Bridie pushed off the wall. Her legs felt like lead.

She walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked down at the endless stream of Los Angeles traffic.

The harsh morning sun stung her eyes. It dragged her mind violently back to Las Vegas, exactly one month ago.

The memory hit her like a physical blow.

The Bellagio penthouse suite was dim. The air smelled like stale alcohol and bad decisions.

Empty liquor bottles littered the expensive carpet. Bridie woke up on a massive king-sized bed, her head splitting open with a massive hangover.

Her lower back ached with a dull, heavy soreness.

She turned her head. Her eyes locked onto the cold, god-like face of Evander Byers.

He was shirtless. Suspicious red marks painted his collarbones. His dark eyes stared right into hers, deep and unreadable.

Bridie let out a blood-curdling scream. She yanked the thick duvet up to her chin, her eyes darting around the room for her scattered clothes.

Evander sat up slowly. He didn't bother to cover himself.

"You drank five Long Island Iced Teas," he stated, his voice flat. "You were very... enthusiastic."

Before Bridie could process the horror, the electronic lock on the suite door beeped.

The door swung open.

Mr. Ortega and Mrs. Byers marched into the room, flanked by a terrifying wall of corporate lawyers.

Bridie's father stopped dead in his tracks. His face turned purple. He screamed at Bridie, clutching his chest as if she had just given him a heart attack.

Mrs. Byers, however, beamed. She rushed to the bed, grabbed Bridie's hand, and called her her future daughter-in-law.

"No!" Bridie shook her head frantically. "It was the alcohol! It's a mistake!"

She whipped her head toward Evander. She shot him a desperate glare, silently begging him to clear this up.

Evander suddenly slumped forward. He pressed a hand to his stomach. His eyebrows pulled together in a picture-perfect display of weakness.

"Mom," Evander whispered, his voice thick with fake vulnerability. "She dragged me in here last night. I couldn't stop her."

Bridie's jaw dropped. Her lungs forgot how to work.

This untouchable, ice-cold superstar was sitting here playing the victim.

The lawyers didn't waste a single second. They pulled thick stacks of prenuptial agreements from their briefcases.

Mrs. Byers slammed the pen onto the nightstand. She demanded Bridie sign it to protect Evander's pure reputation.

Mr. Ortega leaned over. He quietly threatened to freeze Bridie's bank accounts and take her car keys if she brought a scandal to the family name.

Under the crushing weight of the lawyers, her father's threat, and Evander's hidden, mocking smirk, Bridie picked up the pen. She signed her life away.

The memory faded. Bridie stood in her LA apartment, her blood boiling.

She pulled her fist back and slammed it into the thick glass of the window.

The glass vibrated with a dull thud. Her knuckles instantly flared red.

She spun around and marched into the bathroom. She cranked the faucet to the coldest setting.

She scooped up the freezing water and splashed it violently onto her face.

She looked up at the mirror. Her face was flushed red with pure rage. She sucked in a deep breath, her chest expanding.

She grabbed her electric toothbrush and jammed it into her mouth. She scrubbed her teeth viciously, imagining she was scrubbing the smirk off Evander's face.

"Bridie!" Pax yelled from the living room. "Fifteen minutes until we leave for the styling salon!"

Bridie spit the foam into the sink. She wiped her mouth raw with a towel.

She stared at her reflection and pulled her lips into a sharp, dangerous smile. She would rather die than bow down to this garbage marriage contract.

She ripped open the bathroom door and marched toward her walk-in closet. It was time to go to war.

Bridie pushed open the heavy glass door of the Beverly Hills styling salon.

She walked into the private VIP room, her heels clicking aggressively against the tiles.

Her manager, Harriet Chandler, stood in the center of the room. Harriet gripped an iPad, her forehead wrinkled with extreme stress as she scrolled through the red carpet schedule.

"You are three minutes late," Harriet snapped, grabbing Bridie by the shoulders and shoving her into the makeup chair.

The makeup artist and hairstylist swarmed Bridie instantly. Cold primer hit her skin. Hot irons clamped down on her hair.

In the corner of the room, a large flat-screen TV played a live broadcast of the Coachella music festival.

The camera panned over a massive, screaming crowd. The noise from the TV speakers filled the small room.

Evander Byers stepped into the spotlight. He held a black electric guitar. He wore a distressed black leather jacket. His eyes were cold and indifferent.

The makeup artist gasped. She dropped her brush and clutched her hands over her heart, staring at the screen.

"He is literally a god," the hairstylist sighed, her eyes glued to the TV. "Not a single scandal in nine years. He's so pure."

Bridie stared at the man on the screen. She rolled her eyes so hard they actually hurt.

"He's a hypocritical male fox spirit," Bridie muttered under her breath.

Harriet's head snapped up. She pointed a warning finger at Bridie.

"Shut your mouth," Harriet hissed. "You have three hundred thousand anti-fans right now. If you piss off Evander's fanbase, they will bury you alive."

