Katy's body reacted before her brain could process the danger.

She shoved both hands against the hard muscle of Arther's chest and pushed herself backward. She broke his grip on her waist and stumbled a step away.

She locked her knees to stop them from shaking. She forced her spine completely straight.

Arther let his hand fall. He slid both hands into the pockets of his tailored trousers. His movements were slow, relaxed, and entirely too confident.

Katy stared at his chin, refusing to meet his eyes. She dug her thumbnail into her index finger.

"My apologies," Katy said. Her voice was perfectly flat, a textbook Hollywood PR response.

Arther tilted his head slightly to the left. His dark eyes dropped from her eyes down to her blood-red lips. He stared at her mouth for one second too long before looking back up.

"It's fine," Arther said. His voice was low, a physical rumble in the quiet hallway. "Miss Riddle."

The formal name felt like a knife twisting in her stomach. Katy swallowed the lump in her throat. She forced the corners of her mouth up into a fake, polite smile.

Footsteps echoed from the far end of the hallway. Two stagehands carrying a ladder turned the corner, walking toward them.

Panic spiked in Katy's chest. She immediately shifted her weight, leaning closer to the wall, creating a massive physical gap between her and her husband.

Arther watched her move away. A dark shadow crossed his eyes.

He took a half-step backward, giving her the center of the hallway. It was a perfectly polite, gentlemanly gesture for the approaching crew members to see.

Katy gave him a stiff nod of gratitude. She took a step forward, desperate to run away.

As she walked past him, the physical distance between them vanished for a fraction of a second.

Arther leaned down. His mouth brushed past her ear.

"The black velvet looks beautiful on you," he whispered.

Katy's feet stopped moving. Heat exploded across her ear and rushed down her neck. Her brain scrambled, desperately searching for a safe response.

She turned her head. She looked him in the eye, her expression completely blank.

"Thank you," Katy said loudly, ensuring the stagehands could hear. "Your performance on stage was very impressive."

Arther raised an eyebrow. He looked bored by her robotic answer.

He took one step forward, instantly destroying the safe distance she had created. He lowered his voice so only she could hear.

"Miss Riddle, you seem to always be avoiding me," Arther said softly, his tone perfectly polite but layered with a probing edge. "Have I done something to offend you?"

Katy's eyes went wide. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

"I am avoiding a scandal," Katy snapped back, her voice shaking slightly. "I don't need the paparazzi writing fake stories."

Arther let out a low, dark laugh. The sound vibrated against Katy's skin.

He stared down at her. His eyes were intense, stripping away all her defenses.

"Is that right?" Arther said softly. "I could have sworn I heard Mr. Vance joking earlier that the way you were looking at me was... rather unique."

The blood drained from Katy's face. Her fingertips went completely numb. The hallway spun.

Did he know? Did he find the Twitter account? Did he see her looking at him?

She dug her nails into her palms to stop her hands from shaking. She forced a cold, mocking laugh out of her throat.

"You are incredibly arrogant," Katy sneered.

Arther didn't flinch. He just looked at her. The intensity in his gaze was suffocating.

The stagehands walked past them, muttering apologies for taking up space. The spell broke.

Arther's face instantly shifted back to the cold, untouchable Best Actor. He gave the crew a polite nod. He turned his back on Katy and walked down the hallway.

Katy stood frozen. She watched his broad shoulders disappear around the corner.

Her legs gave out. She leaned heavily against the wall. She pressed her hand against her chest, feeling her heart trying to beat its way out of her ribcage.

He was just joking. He had to be joking.

Katy smoothed down the velvet skirt. She locked her jaw and walked back toward the ballroom.

She sat down at the VIP table. She picked up a fresh glass of champagne. Her hand shook so violently the liquid spilled over the rim and dripped onto her fingers.

She didn't know that in the shadows of the hallway corner, Arther was still standing there. He watched her walk away, a dark, victorious smile spreading across his face.

The heavy door of the black Maybach slammed shut. The noise of the paparazzi screaming her name outside was instantly cut off.

Katy kicked off her stilettos. They hit the floorboard with a dull thud. She collapsed against the soft leather seat.

She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers hard against her throbbing temples. Arther's voice echoed in her head. I thought you were a fan.

In the front passenger seat, Paige let out a sharp, panicked gasp.

Katy opened her eyes. She glared at the back of Paige's head. "What now?"

Paige's face was completely white. Her hands shook as she passed an iPad over the center console into the back seat.

"It's bad," Paige stuttered.

Katy snatched the iPad. She looked at the screen. Her lungs stopped pulling in air.

At the very top of the X trending list, highlighted in bright red, was a single hashtag: KatyRiddleArtherKnowles.

Right beneath it was a video with over two million views.

Katy's trembling finger tapped the play button.

It was a high-definition video shot from the shadows of the ballroom. It showed Arther on stage. Then, the camera zoomed in drastically, focusing entirely on Katy's face in the audience.

The video had been slowed down. A romantic, slow song played over the footage.

On the screen, Katy's mask was completely gone. Her eyes were wide, tracking Arther's every movement. The raw, obsessive adoration in her expression was impossible to hide. She looked like a woman starved, staring at water.

Then, the video cut to the final second. The camera angle shifted slightly, catching the glare of the chandelier. As Katy raised her hand to adjust her silver strap, the lens perfectly focused on her wrist. Peeking out from beneath a massive diamond cuff was a frayed, black braided string bracelet with a distinct silver bead. It was a private, handmade token she had worn for years.

Katy dropped the iPad. It hit the leather seat and bounced. The world tilted on its axis.

