Three days later.

Karen's fever had broken. She stood in the tiny bedroom, shoving a few plain t-shirts into a duffel bag. She was leaving for the set today.

Her phone vibrated violently on the mattress. The caller ID showed a Manhattan landline.

Karen hesitated, then picked it up.

"Your mother is in the lobby of the Fernandez Plaza," Arthur Coleman's irritated voice snapped through the line.

Karen froze. The shirt dropped from her hands.

"She brought paparazzi from TMZ," Arthur continued. "She's holding a sign claiming Israel abandoned his destitute wife."

Karen's blood ran cold. Her mother actually did it.

The line clicked. The background noise shifted to the dead silence of the top-floor executive suite.

"You trained your dog well," Israel's low, lethal voice vibrated against her ear. "Sending her to Wall Street to bite me."

In the background, Karen heard Ayla's soft, whiny voice. "Israel, please don't get upset. Think of your blood pressure."

Bile rose in Karen's throat. "Israel, I didn't know. I blocked her number. I have nothing to do with this."

"I don't care," Israel cut her off. "Her little stunt is affecting my stock prices. And it is upsetting Ayla."

He paused, letting the silence suffocate her.

"My private jet is waiting for you on the tarmac at Van Nuys. You have exactly five hours to board it, get to Manhattan, and remove your trash from my building," he ordered.

"I can't," Karen panicked. "I start shooting my movie today. I can't leave LA."

"If you are not standing in my office in five hours," Israel said with brutal precision, "I will cut off the trust fund keeping your father alive. I will have Brenda arrested for felony extortion. And I will make sure every studio in Hollywood knows your family is a criminal enterprise."

He hung up.

Karen couldn't breathe. She called Eleanor and begged her to cancel the shoot for the day, her hands shaking violently as she grabbed her bag and sprinted toward the waiting car that would take her to the Van Nuys airstrip.

Five hours later, Karen stepped out of the private aviation terminal in New York. A bulletproof black Cadillac was waiting at the curb.

She was driven straight to Midtown Manhattan. The eighty-story Fernandez Plaza loomed over her like a glass prison.

Security guards escorted her into the private elevator. It shot up to the top floor.

The doors slid open.

Israel sat behind a massive mahogany desk. Ayla lounged on a white leather sofa, delicately eating a macaron.

Brenda was pinned to a chair in the corner by two massive bodyguards. When she saw Karen, she shrieked, "Karen! Tell him it was a massive misunderstanding! Save me! You can't let them lock me up in a cell!"

Karen's face burned with absolute humiliation. She walked up to the desk.

"Please," Karen whispered, staring at the floor. "Let her go."

Israel leaned back in his chair. He spun a Montblanc pen between his fingers. He looked at her like she was a joke.

"She is my legal property," Israel said loudly, making sure Ayla heard every word.

Ayla stood up. She walked over and wrapped her arms around Israel's neck. "If she apologizes to me, Israel, I'll let it go. I'm very forgiving."

Israel's eyes locked onto Karen. "You heard her. Kneel. Apologize to Ayla for failing to control your family."

Karen's jaw clamped shut. The humiliation burned the back of her eyes. She looked at her mother, who was still screaming about cash.

To save Brenda from a ten-year prison sentence, Karen slowly bent her stiff, bruised knees.

They hit the carpet. She lowered her head.

"I'm sorry," Karen choked out to the woman who had ruined her life.

Israel stared at her bowed head. A sudden, sharp irritation flared in his chest, but he buried it. He pressed the intercom button on his desk.

"Send legal in," he commanded.

The head of the Fernandez legal department walked into the office. He handed a thick stack of documents to Israel.

Israel flipped to the last page. He slammed the file onto the mahogany desk and pushed it toward Karen.

"You apologized," Israel said coldly. "But Brenda's actions constitute felony extortion."

He nodded to the bodyguards. One of them pulled out a pair of steel handcuffs.

Brenda screamed. She finally realized she was playing with a monster. "Karen! Save me!"

Karen bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper. Her shaking hands reached for the file.

The title read: Unpaid Service and Debt Nullification Agreement.

She scanned the clauses. Her stomach twisted into a violent knot.

In exchange for dropping the criminal charges against Brenda, Karen was legally bound to provide unpaid, unconditional support to Ayla Conley's acting career for the next three years. She would be Ayla's permanent backup, her stepping stone, her public shield.

"You're destroying my career," Karen whispered, looking up at Israel with pure hatred.

Israel stood up. He walked around the desk, grabbed her chin, and forced her to look at him. "This is what you owe Ayla."

