The duvet was ripped off her body.

Serena gasped, the sudden cold air hitting her skin like a slap. She curled into a ball, shielding her eyes from the morning light.

"Up," Julian's voice was a bark.

She blinked him into focus. He was dressed for work, immaculate in a navy suit, but his eyes were wild.

"What time is it?" she mumbled.

"Time for you to stop feeling sorry for yourself," he said. "Breakfast. Now."

He turned and walked out.

Serena dragged herself out of bed. She put on a robe and followed him.

In the dining room, Julian was standing, not sitting. He was leaning against the sideboard, arms crossed.

Serena sat down. Mrs. Higgins placed a plate of eggs in front of her. Serena picked up her fork, but her hand was shaking. She put it down.

"Not hungry?" Julian sneered.

He walked over to her. He picked up a slice of dry whole-wheat toast from the rack, breaking off a small corner. He held it to her lips.

"Eat," he ordered. His voice was harsh, but the food was bland, something her stomach could actually handle.

Serena pressed her lips together. "Julian, stop."

"You need your strength," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Carrying all those boxes of old handbags must be exhausting work."

Serena froze. She looked up at him. "How did you..."

"I know everything you do, Serena. Did you really think you could pawn your jewelry and bags without my security team flagging it?"

"They're mine," she said, her voice trembling. "I can do what I want with them."

"They were bought with Vance money," Julian said. "Which, for the last five years, has been Sterling money. So technically, you're selling my property to pay for your vanity project."

Serena stood up, knocking her chair back. "It's not vanity! It's my career! And I'd rather sell every stitch of clothing I own than ask you for a cent after the way you've treated me."

"The way I've treated you?" Julian laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "I've given you a palace. I've given you a life. And you call yourself a prostitute."

The air left the room.

"You heard," she whispered.

"Every word."

He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a card. It was black, metal, heavy. A Centurion card.

He tossed it onto the table. It slid across the wood and spun to a stop in front of her.

"There," he said. "The PIN is your birthday. Take it. Fund your little movie. Stop embarrassing me by hawking used goods on Melrose."

Serena looked at the card. It represented freedom. It represented her movie.

It represented defeat.

She reached out, picked up the card, and held it out to him.

"No," she said.

Julian stared at her hand. His jaw ticked.

"Take it," he warned.

"I said no. I don't want your money, Julian. I want a husband who respects me. And you can't buy that."

She dropped the card on the floor.

The silence that followed was deafening. Julian looked at the card on the rug, then back at her face. His eyes were blazing with an emotion she couldn't name-rage? Pain?

He stepped closer, invading her space until she had to tilt her head back to look at him. He gripped her chin in his hand, his fingers digging in.

"You have a lot of pride for someone with nothing," he whispered. "Fine. Do it your way. But tonight is the Vance dinner. You figure out how to get me there. Because I'm not going as a favor. Not anymore."

He released her abruptly and stormed out of the room. The front door slammed so hard the windows rattled.

Serena sank back into her chair. She put her head on the table and let the tears come.

The afternoon sun slanted through the windows of Serena's small rented studio space in Silver Lake. It was dusty, hot, and smelled of stale coffee.

She was staring at a spreadsheet on her laptop. The numbers were red. All red. Even with the bag sales, she was short. By a lot.

Her phone rang. An unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Vance? This is Elias Thorne from Moonlight Ventures."

Serena sat up straighter. "Yes?"

"We've been tracking your project, Loving You. We've read the script. We think it has... potential."

"You do?" Serena's heart skipped a beat.

"We'd like to offer full financing. Five million dollars. Creative control remains with you. The only condition is that Aurora Pictures handles distribution."

Serena frowned. "Aurora? But they just rejected me."

"We have a distribution deal with them," Elias said smoothly. "We handle the production; they handle the release. It guarantees you screens."

It sounded too good to be true. "Why? Why me?"

"Let's just say... we believe in the underdog."

Serena closed her eyes. A lifeline. "Okay. Send the paperwork."

She hung up and let out a scream of joy. She spun around in her chair. She did it. She did it without Julian.

She checked the time. 5:30 PM.

The dinner.

Her stomach dropped. She still hadn't fixed the Julian problem. He wasn't answering her texts.

She packed up her things and drove home. The house was empty. Julian hadn't come back.

She showered and dressed in a navy blue gown-her mother's favorite color. It was conservative, high-necked, boring. Armor for the Vance family firing squad.

She went downstairs. No Julian.

She texted him again.

Serena: I'm leaving for my parents'. Please.

Nothing.

She walked out to the driveway. The chauffeur, Arthur, opened the door of the Mercedes.

"To the Vance estate, Arthur," she said softly.

The car pulled out. Serena stared out the window, watching the palm trees blur. She felt a profound loneliness. She was going into the lion's den alone.

The car wound its way down the private road connecting the Sterling estate to the main thoroughfare. Just before the gate, Arthur slowed the Mercedes to a crawl.

"What is it?" Serena asked.

"Mr. Sterling's car is ahead, Ma'am," Arthur said.

Serena looked up. The black Maybach was idling by the exit gate, its taillights glowing like angry eyes in the dusk.