She stared at the ceiling of the car. Her stomach violently cramped.

The comment section was a warzone. Millions of people were shipping the "Ice Queen and the Cold King."

Katy grabbed her phone from her clutch. Her fingers fumbled over the screen. She dialed Julian.

He answered immediately. "I know. The PR team is already on it."

"Take it down," Katy screamed. Her voice cracked, raw with terror. "Erase it. Now."

"Katy, listen to me," Julian argued. "This is free marketing. Your new movie drops next month. The internet loves this. We should let it ride for a few days."

"I said take it down!" Katy roared. Her chest heaved. "I do not need to use a man for clicks! I refuse to look like a desperate groupie!"

"It's just a rumor-"

"His fans are insane!" Katy lied, her voice shaking. "I don't want them attacking me. Pay whatever it takes. Get the platform to kill the tag."

Julian sighed. "Fine. I'll make the call."

Katy threw her phone onto the seat. She grabbed her hair and pulled, the physical pain grounding her spiraling panic.

If Arther saw this video. If he saw that look on her face.

Worse. If he saw that bracelet. If he connected that frayed string to the crazy fan who had dropped it at his feet five years ago. Her entire life would be over.

Paige reached back and offered a plastic bottle of water. "It's going to be okay, Miss Riddle."

Katy snatched the bottle. She didn't open it. She squeezed the plastic so hard it crunched loudly in the quiet car.

"Drive faster," Katy ordered the driver.

The Maybach sped up, tearing through the dark streets.

Katy picked up the iPad again. She refreshed the page. The hashtag dropped from number one to number four. Julian's money was working.

She let out a shaky breath. She was safe.

She had no idea that across the city, the video was already playing on a different screen.

Arther Knowles pushed open the heavy double doors of the presidential suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel.

He walked into the massive living room and shrugged off his suit jacket. He threw the expensive fabric onto the velvet sofa. He looked exhausted.

He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. He reached up, yanked his tie loose, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt. He stared down at the glowing city lights of Los Angeles.

The doorbell rang. It was a sharp, frantic sound.

Arther's jaw tightened. He turned away from the window, walked to the door, and pulled it open.

Simon Adler, his manager, shoved his way into the room. He was holding his phone up like a trophy, a massive grin on his face.

"You broke the internet," Simon said, speaking a mile a minute. "And you won't believe who you broke it with."

Arther rolled his eyes. He hated tabloid garbage. He turned his back on Simon and walked over to the marble wet bar. He grabbed a crystal glass and a bottle of expensive whiskey.

Simon followed him. He shoved the phone screen directly into Arther's line of sight.

"It's Katy Riddle," Simon yelled.

Arther's hand stopped moving. The whiskey bottle hovered over the glass.

He slowly set the bottle down. He turned his head and took the phone from Simon's hand.

He looked at the screen. The video was playing on a loop.

Arther watched Katy sitting in the audience. He saw the way her eyes devoured him. He saw the desperate, hungry look she tried so hard to hide behind her cold exterior.

A soft, genuine smile broke across Arther's face. He raised his thumb and gently stroked the glass over Katy's face.

Simon kept talking, rambling about engagement metrics and box office projections.

Then, the video reached the final second. The camera panned slightly, zooming in on Katy's raised hand.

Arther's body went completely rigid. The smile vanished from his face. His dark eyes widened in pure shock.

He dragged the progress bar back. He paused the video. He zoomed in on the high-definition image of her wrist. Resting right beneath the glaring diamonds was a frayed, black braided string bracelet with a distinct, tarnished silver bead.

Arther closed his eyes.

His brain violently ripped him back to a chaotic airport terminal five years ago. He was surrounded by screaming fans. A girl in a black mask and thick glasses had been crushed against the barricade. When the crowd surged, she had dropped that exact same handmade bracelet right at his feet. He had picked it up, but she had already disappeared into the sea of people.

Arther opened his eyes. The shock morphed into something sharp and dangerous. He tilted his head slightly to the left, analyzing the pieces falling into place.

He handed the phone back to Simon. His voice was terrifyingly calm. "Where is this video now?"

"Dropping fast," Simon complained. "Riddle's PR team is throwing millions at X to kill the hashtag. They're burying it."

Arther let out a low, dark laugh. The sound echoed in the quiet room.

She was terrified. His beautiful, cold wife was terrified of being caught.

"Do you want our team to push it back up?" Simon asked, his fingers hovering over his screen.

Arther picked up his whiskey glass. He took a slow sip. The burn felt incredible.

"No," Arther said. "Do nothing. Let her bury it."

Simon looked confused, but he nodded and backed out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Arther stood alone in the suite. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed his private security lead.

"I need you to pull the archived security footage from LAX, Terminal 4, exactly five years ago today," Arther ordered, his voice tight. "Find a girl in a black mask and thick glasses by the barricade. Track her movements, cross-reference her with any social media posts tagged at that location and time. I want a name or a handle."

Ten minutes later, his phone chimed with a secure file. Arther opened it. The digital trail was flawless, leading directly to a massive fan account. He opened the X app. He typed in the handle staring back at him from the report: Chi-Chi_Knowles.

The profile loaded. The newest tweet had been posted exactly two minutes ago. It was just a string of random, panicked keyboard smashes.

Arther stared at the screen. He pictured Katy sitting in the back of her car, furiously typing, completely unaware that her husband was watching her every move.

Arther threw his head back and downed the rest of the whiskey. A massive, victorious smile stretched across his face.

The hunt was on.