5:00 AM.

Analia's phone vibrated against the wooden floorboards of Zoe's living room.

She groaned, rolling off the couch, her back protesting. Who called at 5 AM?

She looked at the screen. The Penthouse Landline.

She answered, her voice thick with sleep. "Hello?"

"Mrs. Wilson," the sharp, grating voice of Mrs. Zhang, the head housekeeper, pierced her ear. "Mr. Wilson cannot find his grey striped tie. The silk one."

Analia blinked, looking at the dark window. "Is the house on fire, Mrs. Zhang?"

"No, madam."

"Is someone dead?"

"No, madam. But Mr. Wilson is extremely agitated. He has an important board meeting and-"

"Mrs. Zhang," Analia cut her off. "It is five in the morning. I do not live there anymore."

"He says if you come over and find it, he might consider unlocking one of your credit cards," Mrs. Zhang said, her tone dripping with disapproval. She clearly enjoyed this.

In the background, Analia heard a crash. Clive throwing things.

"Tell him," Analia said, feeling a surge of cold rage, "that the tie is in the third drawer of the island dresser, underneath the pocket squares. Where it has always been."

"He says he looked there."

"Then tell him to get his eyes checked," Analia snapped.

There was a scuffle on the other end, and then Clive's voice came on. Heavy, breathless, angry.

"Analia. Stop this childishness. Come home. I can't find anything in this damn closet."

"That sounds like a personal problem, Clive," she said.

"I'm giving you an opening here," Clive said, his voice lowering to that manipulative baritone he used in negotiations. "Come find the tie. We'll have breakfast. We can talk about... terms."

He wasn't asking for a tie. He was asking for order. He was asking for his control back. He was realizing that without her, his domestic life was chaos.

"I'm busy," Analia said.

"Busy? Doing what? Sleeping on your friend's cat-hair sofa?"

"Busy filing a restraining order if you call me before 8 AM again," she said.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

She hung up. Then, she blocked the landline number.

She sat in the dark, her heart racing. It wasn't fear. It was exhilaration. For four years, she had jumped every time he snapped his fingers. Today, she snapped back.

She got up and made coffee. She stood in front of Zoe's full-length mirror. She put on the black turtleneck and slacks she had bought from a thrift store yesterday. It was simple, stark, and commanded attention.

She wasn't Mrs. Wilson today. She was Starfall.

In the Penthouse, Clive stared at the dead phone.

He hurled it onto the bed.

"Find the damn tie!" he screamed at Mrs. Zhang.

The housekeeper scurried away, terrified.

Clive stood in the middle of the massive walk-in closet. It was overflowing with clothes, yet he felt like he had nothing to wear. Analia used to lay out his outfits. She matched the socks, the watch, the cufflinks.

He pulled open the third drawer.

There it was. The grey striped tie. Right where she said it was.

He stared at it. She hadn't hidden it. He just... hadn't looked. He was so used to her handing it to him that he had forgotten how to look.

He snatched the tie, feeling a sudden, sharp pang in his chest. It wasn't love, he told himself. It was annoyance. Inconvenience.

His cell phone rang. Angelena.

He looked at the caller ID. Usually, seeing her name made him smile. Today, it felt like a chore.

He answered. "Hey."

"Clive!" Angelena wailed. "Have you seen Twitter? Someone leaked a video of me yelling at that stupid makeup artist. They're calling me a 'Karen'! You have to fix it!"

Her voice was shrill. It grated on his nerves, which were already frayed from the tie incident.

"I'm handling it, Angel," he said, rubbing his temple. "Just stay off social media."

"But it's unfair! I'm pregnant! I have hormones!"

"I know," Clive said, looking at the empty side of the bed where Analia used to sleep. "I have to go. I'm late."

He hung up on her too.

Analia stood outside the Apex Media building.

It was surrounded by a small crowd of protesters holding signs: ANGELENA = BULLY and JUSTICE FOR THE MAKEUP ARTIST.

Zoe worked fast. The video leak had gone viral overnight.

Analia pulled her baseball cap lower. She wore oversized sunglasses. She looked like just another assistant rushing to work.

She slipped through the revolving doors.

The lobby was chaos. Phones were ringing off the hook.

She walked to the security desk. "I have an appointment with Gaylon Webb. Name is Starfall."

The guard didn't even look up. "ID?"

She handed him her passport. It said Analia Graves.

He frowned, looking at the list. "List says Starfall. Passport says Graves."

"Stage name," she said smoothly.

He shrugged and printed a badge. Visitor: Analia Graves.

She stuck it on her hip, covering it with her bag.

The elevator chimed.

As the doors slid open, a man stepped out. Tall, blonde, wearing a suit that cost more than Zoe's apartment.

Kole Hall. The CEO of Apex Media. Clive's best friend.

Analia froze. She turned her back to him instantly, pretending to study the directory on the wall.

Kole walked past her, talking on his phone. "Yes, Clive, I know you want to protect her, but the board is freaking out. The video is bad."

He paused right behind Analia. She could smell his cologne.

"Yeah, I'm heading to the studio now to meet Gaylon. He says he found a miracle replacement. If this Starfall chick is real, Angelena might be out."

Analia held her breath.

Kole glanced at the back of her head. He paused. There was something familiar about her posture. The way she held her neck.

"Kole?" Clive's voice tinny on the phone speaker. "Are you there?"

"Yeah," Kole said, shaking his head. "Just... thought I saw someone. Never mind. I'll call you back."

He walked away toward the executive elevators.

