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.

Bridie walked down the center of the red carpet with a rapid, aggressive pace.

Her black dress hugged her body perfectly. Every step she took commanded the attention of the photographers.

Behind her, Alaina was sweating. The heavy pink gown dragged on the carpet, making it impossible for her to keep up.

Every time a photographer yelled Alaina's name, Bridie casually shifted her weight. She struck a pose.

Bridie used her long legs to take massive, commanding strides, her pace aggressive but perfectly calculated. Every time Alaina tried to catch up, Bridie would stop dead in her tracks, hitting a flawless, powerful pose that acted like a brick wall against the cameras. She reached the press zone with absolute dominance, leaving Alaina suffocating in her shadow.

A reporter from E! News lunged forward, shoving a microphone into Bridie's face. His eyes were wide with excitement.

"Bridie! You look absolutely stunning tonight!" the reporter yelled over the crowd.

"Thank you," Bridie said. Her voice was polite, but her eyes were dead.

The reporter's smile turned sharp. He smelled blood. "So, Bridie, your ex-boyfriend Jory Chambers has been linked to Alaina Cherry recently. Any thoughts on their blossoming romance?"

The cameraman instantly zoomed in. The lens was inches from Bridie's face, waiting for her to break down or scream.

Alaina finally reached the edge of the press zone. She stopped, holding her breath, waiting for Bridie to embarrass herself.

Bridie's face went completely blank. Jory's pathetic, lying face flashed in her mind.

Her stomach churned with physical disgust.

She didn't cry. She didn't yell.

Instead, Bridie rolled her eyes. It wasn't a subtle movement. It was a massive, dramatic eye roll. Her irises disappeared completely, leaving only the whites of her eyes showing pure, unfiltered contempt.

She let out a cold, sharp laugh directly into the microphone.

"Who is Jory?" Bridie asked, her tone flat. "Do I look like I know people from the garbage dump?"

The reporter actually gasped. He pulled the microphone back a inch, completely stunned by the brutal insult.

The paparazzi went absolutely feral. The flashes strobed so fast it looked like lightning. This was the headline of the month.

Alaina heard the words "garbage dump." All the color drained from her face. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms they almost drew blood.

Bridie didn't wait for a follow-up question. She turned her back to the reporter, flipped her hair, and walked away.

She pushed through the heavy glass doors of the theater lobby, leaving the screaming reporters behind.

Five minutes later, Twitter exploded.

The hashtag BridieOrtegaEyeRoll shot to the number one trending spot in the United States.

GIFs of her eye roll flooded the timeline.

Regular users praised her. She said what we all want to say to our toxic exes.

Jory and Alaina's fans swarmed her mentions, calling her trash and a bitter loser.

Inside the lobby, Harriet stared at her phone. The analytics were off the charts. Harriet pressed her fingers to her temples, looking like she was in physical pain.

Harriet stomped over to Bridie. "Are you out of your mind? !" Harriet hissed.

Bridie casually took a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. She took a slow sip.

"I just told the truth," Bridie said, shrugging.

She raised an eyebrow at Harriet. "Look on the bright side. I own the headlines tonight. Alaina didn't even get a scrap."