Violeta Reynolds could feel every hostile stare burning into her, but she chose to brush them off. The second she and Quincy Lawrence stepped outside, she paused and glanced back at him.

He looked totally unruffled, no trace of disappointment anywhere. It eased the tight knot in her chest just a little. Her cool composure cracked for half a second, but she pulled herself back together fast.

She pulled open the passenger door of the car for him, waving him in first. Quincy nodded politely. "Thanks."

Violeta hit the gas. "Radiant Entertainment just put money into two new TV series. One’s directed by Charlie Snyder, the other by Darius Berry. They’ve got pretty similar themes, but Darius still hasn’t filled the male lead spot or that tricky supporting role. The lead’s already locked down, but if you nail that supporting part? It’ll get you all kinds of attention. This show’s built to kickstart careers—they tailor the script to whatever the talent brings to the table."

"Quincy, I won’t let Raiden’s influence screw this chance up for you."

Lenora Kelly never backs down easy, and the higher-ups are already on edge. With Quincy’s raw talent, he deserves way better than getting pushed to the side.

Quincy stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on the scenery blurring past the window. "I’m not scared," he said softly.

Violeta knew he was just trying to calm her down. In this cutthroat industry, who isn’t scared of getting overshadowed? With how much pull Raiden has right now, it wouldn’t take him anything to tear their whole plan apart.

The only way out? Get stronger, and fast.

The car pulled up outside a cozy little pub. Violeta stepped out, fished out her phone to call Darius Berry, and quickly smoothed her expression—like none of Lenora’s earlier jabs had gotten to her at all.

Darius showed up a few minutes later, looking caught off guard. "Didn’t Charlie already talk to him about this?"

"Charlie’s stuck between a rock and a hard place right now. Darius, I brought an artist in to meet you."

That pleased Darius. After all, Violeta was married to the Evans heir, and she was going out of her way to extend this courtesy to him.

"Ms. Reynolds, this…"

"Call me Tessa. No need for formalities—let’s keep this strictly professional. If you can’t do that, I’ll just take this to my brother instead."

Violeta’s family company has always held investments in entertainment—good money, after all. If she hadn’t stepped in, Quincy would never have gotten a foot in the door here.

There are certain rules you don’t break. She couldn’t let Quincy wander off and spend time alone with a stranger she didn’t trust. Loyalty ran bone-deep in her.

Darius hesitated for a beat, then gestured toward the door. "Please, Tessa—let’s hash this out over a drink."

For all his polite front, Darius didn’t really like Violeta. When she first left the industry, she’d canceled several contracts with him out of the blue. If she wasn’t affiliated with Radiant now, and didn’t have her connections, he never would’ve bothered showing up.

She’d basically backed him into a corner, forcing him to give Quincy a shot.

Darius waved them ahead. "After you, Tessa. We can talk over coffee."

As Violeta walked in, she heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Quincy right on her heels.

His eyes were dark and tight, his jaw clenched so hard his lips were pressed into a thin line. It was obvious he hated this.

"Wait in the car."

"I…"

"I’m your manager and assistant. You stick to my lead. Just trust me on this."

His steps froze. He hung his head, and after a few long seconds, he finally mumbled, "Okay."

Once Violeta set her mind to a goal, she didn’t let tiny hurdles stop her.

Especially not this—this was all just the price she had to pay for walking away from her career for someone else once before.

"I won’t be long. Wait in the car."

Rules exist for a reason. Unlike half the lazy managers out there, Violeta never coddled her artists.

The entertainment industry is a volatile shitshow—one minute you’re on top of the world, the next you’re forgotten. All she wanted was for Quincy to build a career that lasted.

Inside the pub, Darius got an update on Charlie’s situation, and his contempt for Violeta only grew.

It wasn’t any surprise she didn’t want to stay home playing housewife—everyone and their mom knew her husband was cheating on her.

His gaze drifted over her, slow and lingering.

She was slender, with a tiny waist and long legs. Even barely wearing makeup, she took his breath away.

He’d been in this business for decades, seen thousands of pretty faces, but she still made his head turn.

A sly smile tugged at his lips as he casually ordered a round of whiskey for the table.

"Tessa, is your artist gunning for the lead or the supporting role?"

Violeta frowned. Everyone knew the whole point of this series was to launch the lead’s career—Darius of all people should’ve remembered that.

But she caught his meaning in two seconds flat.

Darius suddenly dropped his hand right on her knee. "A woman that looks like you? Why waste your life stuck with a cheating husband? As for your boy, the role doesn’t matter. I can make it work."

