Chapter 3

The crew swapped stunned looks, nobody moving to help her up.

"Barbra, that's assault— this isn't finished. Wait till my lawyer slaps you with a lawsuit."

Even doubled over in agony and gasping, she still spat threats at me.

I wiped my hand deliberately, staring down at her with ice in my eyes. "Bring it on. I'll see you there!"

That evening, Jeromy burst through the door with a slam.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, he bellowed at me in a frenzy, "Barbra!

"Didn't I warn you to keep your hands off Bridget?"

I sat on the couch, meeting his rage-reddened eyes with a cool stare.

A blunt pain suddenly seized my heart.

There was a time when those eyes overflowed with affection and warmth just for me.

But the man standing here now was worlds away from the one I remembered.

Maybe the guy who'd panic over a paper cut on my finger, or slip candy into my hand backstage at awards shows—that version of him was dead and gone.

"When she came running to you with her story, did she bother mentioning why I slapped her?"

I asked with biting sarcasm.

Jeromy's tone was frigid. "She hit you because the scene demanded it. But you? That was pure spite—you went after her personally."

Veins throbbed at his temples, his voice dripping with threat. "Tomorrow, you march to the hospital and apologize to Bridget, or else..."

"Or else what?"

I shot back with a sneer.

"You'll blacklist me? Make sure I'm persona non grata in the biz? Tank my rep and bury me under insane breach fees? That about right?"

The room went dead silent for a beat.

Jeromy squinted, then broke into a smirk.

"Barbra, credit where it's due—you're sharp. Remember, you've got two years left on your Starlight Entertainment contract. Toe the line, and the gigs will keep coming when they're yours. But if you keep pushing, I've got a dozen ways to squeeze every cent you've made right back out of you."

He spun on his heel and headed out.

Over his shoulder, without looking back, he warned, "Mull it over. Career or that sad little ego of yours?"

The door crashed shut behind him.

The balcony doors stood wide open, letting frigid gusts howl in and chill me straight through.

I shuffled over to shut them.

But my fingers were frozen stiff, fumbling uselessly at the latch.

I sank back onto the couch.

It was like my heart had been carved up with a rusty blade a hundred times over—the agony left me gasping for air.

A decade's worth of memories crashed over me.

Jeromy and I first sparked while headlining an urban rom-com.

We pulled off this epic nine-minute rain-soaked long take in one flawless go.

Our on-screen magic turned us into the hottest fictional couple online.

During the promo blitz before release, Jeromy used it as cover to chase me like crazy.

He was good-looking, genuine in his dealings, and yeah, I was into him too.

We kept things under wraps for three years.

Then, the night I snagged Best Actress for the arthouse flick Eastern Train, he proposed right there backstage, in front of the whole crew.

"Barbra," he said, "you're not just the star of Eastern Train—you're my forever leading lady. I'll stick by you from here on out, build you a rock-solid home. Marry me?"

At my career high—fresh off the win, scripts and high-end deals pouring in, halo firmly in place—I tied the knot with Jeromy, who was still grinding away without much heat.

Folks called me nuts.

Post-wedding, he floated the idea of pivoting to producing.

So I fronted cash, hustled favors, and tapped my network to get Starlight Entertainment off the ground for him.

When my old deal ran out, I inked an exclusive with Starlight to pump up its rep.

The night the company went public, at the victory bash, he wrapped me in a bear hug and whispered, "Babe, scoring a lifetime with you? Pure gold."

But somewhere along the line, my star started fading fast.

Newbie signings at the company began snagging my endorsements.

Every gig I landed came with babysitting duties for two or three rookies.

I brushed it off at first.

To me, Starlight was our joint passion project—our shared empire.

Little did I know, all I'd invested would end up as his perfect weapon to hold over my head.

Of course, I didn't bother apologizing to Bridget like Jeromy had ordered.

So, three days later, the director of Winter Party called me.