Bridie pressed her lips together. She let out a frustrated breath through her nose while the makeup artist drew a sharp, aggressive cat-eye on her eyelid.

On the TV, Evander's long, pale fingers moved rapidly over the guitar strings. He hit a complex solo, and the crowd lost their minds.

Bridie stared at those hands.

Without warning, her brain flashed back to the feeling of those exact fingers gripping her bare waist in the dark.

A sudden, intense heat rushed up her neck. Her ears burned. Her heart skipped a beat and started thumping rapidly against her ribs.

Panic seized her. She grabbed the glass of ice water from the counter and took a massive gulp. She choked, coughing loudly.

Harriet handed her a tissue. Harriet's eyes narrowed, staring directly at Bridie's bright red ears.

"Why is it so hot in here?" Bridie yelled, fanning her face with her hand. "Turn the AC down!"

The makeup artist scrambled to find the remote. She dropped the temperature while applying a thick layer of matte red lipstick to Bridie's mouth.

Twenty minutes later, Bridie stood up. She wore a custom, plunging V-neck black sequin gown that clung to every curve of her body.

Harriet nodded in approval. She shoved a tiny silver clutch into Bridie's hand.

Pax burst into the room, out of breath. "The stretch Lincoln is downstairs!"

On the TV, the live broadcast ended. Evander gave the camera a cold, expressionless bow and walked off the stage.

Bridie shot the screen one last look of pure disgust. She turned on her twelve-centimeter red-bottom heels and walked out.

They moved quickly through the hallway and took the private elevator down to the underground garage.

The driver pulled open the heavy door of the Lincoln. Bridie bent down and slid into the spacious leather backseat.

Harriet climbed in after her. The door slammed shut, cutting off the noise of the garage.

The car pulled out into the sunlight, heading straight for the TCL Chinese Theatre.

The Lincoln crawled through the thick Hollywood traffic.

Even through the tinted windows, Bridie could hear the muffled screams of fans waiting at the venue.

Harriet sat across from her, her face dead serious. "Do not lose your temper today. Do not give the media any ammunition."

Bridie picked at her fresh manicure. "Yeah, yeah. I know."

The car finally jerked to a stop at the drop-off zone. The blinding flashes of hundreds of cameras bled through the cracks in the windows.

A security guard opened the door. Bridie sucked in a deep breath. She pasted a flawless, freezing smile onto her face.

She lifted the heavy sequin skirt and stepped out of the car. The flashbulbs hit her like physical strikes.

Harriet stepped out behind her, her eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk.

Bridie took one step toward the red carpet entrance. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of neon pink.

Alaina Cherry walked toward her. Alaina wore a massive, fluffy pink princess gown. Five assistants trailed behind her.

Alaina's eyes locked onto Bridie's plunging black dress. A flash of pure, ugly jealousy crossed Alaina's face, but she hid it instantly.

Alex Palmer, Alaina's agent, stepped right into Bridie's path, blocking her way.

Alex smiled, his teeth too white. "Bridie! Why don't you and Alaina walk the carpet together? The media would love a photo of the two besties."

Harriet's jaw tightened. She knew exactly what Alex was doing. He wanted to use Bridie's "evil" reputation to make Alaina look like a sweet, bullied angel.

Bridie stared at Alex. The corner of her mouth twitched upward in a cold sneer.

Alaina stepped forward. She reached out, trying to loop her arm through Bridie's. "Come on, sweetie!" Alaina squeaked.

Bridie didn't blink. She smoothly stepped one foot to the side.

Alaina's hand grabbed empty air. She stumbled forward, her ankle twisting slightly in her heels.

The paparazzi at the entrance caught the movement. The sound of camera shutters exploded like machine-gun fire.

Alaina's eyes filled with instant tears. She looked at Bridie with wide, victimized eyes, looking like a kicked puppy.

Bridie leaned in close to Alaina's ear.

"You look like an unpeeled flamingo," Bridie whispered, her voice dripping with venom.

Alaina's face froze. The fake tears vanished. She gritted her teeth. "You're a washed-up nobody," Alaina hissed back.

Bridie let out a loud, genuine laugh. She let her eyes slowly drop to Alaina's completely flat chest, her gaze full of mockery.

Alex saw the interaction going south. He jumped in, raising his voice for the cameras. "Look at these two catching up!"

Harriet grabbed Bridie's wrist, her nails digging into Bridie's skin. It was a silent order to stop.

Bridie yanked her wrist free. She ran a hand through her dark hair, her posture straightening into pure arrogance.

She blew a lazy, careless kiss to the cameras, completely ignoring Alaina's existence.

The security guards started yelling for the guests to move forward. The carpet was open.

Alaina grabbed her massive pink skirt, trying to rush forward to be the first one in front of the main cameras.

Bridie's eyes narrowed. She used her long legs and took one massive stride, cutting directly in front of Alaina.

She turned her back to Alaina, leaving the girl staring at the flawless, exposed skin of her back.

Bridie stepped onto the red carpet. The flashes blinded her, but she walked forward like a tyrant surveying her conquered land.