Violeta subtly shifted his hand off her, smiling cooly. "Darius, I don’t think you get it—Raiden already greenlit this. I’m the one calling the shots on who gets spotlighted here. He’d love nothing more than to take out the other man."

Darius flinched back. He knew Raiden’s reputation all too well, and he pulled his hand away, face hot with embarrassment.

He shifted awkwardly in his seat. A married woman playing innocent—what a game.

"Down three glasses of this whiskey, and the supporting role’s yours."

This was top-shelf strong stuff. Three glasses would knock her flat on her ass.

Violeta had known what she was walking into. She’d come prepared.

She fished a pill out of her purse, popped a hangover tablet, chased it with a glass of milk, then set the recording device—already running, capturing every word—right on the table beside her.

"Fair enough. Let’s just hope you keep your word, Darius."

Darius spotted the recorder instantly and realized what she’d done. Violeta was blackmailing him. If he didn’t hold up his end of the deal, this damaging evidence would end up right in Raiden’s inbox.

If he kept his promise, three glasses would leave her completely out of it, and they could wrap this up without any more trouble.

Darius exhaled a long breath. "Tessa, if it wasn’t for this whole mess, you’d have A-list talent lining up around the block begging for this spot."

Violeta smiled. "I was led astray once before. I’m sorry if any of our studio’s artists messed things up for you—this round’s on me."

Director Darius didn’t bother with small talk. He just knocked back one bottle after another, completely unfazed, until finally he set his glass down.

"Let’s cut to the chase. The supporting role’s yours," he said coolly, reaching for his briefcase. "I’ll send someone over to get the contract signed tomorrow."

With that, he shoved the door open, leaned against the wall to steady himself, and stumbled out. His stomach was churning, but he never once lost his composure.

Right outside the door, Violeta Reynolds ran straight into Lenora Kelly. Lenora didn’t even notice her. Her cheek was still faintly swollen under all that foundation as she gossiped to a friend:

"Raiden’s been spoiling me more and more lately. I was supposed to grab coffee with the director today, but Raiden stopped me—he even made that woman apologize to me in person."

"But you know how these directors and producers are, they’re always crossing lines. Sometimes they get grabby, and you can’t exactly push them away hard. Raiden actually cares about me, though… I keep wondering when he’ll finally leave her. It feels so close now."

"Yeah, seriously, it’s right around the corner. Last night when he marked me, he said his own wife won’t even let him go that far. I’ll never get why some women act all high and mighty when they can’t even keep their own man."

"Lenora, c’mon, you know Raiden’s wife has a powerful family. Be careful not to stir up too much trouble."

Lenora just rolled her eyes and brushed off the warning. She was dead set on making that stuck-up wife pay—already planning to set her up with some sleazy directors to humiliate her.

Standing right there listening, Violeta felt another wave of nausea roll over her. She shoved open the bathroom door fast and bolted for the sink to empty her stomach.

Her reflection in the mirror looked drained, her eyes ringed red. It was heartbreaking to see. She splashed cold water on her face, desperate to cool the burn, but the fire in her stomach wouldn’t fade. After three rounds of heaving, she finally felt a little better.

Violeta never had much of a tolerance for alcohol. Raised right since she was little to keep herself restrained, she never was one to overindulge. But with all that hard liquor she’d knocked back, the burn crawling from her throat down to her stomach was unbearable. Her clothes reeked of booze—there was no way she could go home like this.

As she lowered her lashes and pressed a hand to her churning stomach, she caught a familiar face in the mirror’s reflection. She pulled her hand away fast, splashed her face one more time with cold water, and turned to face him, her expression already steady.

"I got the supporting role," she said simply.

Quincy Lawrence stood by the door, a cap pulled low over his head. His hand had already lifted, almost reaching for her, before he stopped short. He always hated unnecessary physical contact.

He lowered his eyes, his voice rough and gravelly: "You didn’t have to go that far."

The bathroom’s fluorescent light was harsh, but it made Violeta look almost painfully striking, her eyes glistening faintly from the steam of the sink.

"Listen. I brought you here, Quincy. This is your big break. We both have the talent—together, we’re going to make it."

He swallowed hard. After a second of hesitation, he finally wrapped his hand around her arm to steady her.

Violeta had always kept a careful distance from men, never letting herself lean on any of them. But the alcohol had turned her brain to mush, and she stumbled as they walked out of the karaoke bar.

The karaoke bar was attached to a fancy high-end hotel. Adonis Howell’s car was parked right out front—he’d just finished wrapping up a meeting with a client.

He looked up and spotted a tall man helping a stumbling woman out of the bar. He recognized Violeta instantly. Everyone knew her.

