Violeta Reynolds’ chest twisted with a sharp pang of guilt. "Why don’t we sit down and grab something to eat first?"

Leighton Howell’s face lit up. "Is your husband joining us? Last time we talked, you said he didn’t want to come to work events anymore."

Violeta flinched. She hated digging into the messy, ugly details of her marriage. High society has an unspoken rule—you keep all your dirty laundry locked behind closed doors. It was a lesson her family had drilled into her since she was a kid.

She tugged up a small, forced smile. "He’s not coming. What was his name again, anyway?"

Leighton blinked, confused for a second—before another voice cut through the awkward silence.

"It’s Quincy Lawrence."

Quincy stated the name flatly, not meeting anyone’s eye.

Violeta’s lips twitched up just a little. "Ah, right. Quincy. I’ll be sure to remember this time."

Leighton leaned in and whispered, "How do you forget? You’re the one who introduced him! How on earth do you blank on his name?"

Heat crawled up Violeta’s neck. To be honest, she really had forgotten. Lately, every thought in her head had been swallowed whole by Raiden Evans. She hadn’t had any brain space left for anyone else.

She took a deep breath, her smile staying steady. "Leighton, should we order some food to go for later?"

Leighton hesitated, then nodded. "I’ve lived in high society long enough—anything works for me."

Leighton was always blunt; she hadn’t meant that to come off sarcastic.

It hit Violeta then—over the years, she’d drifted so far from regular social life she barely felt like she fit in anymore.

As they walked toward the exit, she asked, "This new gym setup—was that Quincy’s idea?"

"Yep, Quincy hates going out much. He owns the whole top floor, so we just converted it. Kids these days, always full of energy, y’know?"

Quincy walked silently right beside her, tugging a hat on casually. Even with him saying nothing, that jaw-dropping good looks of his made him impossible to miss.

When they got to Violeta’s car, Leighton gestured playfully at the passenger seat, and Quincy immediately stepped back, politely waving Violeta forward.

He paused for a split second, glancing at Violeta, then just stood by the open door waiting.

Violeta smiled. "Hop in. It’ll be good for us to get to know each other better anyway."

He dipped his lashes, and slipped quietly into the seat.

Raiden Evans always took that passenger seat. Out of pure muscle memory, Violeta reached over to buckle Quincy’s seatbelt for him.

His whole body went rigid. His fingers curled tight at his side, and he just stared out the window, not saying a word.

When Violeta clicked the buckle into place, it hit her what she’d done. This wasn’t Raiden. He didn’t need her to do that for him.

She pulled her hand back quickly, typed Leighton’s address into the GPS, and pulled out of the parking lot.

Leighton was never one to shut up, and she piped up right away: "Quincy, are you working on a new show? You’ve booked so many gigs lately. Even if they’re not lead roles, the hype’s real—our whole studio’s staying afloat because of you, kid."

Violeta felt a twist of regret. If she’d known how much raw talent the studio had, she would’ve connected him with some of her director contacts ages ago.

But ever since she got married, she’d completely checked out of the entertainment industry.

Quincy, the man in the passenger seat, kept his head down. He probably hadn’t even picked up on Violeta’s little moment of regret.

Leighton threw her hands up dramatically. "Seriously, Violeta—are you just done with film and TV now? This was your passion! Why throw it all away for a marriage? Does your husband even care that you’re giving up the thing you love most?"

Violeta’s knuckles went white where she gripped the steering wheel. A heavy, helpless feeling settled deep in her chest. She had nowhere to put all that weight.

As the car rolled up to a red light, Violeta opened her mouth to change the subject—then she noticed another car pulling up right beside them.

Through the half-down window, she spotted a sharp, distinguished-looking man with a white carnation pinned to his lapel. A woman was perched on his lap, murmuring something against his neck and kissing a slow path up to his Adam’s apple.

He laughed and tilted his head out of the way, his gaze soft and full of adoration.

Violeta knew that man. She wrenched her gaze away, shoving down the sharp, burning ache in her chest.

