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."

The elevator jolted to a stop on the executive floor.

Avery and Quinn stepped out onto the thick, sound-absorbing carpet.

As they walked down the long corridor, staff members carrying clipboards and coffees stopped in their tracks. Eyes darted toward Avery. Whispers hissed through the air like snakes.

Avery kept her chin high, staring straight ahead, ignoring the burning stares as she marched toward Catherine Pierce's corner office.

Catherine's assistant, Alex, was sitting at his desk. When he saw Avery approaching, he shot up from his chair, his face pale.

Quinn slammed her hands on his desk. "We're here to see Catherine. We have a reality show contract to finalize."

Alex swallowed hard, his eyes darting away. "I'm so sorry. Catherine is in a highly classified emergency meeting. She can't be disturbed."

Avery glanced past Alex's shoulder. Through the frosted glass blinds of the office, she could clearly see the room was completely empty.

It was a deliberate power play. Catherine was treating her like a disease.

Quinn crossed her arms, her face turning red. "Fine. We'll wait right here."

Avery touched Quinn's arm. "I need to go to the restroom. I'll be right back."

Avery turned and walked down the hall, pushing open the heavy wooden door of the women's restroom.

The smell of expensive floral perfume hit her nose. She walked past the mirrors, went into the furthest stall, and locked the door.

She leaned her back against the cold metal partition and closed her eyes, letting the exhaustion finally wash over her face.

Click-clack. Click-clack.

The sharp sound of high heels echoed against the tiles, followed by the loud laughter of two women entering the restroom.

Avery recognized the shrill voice immediately. It was Brenda Jenkins, a junior producer Avery had once reprimanded for messing up a teleprompter script.

"Did you see her face?" Brenda laughed, turning on the faucet. "She looks like a walking corpse. She deserves every bit of this."

The other woman giggled. "I heard she practically begged Kenneth to leave Caryn. So pathetic."

"Please," Brenda scoffed loudly. "I heard the only reason she's getting on Second Heartbeat is because she's sleeping with the executive producer. She's absolute trash."

Inside the stall, Avery's eyes snapped open. A violent, burning rage ignited in her chest.

She reached out and gripped the metal door lock, ready to shove it open and rip Brenda apart.

Before she could slide the latch, the sound of heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed from the hallway outside the partially open restroom door.

A low, magnetic, and terrifyingly cold male voice cut through the air.

"It seems the employees at this network spend their time writing third-rate scripts instead of doing their jobs."

Brenda's laughter died instantly. The sound of the running water was the only noise left.

Avery's hand froze on the lock. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

She knew that voice. It was Graham.

"M-Mr. Gilbert," Brenda stuttered, her voice shaking with pure terror.

"Do you know the legal penalty for defamation in the state of California?" Graham's voice was like ice cracking.

The silence outside was deafening. The two women were practically vibrating with fear, stammering out panicked apologies.

Inside the stall, Avery couldn't breathe.

Why was he doing this? Why would he step in? He was supposed to hate her. He was supposed to enjoy watching her burn.

Outside, Graham let out a low, dismissive scoff.

His heavy footsteps echoed against the floorboards as he walked away.