Analia let out a breath that shook her whole body. That was too close.

She got into the service elevator. She pressed the button for the 40th floor.

In the studio, Gaylon Webb was pacing.

When Analia walked in, he stopped. He looked her up and down. The thrift store clothes, the messy hair, the lack of makeup.

"You're Starfall?" he asked, skeptical.

"I am," she said. She didn't offer a hand. She walked straight to the booth. "Do you want to talk, or do you want to record?"

Gaylon smiled. "I like you already."

She stepped into the booth. The glass door clicked shut. It was soundproof. A sanctuary.

She put on the headphones.

"Scene 4," Gaylon's voice came through the talkback. "The Queen addresses her troops before the suicide mission. Action."

Analia closed her eyes. She imagined Clive's face. She imagined the blank check. She imagined the years of being told she was nothing.

She unleashed the beast.

"They call us weak because we bleed," she growled, her voice dropping to a terrifying whisper that vibrated the studio monitors. "But blood is fuel. And today, we burn the world down."

Gaylon sat in his chair, mouth open. The audio engineer gave him a thumbs up, looking terrified.

She was perfect.

Downstairs, a black Maybach pulled up to the curb.

Clive Wilson stepped out. He buttoned his jacket. He looked up at the building. He was here to strong-arm Kole. He was here to buy Angelena's career back.

He walked into the lobby, his presence parting the sea of employees.

"Where is Kole?" he demanded of the receptionist.

"Sound Studio B, sir. On the 40th floor."

Clive headed for the elevators. He was going to fire this 'Starfall' person himself if he had to. Nobody replaced his... nobody replaced Angelena.

"Cut!" Gaylon yelled. "That's a wrap. My god."

He opened the booth door. "That was... visceral. Where did you train? Juilliard?"

Analia smiled faintly. "Life."

Gaylon handed her a contract. It was already drafted. "Standard deal, but I bumped the backend points. If the movie hits, you're rich."

"I have one condition," Analia said, scanning the legalese. "My identity remains secret. No press tours. No photo shoots. Just the voice."

"Done," Gaylon said. "Mystique sells."

She signed. Starfall.

"Welcome to the Pantheon," Gaylon shook her hand.

"I have to go," Analia said, checking the time. She felt exposed here. "Thank you, Gaylon."

She grabbed her bag and headed for the door.

"Wait, take the private elevator," Gaylon said, pointing to the back. "Avoid the lobby."

"Thanks."

Analia hurried down the hallway. She pressed the button.

The doors opened immediately.

And there he was.

Clive.

He was standing in the elevator, alone, checking his watch. He looked up as the doors opened.

Analia's heart stopped. She was three feet away from him.

She was wearing a hat and sunglasses, but he was her husband. He knew the shape of her face. He knew her hands.

She instinctively ducked her head, pulling the brim of her hat down.

Clive looked at her. His eyes narrowed as they swept over her. A jolt of recognition sparked in his chest-something about the curve of her jaw, the way she held her shoulders. It was terrifyingly familiar.

But his brain rejected the data instantly. Analia was at home, probably weeping into a silk pillow or calling her mother. Analia wore cashmere and pearls, not a thrifted trench coat and a baseball cap. Analia wouldn't be in a service elevator at Apex Media.

He dismissed the familiarity as a trick of the light, a symptom of his own exhaustion. To him, she was just a crew member. A nobody.

"Excuse me," Clive said, his voice impatient. "Is Studio B down this hall?"

He didn't know her.

The realization was a double-edged sword. It saved her, but it cut deep. He looked right at her and saw nothing.

Analia didn't trust her voice. If she spoke, he would know.

She just nodded and pointed a finger down the hall, away from the elevator.

"Thanks," Clive grunted. He stepped out, brushing past her shoulder.

The contact sent a jolt of electricity through her. She smelled him-sandalwood and arrogance.

She dove into the elevator and hammered the 'Close Door' button.

As the doors slid shut, she saw Clive turn around. He was frowning, looking at the elevator.

"Wait," he said.

The doors slammed shut.

The elevator dropped.

Analia collapsed against the metal wall, gasping for air. Her knees were jelly.

She had done it. She had signed the contract. She was the lead. And her husband was walking down the hall to fire a ghost.

Clive walked into Studio B.

"Gaylon," he said, walking in without knocking. "We need to talk."

Gaylon looked up from the mixing board. "Clive. Good to see you. You just missed her."

"Missed who?"

"Starfall. She just left."

Clive looked at the empty booth. He looked at the half-drunk bottle of water on the stand.

"She was here?" Clive asked.

"Just walked out. Took the back elevator."

Clive's frown deepened. The woman in the hat. The one who wouldn't speak.

"What did she look like?" Clive asked.

"Short, brunette... honestly, hard to tell. She wears a lot of baggy clothes. Very secretive."

Clive shook his head. Paranoia. He was seeing Analia everywhere because of the guilt. It couldn't be her. Analia was probably crying into a pillow somewhere.

"Listen, Gaylon," Clive said, sitting down. "About Angelena..."

"It's done, Clive," Gaylon cut him off. He pressed a button.

Analia's voice thundered through the speakers. "Blood is fuel."

Clive froze.

The voice... it was unfamiliar. Powerful. Terrifying. It sounded nothing like his soft-spoken wife.

"She's incredible," Clive admitted, against his will.

"She's the Queen," Gaylon said. "Angelena is out. Tell Kole to send the severance."

Clive sat there, listening to the voice of the woman who was about to destroy his mistress's career, having no idea he used to wake up next to her every day.