Raiden Evans had always been all business, never let anyone distract him from work. And here he was, making out in a car like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Leighton glanced over, clicked her tongue. "That car’s at least two mil. Some people really do have too much money. And they look good together—handsome guy, pretty girl. Wait, Violeta—isn’t that… your husband?"

The light turned green. Violeta pressed her foot down on the gas.

Leighton’s mouth dropped open, and she repeated, "Violeta, that was your husband, right?"

Violeta let out a slow breath. Surprisingly, she felt a little lighter. At least now she didn’t have to hide it anymore. "Yeah, I saw him. He’s cheating."

Leighton made a small, awkward "oh" sound, then fumbled for the right words. "When did you find out?"

She’d just finished asking when Violeta pulled up to the rented house they were heading to.

"Last night. Somebody sent me a text."

Quincy’s hand was already on the car door handle. He paused, then quietly pressed the lock button down again.

A group of us were carpooling into the city, and Leighton kept her cool, trying to calm the rest of us down. "At least the guy’s got money, anyway. All men are just weird like that sometimes."

Violeta suddenly snorted a laugh. "Quincy’s still here, y’know."

Leighton sped up, swiped her keycard, and stepped through the building lobby door. "Quincy doesn’t count. He’s a good kid, two years younger than us—marriage stuff totally flies over his head."

At twenty-seven, Leighton had married young. She jabbed the elevator call button and kept chatting with Violeta. "Once men get a little money, they can’t keep it in their pants, right? My husband might be the exception… but I bet Quincy’s got girls throwing themselves at him nonstop, huh?"

Violeta cleared her throat softy. "Leighton, can we drop this?"

Even if Quincy was like a little brother to them, he was still a guy. It wasn’t smart to go spouting off about cheating men when he was right there, especially with his career just taking off.

Leighton shut her mouth and hailed a cab when we got off the elevator. The 700-square-foot apartment was spotless—rent didn’t come cheap in a city like New York.

Violeta had been a full-time housewife for two years, and she’d gotten used to keeping everything perfect. She sat down on the couch and patted the cushion next to her, inviting Quincy to join her.

He hesitated a couple seconds before lowering himself slowly onto the seat.

Leighton brought out mugs of coffee for both of them, and her eyes lit up. "Wait, you’re going back into the industry? The studio was electric when we first started out—directors were shoving our names all over social media back then."

Violeta looked back on those old days with a faint ache in her chest, and downed her coffee in one go. "Quincy’s got real talent. It’d be such a waste to let it go to rot. I just… I feel terrible I haven’t done more to help him."

Quincy had on a baseball cap, his black hair tucked neatly under the brim. His brows and eyes were dark, unreadable.

Violeta knew Leighton didn’t regret her choice to step back—Leighton always babbled about making it big in Hollywood, but she’d drop the topic the second marriage came up.

Violeta took a deep breath and leaned forward to top off Leighton’s mug. She wasn’t used to the height of this coffee table, and she almost fumbled the whole glass carafe.

A hand shot out, wrapping firm around her wrist to steady it.

She looked up, stunned.

Quincy flicked a quick glance up at her, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before he pulled his hand back fast. "Sorry."

She shook her head and finished filling the mug. "No, it’s fine. I’m here to restart my career anyway. I’ve got enough savings saved up, and I’m reaching back out to old director contacts. Pretty soon we should be able to sign some new talent."

"Sign new talent? What about Quincy? Violeta, I’ve counted on him these past two years. We can’t just cut him loose, can we? He stayed when our studio was on the brink of collapsing."

"I’m going to back him."

Quincy tensed just a little, and turned his head toward them.

Violeta smiled softy. "We’re keeping him on, obviously."

Leighton nearly bounced out of her seat with excitement. "You know way more people in this industry than I do! And doesn’t your husband own that big entertainment company? What’s the harm in slipping Quincy a few good connections?"

