Avery reached out and picked up the top envelope from the stack. It was from the luxury jewelry brand she had fronted for two years.

She flipped straight to the final page, her eyes scanning the dense legal jargon until they locked onto the numbers.

The penalty claim had seven zeros.

Avery's fingers began to tremble. The thick paper rustled loudly in the quiet room.

Quinn pulled out a barstool and sat across from her. She tapped her knuckles against the marble.

"That's just the first one," Quinn said.

Avery forced her jaw to unclench. She grabbed a pen and a yellow sticky note from the counter.

She started writing down the numbers, adding the totals in her head.

The tip of the pen pressed so hard it tore through the thin paper. The final sum was enough to drain her entire savings and leave her drowning in millions of dollars of debt.

Avery dropped the pen. It clattered against the stone. She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to slow her racing heart.

Quinn leaned forward, her elbows on the table.

"There is one way out of this," Quinn said. "A suicide mission, but it's a way out."

Avery opened her eyes. The muscles in her neck tightened.

"What way?"

Quinn pulled her iPad from her bag and tapped the screen. She slid it toward Avery.

A project proposal titled Second Heartbeat filled the display.

Avery glanced at it and immediately recoiled.

"A trashy celebrity dating reality show?" Avery's voice was laced with disgust. "Absolutely not. That will permanently destroy my resume as a serious host."

Quinn didn't argue. She just swiped the screen to the next page.

It was the confirmed cast list.

The very first name in bold print was Caryn Jordan.

Avery's pupils contracted.

Quinn tapped a video link embedded next to Caryn's name.

Caryn's face appeared on the screen. She was dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a tissue, looking perfectly fragile.

"I just... I just want to find a place to heal my broken heart," Caryn sniffled to her followers. "Maybe Second Heartbeat will help me believe in love again."

Avery's teeth ground together. She dug her fingernails so deeply into her palms that the skin nearly broke. A hot, suffocating wave of humiliation washed over her.

Quinn hit pause. Caryn's fake, teary face froze on the screen.

"She is going to use this show to step right over your dead body and play the ultimate victim," Quinn said.

Avery pushed off the stool. She started pacing the length of the living room, her mind spinning.

She stopped at the window, looking down at the paparazzi circling the building like vultures waiting for her to jump.

Quinn walked up behind her.

"The network is desperate for ratings," Quinn said softly. "The appearance fee they are offering covers the down payment for your first breach of contract settlement."

Avery turned around. The hesitation in her eyes was gone, replaced by a cold, hard sheet of ice.

"I want a guarantee," Avery said. "I want unrestricted microphone access while I'm in that house."

Quinn let out a dark chuckle.

"For the sake of the ratings you bring, producers are willing to take their underwear off. They'll agree to any conditions."

Avery walked back to the kitchen island. She picked up the iPad and began reading the fine print of the proposal.

She stopped at a clause detailing 24/7 camera surveillance.

Avery picked up her red pen. She aggressively crossed out the entire paragraph.

"I need off-camera private time," Avery stated. "I am not being filmed while I sleep."

"I'll negotiate it," Quinn warned, packing up her bag. "But you realize you're walking into a coliseum, right? They want blood."

Avery slapped the proposal back onto the marble.

"Let them," Avery said, her voice dead flat. "I'll be the one holding the knife."

Quinn pulled out her phone and dialed the network producer's number to lock in the deal.

Avery turned her back on Quinn and walked straight into her bedroom.

She pushed open the heavy doors of her walk-in closet.

Her eyes skimmed past the soft pastels and elegant silk dresses she usually wore for her daytime talk show. She hated them right now.

She reached into the back and yanked out a sharp, tailored black power suit.

Ten minutes later, she sat at her vanity. She uncapped a tube of deep, blood-red lipstick and painted it over her pale lips, masking every ounce of vulnerability.

Quinn walked into the bedroom, ending her call. She stopped and let out a low whistle at Avery's reflection.

Avery picked up a pair of oversized black sunglasses and slid them onto her face.

They walked out of the apartment in silence, taking the private elevator directly down to the underground garage.

Quinn hit the unlock button on her keys. The headlights of a black Range Rover flashed in the dim concrete structure.

Avery pulled open the passenger door and slid into the leather seat, pulling the seatbelt tight across her chest.

Quinn started the engine. The heavy rumble echoed off the concrete walls.

The SUV drove up the ramp and burst out onto the street. The blinding California sun hit the windshield.

Avery rolled her window down an inch, needing to breathe. The hot wind hit her face as her brain shifted into full PR mode.

She pulled out her tablet.

