Chapter 1

I was pinned to the couch while someone forced drink after drink down my throat.

Across the private room, Jack Martinez lounged with one arm around a young actress, drinking and joking around as if nothing else mattered.

He lost a round, then laughed, and let Violet Morgan feed him a drink.

She was nineteen. I was thirty.

And I had stayed by Jack's side for seven years.

I was there when he lived in a cramped apartment, scraping by on whatever he could afford while he wrote songs. I was there when he won his first major award. I was there when he climbed all the way to the top and became one of the biggest names in the industry.

In those seven years, I took drinks for him, took the blame for him, stayed up through countless sleepless nights with him, and cleaned up more scandals than I could remember.

Now, I was nothing more than old baggage to him.

At two in the morning, I staggered out of the club and braced myself against the wall.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Jack popped up on the screen.

Jack: [I'm not coming back tonight. Violet had too much to drink, so I'm taking her to the hotel.]

*****

Right after, a voice message popped up.

I tapped it, and Jack's low voice came through, "There's a magazine interview at nine tomorrow morning. Don't be late. And next week, you need to coordinate with the brand. Violet's taking the endorsement."

I stared at the screen for ages and then typed back.

Laura Wynn: [Okay.]

Over the past seven years, Jack had cycled through more than a dozen girls.

Every time, he'd claim it was just for work, a publicity stunt, or that the girls were the ones chasing his fame.

I always believed him, cleaning up after him time and time again, pulling every trick in the book to get those girls out of his orbit.

Violet was just another one in the lineup. She wasn't the first, and she sure wouldn't be the last.

My phone buzzed again, and it was a new post from Violet on her social feed.

The photo showed Jack's blurry silhouette in the warm yellow light of a hotel hallway.

The caption read, "Thanks for taking care of me, Mr. Martinez. You might sound all fierce but are actually super gentle."

I gave it a like and then removed Jack's chat from the top of my messages.

The next day, I showed up at the studio right on time.

Jack was getting his makeup done.

He didn't even look up when he heard me walk in. "Coffee."

I set an iced Americano down next to him and started running through the day's shoot schedule.

"You've got a livestream at three this afternoon. And the dinner with Mr. Holloway at seven? I canceled it. You said you wanted to rehearse with Violet," I said.

Jack opened his eyes and looked at me in the mirror. "Canceled? Who told you to do that?"

The makeup artist paused mid-brushstroke.

I kept my face neutral. "You told me in your text last night."

"I was wasted last night," Jack said.

He frowned. "Do you have any idea how many people are dying to get into Holloway's project? And you just cancel it?"

"I'll reach out to Mr. Holloway right away..." I replied.

"No need," he cut me off. "Violet's audition matters more. She's new, and it's her first film. I need to be there for her."

The dressing room went so quiet that the only sound left was the soft sweep of a makeup brush against his skin.

I just nodded and marked it down, keeping my thoughts to myself.

Halfway through the shoot, Violet showed up.

She was dressed in designer from head to toe, a luxury bag swinging from her hand as she bounced over to Jack's side.

"Jack, I brought you lunch. I made the sandwiches myself," she chirped.

Jack was in the middle of a solo shoot, and the photographer was visibly irritated.

I moved to block Violet, but Jack gestured for her to come over.

"Come here," he said.

Violet flashed me a triumphant look and skipped over.

Jack took the bag and ruffled her hair. "You made it yourself?"

"Of course!"

She tilted her head. "Jack, will you have time after the shoot? I want you to see the new dance I've been working on."

"Yeah, sure," Jack said.

I caught the rare, gentle look on Jack's face, and suddenly, the ache in my stomach flared up again.

The alcohol from last night was still lingering in my system, and I felt a cold sweat trickle down my back.

I quietly retreated to a corner, grabbed my stomach pills from my bag, and popped them without water.

"Laura, are you okay?" Zoe, my assistant, whispered as she sidled up to me.

I shook my head.

"Violet's so damn cocky. She's only been hanging around Jack for a few days, and she's already barging into the studio like she owns the place," Zoe muttered. "I don't get it. Why does he let her get away with everything?"

I didn't say anything.

By the time the shoot wrapped, it was already evening.

Jack changed back into his own clothes and turned to Violet. "Let's go to the dance studio."

"Ms. Wynn, are you coming with us?" Violet shot me a look, fluttering her lashes in that smug way.

"She's not coming," Jack cut in before I could answer. "She's got work to take care of."

Jack threw his arm around Violet and started out the door. He then paused and looked back. "Oh, and for next month's music gala, make sure Violet gets an invite. She'll be sitting right next to me."

I tightened my grip on the folder. "That seat's set by the brand, so it might not be up to us..."

"Just make it happen," Jack said, his voice icy. "Is even this too much for you?"

The door closed behind them.

Zoe glanced at me nervously. "Ms. Wynn, um..."

"Get in touch with the brand," I said.

I turned and walked over to my desk. "Be extra courteous. Tell them Violet's a rising star that Mr. Martinez is backing."