Violeta huffed a dry laugh, running her fingertip slowly around the rim of her mug. "No. I need to build this on my own, so when I divorce Raiden I don’t have to rely on him for anything. I’m gonna take back everything I lost these past two years."

"Violeta… you’re actually going through with the divorce?"

Leighton darted a quick glance at Quincy before repeating herself. "You really aren’t gonna forgive him, are you? Dude cheating on you? That’s just nasty, right?"

Violeta’s fingers trembled against the ceramic. Leighton’s words were blunt, but they were true.

Lying next to Raiden last night had felt wrong, like sleeping next to a stranger.

She leaned back against the couch cushions and took a deep breath. "I can’t keep stuck in a broken marriage forever. The business ties between the Reynolds and Evans families are messy— I can’t just file tomorrow and be done with it. But for right now? I’m building my own thing."

So I don’t end up with nothing, out on the street when it’s all over.

Leighton jumped up and darted to the fridge, yanking out a handful of cold beers. "Hell yeah! Let’s get Quincy to A-list status, and let’s get you that divorce! Cheers, girl!"

Violeta rarely drank.

Her old-money family had drilled into her that a proper lady was always graceful and in control—things like alcohol that clouded your judgment were off limits.

Leighton was on a roll now. "C’mon, isn’t living by all those stuffy rules exhausting? I never bought into that whole family honor crap. What’s the point, anyway?"

The words stung, but Violeta picked up her bottle anyway—only for another hand to reach out first.

"Let me."

Quincy popped the cap off easy, one hand twisting it open without effort.

Violeta looked at his sharp profile, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Quincy’s still got that fresh, baby-faced glow, doesn’t he? Just a kid."

As he poured the beer into glasses, his long lashes lowered. "Forever young."

Violeta didn’t answer right away. There was a soft, warm hush to the moment, but underneath it everything felt fragile, bruised.

If you spent your whole life following stuffy rules, you never got to actually be young. How could you stay forever young, when your soul was already worn out?

No one kept track of how many beers they had. Eventually, Violeta slumped forward against the table, out like a light.

Leighton was already tipsy, yawning as she stumbled to her feet. "Quincy… can you help me? I’m dizzy as hell. I need to lay down on the other couch."

That left him alone with Violeta. He hesitated for a beat, then gently scooped her into his arms and carried her to the main sofa.

He grabbed a throw blanket from the armchair and draped it softy over her.

Quincy didn’t take the empty spot next to her. He lowered himself to the rug right by the couch, stared at her face for a long quiet minute, then dropped his head, sitting still in the dim glow of the room’s lamp.

It was ten p.m. when Raiden Evans walked through his front door, and sure enough—there was someone waiting for him in the living room, just like always. He tossed his coat carelessly to the nearest servant, who spotted the lipstick stain on the collar instantly, tucked it out of sight quick, and acted like he’d seen nothing. Every single staff in this mansion knew about Raiden’s little side affair, but they all had the good sense to keep their mouths shut.

"Madam came home this afternoon," the servant informed him.

Raiden just grunted in reply. He was halfway up the stairs when the front door swung open, the click of the latch echoing down the hall. Violeta Reynolds was home. Her hair was a little wind-tousled as she bent to slip off her heels, and the movement stretched the line of her long, pale legs.

Raiden caught the faint flush on her cheeks, and his brows pulled down. "You’ve been drinking?"

Violeta almost never drank outside the house. If she wanted a drink, she’d rather have it alone in the privacy of their bedroom. She steadied herself on the newel post, a little jittery about rolling in this late, but by the time she crossed the threshold, she’d already masked any loose emotion with that cool, calm composure she always wore. No one cared if she came home early or late, anyway.

But Raiden didn’t smell liquor on her—he caught the faint, bitter tang of coffee instead. He stepped forward and tugged her close against his chest. "Drowning your sorrows in extra caffeine, huh? What’s eating at you that you can’t tell your own husband?"