He frowned at the sight and dialed Raiden Evans.

"Raiden, I just saw Violeta with another guy. They looked pretty damn close."

Back at his office, Raiden froze mid-type. "You must have misseen."

Adonis got it. The Reynolds family had such strict standards, Violeta would never act inappropriate with another man. In all the years of their marriage, even when she picked up clients from the airport, she kept a polite distance from every male staff member. He’d joked before that Violeta was so unwaveringly faithful, she was practically untouchable.

Adonis laughed. "Maybe I’m wrong. But a woman like Violeta… she’d never put up with this, not when he’s out cheating left and right anyway."

Raiden hung up, his mind wandering, his brow knitting deeper by the second.

Violeta’s stomach and head were both throbbing. When she climbed into the car, she stumbled, and her nose slammed straight into Quincy’s chest, a dull ache spreading out from the impact.

Quincy settled her into the passenger seat and adjusted the back for her. Her cheeks were flushed pink as she reminded him: "Don’t forget to sign the contract with Darius tomorrow."

"Yeah, but first we’re getting you to the hospital."

Her eyes were closed, sweat beading on her forehead from the stomach pain. "Sorry for the trouble."

At the hospital, after they pumped her stomach, she was ghostly pale. Leaning back against the hospital bed, she looked like all the color had been drained right out of her.

The doctor warned her: "Go easy on the drinking next time. You’re this close to a stomach ulcer—this isn’t something to mess around with."

She pulled on a wobbly smile. "Thank you."

The doctor just sighed, assuming this was just another lovers’ quarrel gone wrong.

Violeta leaned back against the bed, the smell of alcohol still clinging stubbornly to her skin. She discreetly sent money to Leighton Howell, asking her to pick up a fresh set of clothes for her.

She couldn’t go home reeking of liquor. Raiden might not care, but the household staff would gossip like crazy. Coming home smelling of booze two days in a row would get the Reynolds family all up in arms, and she’d end up having to explain herself at the next family dinner before she knew it.

Leighton showed up with fresh clothes, took one look at Violeta’s pale face, and immediately guessed what had gone down.

"Raiden is the absolute worst, isn’t he? He hands his mistress everything on a silver platter, and makes his own wife fight tooth and nail for a lousy supporting role, almost drinking herself to death over it! Fifteen years, Violeta. We’ve been friends for fifteen years. How can he be so damn indifferent to you?"

Violeta remembered Quincy hated messy drama, so she coughed softly to interrupt: "Leighton."

Leighton took a deep breath and bit her tongue. "Fine. I’m done making excuses for Raiden. I’m cutting him off—I swear. After everything you’ve done for him, all the support, handling every single thing he needed… if he had any conscience at all, he’d never let this happen."

Violeta rubbed her throbbing temples. "Just let it go."

Leighton’s eyes brimmed with concern as she squeezed Violeta’s hand. "Vee, something about this whole mess feels off. Back in high school, I looked up to you. You were like a shining star—regal, straight out of a fairy tale."

Violeta glanced down, her lashes brushing soft against her cheeks. Truth be told, she’d never felt that regal. The world wrote off her sparkle as just a perk of her political adoption. Everyone in high society knew it: she’d been adopted to seal a business alliance, spending the first ten years of her life bouncing through the foster system.

These days, Raiden Evans sent her a fat monthly allowance. Half of it always went straight back to the foster home. She’d long stopped questioning how she ended up here; she just did her best to make it work. Back in school, she’d been the overachiever, always gunning for the top spot.

But some things can’t be forced. Reach too high, and you end up crashing harder than you ever imagined. She didn’t crave Raiden’s love anymore—she was just exhausted, desperate for five minutes to catch her breath.

Her phone buzzed. Raiden’s name lit up the screen. He only ever called when it mattered. She hesitated a beat before answering, and his familiar rough voice came through: "We’re having dinner tonight. Where are you?"

"Um… I’m at the hospital."

"Skip whatever that is. Come home. I’ll send Collins to pick you up."

Resigned to it, Violeta grabbed the new outfit Leighton had picked out for her and headed to the bathroom to change. Leighton jumped in immediately, "Are you crazy? You just got your stomach pumped, and you’re going off to meet him for dinner?"

Violeta’s face was paper-white. She sighed, "It’s Raiden’s family. I can’t blow this off."

Right now, these choices weren’t hers to make. She changed fast, freshened up, spritzed minty breath spray to kill any last trace of alcohol, and reminded Leighton gently, "Make sure Quincy locks in that contract with Darius tomorrow, then joins the production team."