"I need you to map out every hidden camera blind spot in that house," Avery said, her eyes locked on the screen.

Quinn kept her eyes on the road. "Do not show any aggression on camera, Avery. They will edit you into the villain."

Avery let out a cold breath. "I'm going to play the perfect, fragile, resilient victim."

The Range Rover stopped at a red light. A bright yellow convertible pulled up into the lane next to them.

The convertible's radio was blasting a local gossip station.

"Avery Bird's career is officially in the grave, folks," the radio host laughed loudly over the speakers.

The three teenage girls in the convertible turned their heads. Through the newly opened gap in the tinted glass, one of them caught a clear view of Avery's unshielded profile.

Their eyes widened. They immediately shoved their phones over the door panel, snapping rapid-fire photos.

"Homewrecker!" one of the girls screamed, her face contorted with disgust.

Quinn cursed under her breath and slammed her finger on the window button, rolling the glass up tight to cut off the noise.

Avery stared straight ahead. The muscles in her face didn't twitch.

The light turned green. Quinn slammed on the gas, leaving the convertible far behind.

Quinn shot a worried glance at the passenger seat. "Are you going to survive this?"

Avery pulled off her sunglasses. Her eyes were sharp.

"That was just the appetizer."

She opened the Twitter app on her phone, scrolling through the fresh wave of hate comments, letting the anger fuel her.

Suddenly, a breaking news alert popped up at the top of her feed.

It showed a massive crowd of fans blocking the main entrance of the network headquarters.

Avery zoomed in on the photo. Hundreds of girls were holding up neon signs, swarming the street.

"There aren't any boy bands recording today," Avery muttered, her brow furrowing.

Quinn glanced down at the GPS on the dashboard. The main road leading to the studio was glowing dark red.

The Range Rover was forced to a complete stop at the next intersection. Ahead of them was an endless ocean of cars and screaming people.

Quinn slammed the heel of her hand against the steering wheel, laying on the horn. The wall of cars ahead of them didn't move an inch.

Avery rolled down her window. The heavy scent of car exhaust mixed with cheap vanilla perfume flooded the cabin.

A group of girls holding pink glittery signs sprinted past their car, nearly taking off the side mirror.

Avery leaned her head out the window, following the direction the girls were running.

Her eyes locked onto the side of the massive network building. A giant billboard was slowly unrolling from the roof.

It was a man's face in profile. His jawline was sharp, his eyes dark and completely devoid of warmth.

Avery's heart stopped. A painful, hollow ache punched through her chest, stealing all the air from her lungs.

At the bottom of the billboard, bold gold letters read: Graham Gilbert - Global Tour.

Quinn followed Avery's gaze and let out a loud gasp.

"No way," Quinn said, slapping the steering wheel in excitement. "The King of Pop is back from the UK? He actually came back?"

Avery immediately rolled up her window. She pressed her head back against the leather headrest and squeezed her eyes shut.

Memories of a rain-soaked street in New York seven years ago flashed behind her eyelids, making her temples throb with a sharp, stabbing pain.

Quinn didn't notice. She was already scrolling on her phone.

"Graham never does variety shows or reality TV," Quinn babbled. "The network must have paid him an absolute fortune to get him in that building today."

Avery opened her eyes. She stared at her own pale reflection in the side mirror.

"He used to hate loud crowds," Avery whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

The inside of the car was too quiet. Quinn's head snapped toward her.

Quinn's brow furrowed in deep confusion. "How do you know what his personal preferences are?"

Avery's stomach dropped. Her fingers instantly went to the seam of the leather seat, picking at the stitching.

"I just... I read a few of his early interviews," Avery lied, her voice tight.

Quinn narrowed her eyes. Her manager instincts were fully activated.

A traffic cop up ahead waved a glowing baton, and the cars slowly started to inch forward.

Quinn pressed the gas pedal slightly, but her eyes kept darting to Avery. "Are you hiding a connection from me? Because right now, any connection is a lifeline."

Avery looked out the window. The network building was looming closer. She knew she couldn't avoid him inside.

She took a slow, deep breath, turning her head to look Quinn dead in the eye.

"We know each other," Avery said flatly. "We're old acquaintances."

Quinn's foot flew off the gas and slammed violently onto the brake pedal.

The tires shrieked against the hot asphalt.

The car behind them blared its horn in rage, but Quinn didn't flinch. She stared at Avery like she had grown a second head.

"How old?" Quinn's voice shook. "How exactly do you know Graham Gilbert?"

Avery didn't answer right away. She turned her head back to the window, staring up at the cold, untouchable eyes on the billboard.