Raiden had always been like this: slippery, soft-spoken, never letting his mask slip. Even while carrying on an affair right under their roof, he still kept up the image of the perfect, dignified CEO. Both of them knew which lines were better left uncrossed. At least this way, Violeta still got to be "Mrs. Evans," and everyone still treated her with the proper respect.

She pushed him away gently. "Just work stuff at the studio."

It wasn’t anything earth-shattering, and Raiden let her pull away. He’d stopped enjoying touching her a long time ago. The last time they’d been intimate was two whole months back. Don’t get him wrong—Violeta was stunning, that perfect mix of soft innocence and smoky heat. But she was too uptight for his taste. And in his circle, that brand of icy beauty was a dime a dozen. Raiden had gotten bored ages ago.

"Studio having problems?"

His voice was flat and uninterested as he climbed the stairs, thumb already flying over his phone screen, replying to a text from someone who wasn’t her. Violeta’s throat tightened, but she followed him up to their shared bedroom anyway. She watched him, and she knew exactly who he was texting: Lenora Kelly. When she stepped into the room, Raiden’s easy smile dimmed just a little, and he hit end on the call. "You need something?"

Violeta tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her voice soft and steady. "I need access to some resources at Bright Horizon Entertainment. It’s one of your subsidiaries, right?"

His fingers never stopped tapping across his screen, but his gaze lifted to lock on hers. Violeta almost never asked him for anything, so this request hung awkward between them. Still, her spine was straight, her resolve clear.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Raiden’s lips. "Sure. Just don’t go overboard."

Violeta mumbled a quiet thank you, then turned to grab her pajamas for a shower. Raiden’s arm wrapped around her waist before she could move, his lips brushing the curve of her neck. "No need to be so formal, baby. Sharing resources with your husband is what I’m for, isn’t it?"

Her heart skipped a single stupid beat—then another scent hit her, sweet and floral, not hers. Someone else’s perfume, clinging to his shirt. Raiden never bothered sugarcoating anything. People were just disposable toys to him, anyway.

His phone rang again, *Lenora* blaring bright on the screen, but he acted like he didn’t see it. He pressed a light kiss to her cheek. "Work emergency. Gotta pull an all-nighter at the office."

Violeta said nothing. She just lowered her head and stepped past him into the bathroom, scared if she spoke too loud he’d take back his approval. She added, soft, "I already know one of the directors over at Bright Horizon."

Raiden kept walking toward the door, waving it off like it was no big deal. "Fine by me. Just don’t get tangled up in all that stupid celebrity drama."

As the words left his mouth, he caught the irony of it, and huffed a laugh. "Tough times build character, right? Maybe you’ll have fun with it."

Half joke, full knife to the gut. He knew damn well Violeta would never stoop to his silly little cheating games.

Once the door clicked shut behind Raiden, Violeta pulled out her phone to call Charlie Snyder, the director at Bright Horizon. "Charlie, it’s Tessa."

Tessa was her stage name. "Violeta Reynolds" was too stuffy, too tied to the Evans family. When she and Leighton first decided to dip their toes into the entertainment industry, she’d created this separate identity for herself. Anyone who knew knew better than to go running their mouth about it.

"I’m bringing someone in for an audition tomorrow. Thanks a million," she said, then ended the call and stared out the window at the glowing city skyline, dragging in a deep breath.

She knew Raiden’s every habit inside and out. His name was carved into her bones, and leaving it all behind was going to hurt like ripping flesh off muscle. But it was time. Time to stop playing the quiet, obedient trophy wife just to get by.

She pulled up Quincy Lawrence’s contact—an up-and-coming actor Leighton had recommended—and sent him a friend request on WhatsApp.

He replied right away, and straight up turned her down. She realized she’d forgotten to introduce herself, so she sent a correction: *Quincy, it’s Violeta Reynolds.*

*Tomorrow morning, come meet a director with me. He’s casting a supporting role.*

Her text was blunt and to the point. She’d seen his work, thought the kid was insanely talented—even if he was a little too standoffish, a little too stubborn for his own good.