Worry was written all over Leighton’s face. "Vee, if you keep pushing yourself this hard, you’re gonna break."

Violeta didn’t answer. She glanced over at Quincy, who’d been standing quiet in the corner. Worried today’s chaos would get to him, she added, "Quincy, don’t stress. Just do your best. This is our big break."

No one else could’ve landed a better role than this. He lifted his head, face pale, lips pressed tight into a thin line, fingers curling slightly at his side, his gaze drifting off to the window. Yeah, he was definitely the quiet type.

Violeta pulled a wobbly small smile. When she walked down the stairs, she saw Raiden’s car parked right out front. Hamza, his assistant, was in the driver’s seat. He got out and held the door open politely, "Ma’am. After you."

Violeta slid into the seat next to Raiden, who was hunched over a stack of documents in his lap. His gaze drifted instinctually past the window, up to the hospital floor they’d just left. The window there was empty, just a curtain fluttering, but he could feel it clear as day—a gaze staring back, full of mocking light. It set his teeth on edge.

His attention snapped back to Violeta as she settled in. He’d been half-observing her this whole time, and today her complexion was shockingly pale. When the car braked suddenly, she almost toppled right into him, and he reached out automatically to steady her, his palm coming to rest on her shoulder.

"When did you get so fragile?"

Violeta’s whole body went rigid. She closed her eyes, fighting the burning ache gnawing at her stomach, "I haven’t been feeling well lately."

"Was anyone with you at the hospital?"

The question sharper than it sounded on the surface.

Sure, Raiden often hinted she could see other people—but if she actually did? It would humiliate him, and he’d never accept it. He didn’t push the point any further.

Right then, Violeta looked so ghostly pale anyone could tell she was sick as a dog. Raiden bit back any unnecessary remarks. Clutching her throbbing stomach, she leaned back against the seat.

"Hurting that bad?" he asked.

She tried to smile, her voice faint as a breath, "Thanks for asking. If you’d called five minutes later, I probably would’ve already passed out."

Raiden blinked, surprised—he’d caught that sharp edge, hadn’t expected it. He’d missed something, that was for sure. Violeta looked away, took a deep breath to steady herself, and continued in a softer tone, "It’s just a stomach flare-up."

He raised an eyebrow, something unexpected tugging at his chest—weird, unfamiliar. He huffed a soft laugh and turned to watch the scenery blur past the window, "Vee, for a second there you had that spark back. Reminded me why I married you in the first place."

Embarrassment flickered in Violeta’s eyes. She knew Raiden never really cared for her. His ideal woman was someone else, after all. She lowered her lashes and stayed silent.

A second later, Raiden unexpectedly reached over and held out two painkillers. "Take these. It’s not that I don’t care."

Flustered by the gesture, a faint pink rose to Violeta’s cheeks before she heard him chuckle, and she caught that glint of mischievous satisfaction in his eyes. That was classic Raiden—fifteen years she’d been tangled in his web, forever pulled in by that dangerous charisma of his.

They walked into the Evans’ sprawling grand living room together. Raiden’s mother, Selah Young, was waiting impatiently, "Finally. Get in here, the coffee’s going cold."

Nola Evans’ face lit up the second she spotted Raiden, "Brother, you’re early today! Hey, did you bring me back that gift from your trip last week?"

Last week, Raiden had gone abroad. Back then, Violeta had waited up for him, checking her phone every five minutes, calling constantly to make sure he was okay. And what did he bring home? Lenora Kelly.

Raiden sat down, watching Violeta head for the kitchen. He flicked Nola lightly on the forehead, "Yeah, I got it. Just don’t bother Vee."

Nola rolled her eyes and whispered, "If you’re gonna be off gallivanting with Lenora Kelly, why don’t you just divorce Vee already? She’s just a glorified housekeeper to us, and we don’t even need one."

Raiden dangled a set of car keys—for a limited-edition Lamborghini worth almost two million bucks.

Nola immediately hooked her arm through his, voice turning sickly sweet, "Okay, okay! I won’t tease, I promise!"

Right as she finished talking, Violeta walked in carrying a pot of coffee. She was the kind of woman who handled everything: waited on the elders, kept the whole family running like clockwork. Even when her husband cheated right in front of her, she swallowed her pride and bit her tongue. That was why all these messy rich guys needed a wife like her to keep their lives stable.

Between connections to half a dozen other old money families, and the sudden rise of Clark Snyder, her nominal, rapidly rising brother, Violeta had locked her place in the family tight.

Clark was her brother in name only. The whole family pinned all their hopes on him, and he’d lived up to every expectation. He was friends with Raiden, after all.