LOGINMy throat locks up. I’ve seen Owen angry, I’ve seen him arrogant, and I’ve seen him lethal in a courtroom. But I have never seen him cry like this. "I am so sorry for leaving you in that jail cell, Sydney," he whispers again, his voice cracking completely now as he stares down at my lips. "I know n
The second Owen’s fingers touch the chrome handle of his sleek black sedan, I violently twist out of his reach. I yank myself away from his side, clutching the lapels of his oversized designer suit jacket against my chest like a shield. He freezes, his hand dropping from the door as he whips his he
My stomach completely drops. The press. The paparazzi who were banned from the main service have already spotted the commotion from the outer gates. Long, heavy camera lenses are already poking through the iron bars, the rapid, machine-gun clicking of shutters filling the air as they capture every
Before I can even register her movement, her hands fly out and strike my chest, shoving me backward with everything she has. "Ah!" I gasp as my foot catches on a raised root. I lose my balance entirely, crashing heavily onto the damp, muddy ground. "You don't get to say goodbye to her!" She scream
I stand a safe distance away from the black-clad crowd, the damp cemetery grass sinking slightly beneath the soles of my kitten heels. The heavy scent of rain and oversized funeral wreaths hangs thick in the air as the burial service for Owen’s mother officially commences. From where I’m hiding—ha
The maid nods rapidly, leaning in closer. "Oh, absolutely. And Madame Caroline is either too stupid to notice, or she’s just pretending not to know because she simply doesn't care enough about her husband to waste the energy. Honestly, I think she just uses it as an excuse to yell at him." I let ou
"Again!" My voice cracks through the silence of the soundstage. I’m standing near the monitors, my arms crossed so tightly my muscles ache, but I don't care. I don't care about the collective groan of the crew or the way the lighting technicians are looking at their watches. Sydney is standing in
"My silk! My custom bias-cut silk! Sydney, what happened?!" "Lydia happened," I say, standing as still as a statue. "Can we save it? Or do I go out there and take the penalty?" Marta examines the stain, her face pale. Sarah walks over, peering at the way the coffee has dried in streaks across the
"I’m telling you, Sydney, the studio was in a flat-out panic for six months," Sarah says, dabbing a sponge near my jawline. She is the same makeup artist who handled my looks on the last film I did before the accident that left me blind temporarily—the one that never got finished. Seeing her in m
I hold my breath, my fingers itching to grab my script. "The role of the male lead," he announces, "goes to Marcus Thorne." A tall, rugged man a few rows down nods as the room claps. "The role of the rival, the second female lead," Nicholas continues, his eyes flicking to Lydia, "goes to Lydia Em







