap lower and practically ran out of the store.

Back in her apartment, she sat on the floor, forcing herself to memorize the terrible lines.

She looked in the mirror, attempting to wink seductively. She ended up gagging at her own reflection.

Her phone buzzed on the floor.

A text message from "B".

Are you really going on that show?

Allyson's heart missed a beat. She stared at the screen, her stomach tying itself into a tight knot. He was probably terrified she would slip up and ruin his pristine reputation.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she typed her reply.

Don't worry. I will strictly follow the NDA. We are strangers. I won't implicate you.

She hit send.

She sat there for twenty minutes, watching the screen. The read receipt appeared, but no typing bubble followed.

The silence from his end felt like a physical weight pressing down on her chest. A sharp pang of disappointment flared inside her, but she quickly shoved it down.

She slapped her own cheeks hard, the sting waking her up. She grabbed the pink book and shoved it into her suitcase. She was going to use these lines to make Joanne sick to her stomach, and maybe test just how much Byron could tolerate.

The pre-show banquet was held in a massive, glittering ballroom in the Hollywood Hills.

Allyson stood alone near a towering champagne fountain, wearing a borrowed, out-of-season dress. She took a slow sip of her drink, watching the room.

In the center of the hall, Joanne was surrounded by a circle of directors and producers, soaking in their praise like a sponge.

Joanne spotted Allyson. A malicious gleam lit up her eyes. She broke away from her circle and strutted over, a group of sycophants trailing behind her.

Joanne stopped a few feet away, her eyes raking over Allyson's dress.

"Oh, Allyson," Joanne said, her voice a sickeningly sweet pitch. "Is that from last year's clearance rack? It looks so... rustic."

The group behind Joanne snickered loudly. Heads turned in their direction.

Joanne stepped closer, dropping her voice to a venomous whisper. "You could throw yourself at Byron a hundred times, and you'd still never make it into his bed."

Allyson didn't flinch. She let out a soft, dark chuckle. She took another sip of champagne, her eyes locking onto Joanne's.

"At least I don't have to sleep with casting directors to steal roles," Allyson said, her voice carrying clearly over the ambient music.

Joanne's face paled. She instantly widened her eyes, letting tears pool in them, playing the victim.

Whispers broke out around them. People pointed at Allyson, muttering about her jealousy and toxic behavior.

Joanne leaned in again, her voice trembling with fake hurt. "Byron will always love me. I'm his past, and I'm his future. You're just a joke."

Allyson's grip on her glass tightened until her knuckles turned white.

Allyson took a sudden step forward, closing the distance between them until she was practically in Joanne's personal space. She lowered her voice to a deadly, hushed whisper meant only for Joanne and the two sycophants closest to her.

"His past?" Allyson asked softly, her eyes glinting like shattered glass. "You mean three years ago? When he was in that car crash, lying in a hospital bed with his career on the line, and you bought a one-way ticket to Europe to abandon him?"

The words landed like a precision strike. The smugness on Joanne's face died instantly. Joanne's perfect mask cracked, her mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish.

Before Joanne could formulate a lie, the heavy oak doors of the ballroom swung open.

Byron walked in.

He wore a dark charcoal suit, his presence so commanding it sucked the oxygen out of the room. He looked like a king stepping into a room full of peasants.

Joanne's eyes lit up. She plastered on a tragic, beautiful smile and rushed toward him, her dress flowing behind her.

"Byron," she breathed softly, reaching her hand out to touch his arm.

Byron didn't even break his stride. His eyes looked straight through her as if she were completely invisible.

Joanne's hand hovered in the empty air. A few muffled laughs echoed from the crowd.

Byron walked straight past her, his heavy footsteps echoing on the marble floor. He stopped directly in front of Allyson.

Allyson's breath caught in her throat. She braced herself, assuming he was going to defend his ex-girlfriend.

Byron looked down. His dark eyes bypassed her face and landed directly on her right ankle, which was still slightly swollen from the red carpet fall.

"Can you stand steady?" his voice was a low, icy rumble, but loud enough for the entire silent room to hear.

The crowd was paralyzed. The untouchable superstar was publicly showing concern for the most hated woman on the internet.

Joanne stood frozen in the background, her face contorted with raw, ugly jealousy.

Allyson's brain scrambled. Was this a test? Was he trying to see if she would break the NDA?

She took a deliberate step backward, creating distance. She forced a polite, distant smile.

"Thank you for your concern, Senior. I am perfectly fine."

The word Senior hit Byron like a physical blow. The temperature around him plummeted. His eyes darkened into a dangerous, storm-filled black.

He stared at her for one long, suffocating second. Then, without a single word, he turned on his heel and walked toward the VIP section, leaving the entire room in a state of shock.