The bodyguard yanked Brenda's arms behind her back. Brenda squealed like a slaughtered pig.

The pressure crushed Karen's lungs. She closed her eyes. She picked up the Montblanc pen from the desk.

She signed her name on the dotted line.

Israel snatched the paper away. He dropped her chin as if touching her disgusted him. "Release the mother."

The guards let go. Brenda scrambled out of the office without looking back.

Israel walked back to Ayla. He pressed a button under his desk. "Escort Ms. Walsh out."

Karen walked out of the Fernandez Plaza like a ghost.

The Manhattan sky had broken open. Freezing rain poured down on Fifth Avenue.

She didn't have an umbrella. The icy water soaked through her thin clothes in seconds. She walked aimlessly down the sidewalk.

A yellow cab slammed on its brakes next to her, splashing dirty street water all over her legs.

The back door flew open. Her older brother, Danny Kowalski, stormed out.

Danny grabbed Karen by the collar of her wet coat. He dragged her under the awning of a closed storefront, his grip brutal and unforgiving.

"You stupid bitch!" Danny roared, his breath reeking of cheap whiskey and blind greed. "You didn't get a single dime from the billionaire? You got us kicked out of New York for nothing! How are we supposed to pay for anything now?"

Karen stared at the brother she had sacrificed everything to financially support for years. Her eyes were completely empty.

Her silence enraged him. Danny raised his massive, calloused hand.

He slapped her across the face with all his strength.

The crack of his palm against her cheek echoed over the sound of the rain. Karen's head snapped to the side. She lost her balance and crashed hard onto the flooded pavement.

Danny spat into the puddle next to her head. "Worthless." He turned around, got back into the cab, and sped away.

Karen lay in the freezing water. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, mixing with the rain.

She didn't cry. There were no tears left.

The cold seeped into her bones. Her lungs burned as if she were inhaling glass. Her vision went dark.

Pedestrians screamed. Someone dialed 911. The wail of an ambulance siren was the last thing Karen heard before the world went completely black.

Two weeks later.

Karen stepped out of the Uber outside the Culver City film studio. She wore dark sunglasses to hide the lingering pale exhaustion on her face.

She had survived the pneumonia. She had survived the hospital. She had a movie to shoot.

Eleanor was waiting by the security gate. When she saw Karen, she didn't smile. She looked sick.

Eleanor gripped a rolled-up call sheet in her fist. She couldn't meet Karen's eyes.

"What's wrong?" Karen asked, her chest tightening.

Eleanor swallowed hard. "The studio got a massive cash injection three days ago. The new lead investor bought out the production."

Karen snatched the call sheet from Eleanor's hand.

At the very top, under the heading Lead Actress, the name was printed in bold black ink.

Ayla Conley.

The ground tilted beneath Karen's feet. Israel. He had bought the entire movie just to torture her.

They walked onto the busy outdoor set.

Ayla was standing under the bright production lights, wearing the vintage silk dress that was tailored for Karen.

Ayla saw her. She lifted the hem of the dress and walked over, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face.

"Oh, Karen," Ayla whispered, leaning in close. "Israel really does buy me whatever I want."

Karen's face remained stone cold. She didn't blink. She walked right past Ayla and headed straight for the director's trailer.

Julian Carmichael was sitting at a folding table, pulling his hair out over the storyboards. He looked up and flinched when he saw Karen.

"Karen, I am so sorry," Julian pleaded. "I have no power here. The capital controls the casting."

"I understand," Karen said flatly. "I quit."

She turned to leave.

"Wait!" Julian grabbed a different script from the table. "I fought for you. I kept the supporting role. The villain. The best friend who betrays her."

Julian shoved the script toward her. "It has incredible tension. You could steal the movie with this."

Karen looked at the script. If she stayed, she would have to look at Ayla's face every single day. She would trigger the 'unpaid service' clause.

She pushed the script back into Julian's chest.

"No," Karen said firmly. "I will not be her stepping stone."

"They will sue you for breach of contract!" Julian warned.

Karen let out a dry, bitter laugh. "I have nothing left for them to take."

She pushed open the trailer door and stepped back out into the California sun. She was done. She was walking away from Hollywood.

Suddenly, a deafening mechanical roar ripped through the sky.

The wind whipped up violently, knocking over light stands and tearing the canvas off the catering tents. Dust blinded the crew.

Everyone looked up in terror.

A massive black private helicopter, bearing the silver Fernandez Group logo, was descending right into the middle of the outdoor set.