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.

The driver behind them held down his horn, the sound piercing through the glass.

Quinn cursed, hitting the gas and jerking the Range Rover down the ramp into the underground VIP parking garage.

The inside of the car was dead silent. Quinn gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were bone white, waiting for Avery to finish her sentence.

The SUV hit a speed bump, bouncing violently. Avery used the physical jolt to force the words out of her throat.

"He's my ex-boyfriend," Avery said, staring blankly at the dim fluorescent lights passing overhead.

Quinn sucked in a sharp breath. Her hands jerked, and the heavy SUV swerved, missing a concrete pillar by less than an inch.

Quinn slammed the car into park in a VIP spot and whipped her entire body around to face Avery.

Before Quinn could open her mouth to scream, a frantic pounding hit the passenger side window.

Three girls wearing black masks and heavy cameras around their necks had clearly bribed a guard or slipped through the broken service elevator, bypassing security entirely. They were pressing their faces against the glass.

One of the girls recognized Avery. She ripped off her mask and shoved her middle finger right against the window.

Even through the thick glass, Avery could hear the muffled screams. "Homewrecker! Slut!"

Quinn saw red. She reached for her door handle to get out and fight them.

Avery's hand shot out, clamping down hard on Quinn's wrist.

"Don't," Avery commanded, her voice ice-cold. "You'll just give TMZ another headline."

Avery picked up her black sunglasses and slid them on. She pushed open her door and stepped out into the humid garage.

She stood perfectly straight, her posture rigid, completely ignoring the girls screaming inches from her face.

The paparazzi froze for a split second, intimidated by her absolute lack of reaction, before they started snapping photos frantically.

Avery's heels clicked sharply against the concrete as she walked toward the VIP elevator bank.

Just as she neared the doors, the heavy metal fire exit to her right burst open.

Four massive bodyguards flooded into the garage.

Blinding beams from their tactical flashlights swept across the dark space, hitting the paparazzi. The girls shrieked and scrambled backward.

Surrounded by the wall of muscle, a tall figure stepped out of the shadows.

Avery's feet stopped moving. Her heel scraped against the floor, making a harsh, abrupt sound.

It was Graham.

He was wearing a dark, custom-tailored suit. The boyish softness she remembered from seven years ago was entirely gone, replaced by the suffocating, heavy aura of a man who owned the world.

Avery stared at him through her dark lenses. All the oxygen vanished from the garage. Her chest tightened so painfully she couldn't breathe.

The paparazzi girls saw him and lost their minds, screaming his name and trying to lunge forward, but the bodyguards shoved them back.

Graham didn't look at the girls. He walked straight toward the elevators, his strides long, heavy, and completely unbothered.

Avery instinctively took a half-step back, her fingers curling tightly into the pockets of her suit jacket.

The distance between them vanished.

As he walked past her, the crisp, cold scent of cedarwood hit Avery's senses, violently dragging her back to a rainy night in New York.

Avery lifted her chin slightly, bracing herself for the anger, the questions, or the mockery she deserved.

He walked past her, his gaze not shifting a single millimeter, as if she were an insignificant crack in the concrete wall. But as the distance between them disappeared, Avery felt the temperature around her plummet to freezing, a suppressed, suffocating chill as the man swept past her with the chill of a raging storm.

Avery stood frozen on the concrete. A massive, crushing weight of disappointment and a sharp, stinging pain gripped her heart.

Avery remained frozen in place, her muscles locked tight.

Quinn jogged up beside her, grabbing the sleeve of her blazer and giving it a hard tug.

"The elevator is here," Quinn muttered, pulling her forward.

Avery blinked, snapping out of her trance, and let Quinn drag her toward the elevator bank.

The bodyguards had formed a solid, impenetrable wall of black suits in front of the VIP doors.

Graham stood at the very front. He had one hand shoved casually into his pocket, his head tilted back slightly as he watched the digital numbers drop. His back was a wall of cold stone.

Avery and Quinn were forced to stop three feet away. The air between them felt like a freezer.

A heavy-set man in a sharp grey suit stepped out from behind the bodyguards. It was Cyrus Finch, Graham's legendary agent.

Cyrus had eyes like a hawk. He spotted Avery instantly, fully aware of the scandal currently burning down the internet.

But Hollywood ran on fake politeness. Cyrus stepped forward and extended a hand toward Quinn.

Quinn plastered on a flawless, plastic smile and shook his hand.

Cyrus pulled a thick, gold-embossed business card from his jacket and handed it to Quinn. His sharp eyes flicked to Avery for a fraction of a second. "Mr. Gilbert appreciates people who stand their ground in a storm," Cyrus said smoothly. "Let's touch base sometime."

Avery stood silently. Her eyes bypassed Cyrus entirely, locking onto the side of Graham's face.

Graham didn't react to the conversation happening inches behind him. He didn't even shift his weight.

Ding.

The VIP elevator doors slid open.

Graham stepped in first, his long legs crossing the threshold. The bodyguards immediately piled in around him.

Cyrus gave Quinn a quick wave and stepped inside.

Just as the metal doors began to close, Graham shifted his gaze.

Through the narrowing gap, his dark eyes slid over and landed directly on Avery's face.

The eye contact lasted for exactly half a second.

There was no anger. No pain. Just a chilling, absolute emptiness.

The doors clamped shut.

Avery's rigid shoulders instantly collapsed. She let out a shaky, ragged breath that she had been holding in her burning lungs.

Quinn flicked the gold business card with her fingernail, her eyes shining. "Well, this trip wasn't a total waste. I actually got Cyrus Finch's direct line."

Avery turned her head slowly. She looked Quinn in the eyes, her voice dead serious.

"He really is my ex-boyfriend."

Quinn's smile vanished. She looked Avery up and down.

Quinn reached out and pressed the back of her hand against Avery's forehead. "The internet hate has finally cracked your brain. You're having delusions."

Avery slapped Quinn's hand away in frustration. "I'm not crazy. Seven years ago, in New York-"

"Stop," Quinn interrupted harshly. "Did you see the way he just looked at you? He looked at you like you were a piece of trash on the sidewalk."

Quinn shoved the business card into her pocket. "Do not make up insane lies to get attention right now, Avery. It will backfire."

Avery opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She realized with a sickening drop in her stomach that she had absolutely zero proof. Every photo, every text, every trace of him had been deleted seven years ago.

The standard elevator arrived with a chime.

Quinn pushed Avery inside. "Stop daydreaming. We have a war to fight upstairs."