The rear door of the Maybach opened. Gavin stepped out. He walked over to the Mercedes and opened Serena's door.

"Mrs. Sterling," Gavin said. "Mr. Sterling requests you join him."

Serena let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She gathered her skirts and stepped out. She practically ran to the Maybach.

She slid into the backseat.

Julian was there. He was wearing a tuxedo. He was typing on his phone, the blue light illuminating his sharp cheekbones. He didn't look up.

"You came," Serena breathed. "Thank you."

Julian kept typing. "Don't flatter yourself," he said, his voice flat. "I saw the report on your bag sales. Selling your inheritance to strangers... it's pathetic. I won't have my wife looking like an abandoned stray in front of her vultures of a family."

"I... I got funding," she said, wanting to share her news. "A company called Moonlight Ventures."

Julian's thumb paused over the screen for a millisecond. Then he continued typing.

"Good for you," he said. "Maybe now you can buy your own handbags."

Serena turned away, biting her lip to keep from crying. He was here, but he wasn't with her.

...

Julian put his phone away. He looked at her reflection in the darkened window. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her that he was Moonlight Ventures. That he had set up the shell company three hours ago. That he had threatened the head of Aurora to take the distribution deal.

But he couldn't. Not when she looked at him with that mixture of fear and defiance. Not when she still dreamt of another man.

He reached out and took her hand. His grip was loose, impersonal.

"Look happy," he said as the car turned into the Vance driveway. "It's showtime."

The Vance dining room was a study in beige. Beige walls, beige carpet, beige food.

Richard Vance sat at the head of the table, beaming. His stock was up. His daughter had brought the billionaire.

"Julian, my boy!" Richard boomed. "Try the wine. It's a '92."

Julian took a polite sip. He hadn't let go of Serena's hand since they walked in. To the room, it looked like devotion. To Serena, it felt like handcuffs.

Waiters moved around the table, placing plates of roasted lamb chops in front of the guests.

Serena stiffened. The smell of the rosemary-crusted meat made her stomach churn. She hated lamb-always had.

Before she could even pick up her fork, Julian raised a finger.

"Take it away," he said quietly to the server. "Mrs. Sterling prefers the sea bass."

Serena looked at him in surprise. He remembered.

"Oh, nonsense," Richard interrupted loudly. "She eats what's served. Harrison always said she loved the lamb at Musso & Frank's."

The temperature in the room plummeted. Serena gripped her fork until her fingers ached. "I hated it then, and I hate it now," she said through gritted teeth.

"So, Serena," her sister Chloe said, quickly changing the subject while picking at a bread roll. "I saw the dress. Is that last season? Or did your allowance get cut?"

Serena tightened her grip on her fork. "It's vintage, Chloe. Not that you'd know the difference between vintage and clearance."

Julian squeezed her hand. A warning? Or support?

"Serena has been busy," Julian said smoothly. "She just secured full financing for her film. Five million."

The table went silent. Richard looked shocked. Chloe looked jealous.

"Really?" Richard asked. "Who's the fool?"

"Moonlight Ventures," Serena said, lifting her chin.

"Never heard of them," Richard scoffed.

Serena's phone buzzed in her clutch. She ignored it. It buzzed again. And again.

"Excuse me," she murmured.

She walked out to the terrace. She pulled out her phone.

An email from Ian Tate.

Subject: Partnership Opportunity

Dear Ms. Vance, I represent Canvas Media. We are aware of your deal with Moonlight. As a strategic partner of Moonlight, we would like to offer additional marketing support...

Serena frowned. Canvas Media? That name sounded familiar.

She replied quickly. Who is your contact at Moonlight? I wasn't aware of a partnership.

She went back inside. The dinner dragged on. Julian was charming, cold, and perfect. He deflected Richard's business probes and ignored Chloe's flirting.

When they finally left, Serena felt exhausted.

They got into the Maybach. Julian loosened his tie. He looked tired.

"You did well," he said quietly.

Serena felt a warmth spread in her chest. "You too. Thank you for defending me."

"I told you. It's my reputation."

His phone rang. He answered on speaker. It was Gavin.

"Sir, we have a situation. Serena just emailed Ian Tate at Canvas Media."

The air in the car froze.

Julian snatched the phone off speaker. He looked at Serena. His eyes were lethal.

"Hang up," he said to Gavin.

He turned to her. "You're talking to Canvas Media?"

"I... they emailed me," Serena stammered. "They said they work with Moonlight. I just asked who they were."

"Canvas Media," Julian said, his voice shaking with suppressed rage, "is Harrison Knox's shell company. It's how he funnels money into his vanity projects."

Serena gasped. "I didn't know! I swear!"

"You didn't know?" Julian laughed bitterly. "Or were you just looking for a way to get him involved?"

"I thought they were investors!" Serena protested. "Why would I want him involved?"

"Because you can't let him go," Julian said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Even now. Even with five million on the table, you're opening doors for him."

"That's not fair!"

But the damage was done. He turned away from her, staring out the window.

"Driver," he said. "Faster."

Serena sat in the corner, horror dawning on her. Ian Tate. Harrison. He was trying to infiltrate her movie. And Julian thought she was helping him.

"Julian, please listen-"

"Don't," he cut her off. "Just don't speak."