1 Ava Montgomery had a distinct taste for the dangerous kind of man—the kind with heavy-lidded eyes, sharp wit, and a slow, seductive pull. For the first three years, she poured money and industry influence into my career, dragging me out of the swamp of uncredited indie roles and elevating me to a recognizable name on every network executive’s shortlist. Just when I finally lowered my guard—when I began to fool myself into believing that a woman like Ava could actually fall in love—a series of intimate photos of us in her private cabana leaked to the press. Ava didn’t investigate. She didn’t ask questions. She simply decided I had orchestrated the leak to force her hand and secure a public acknowledgment. To punish me for “stepping out of line,” she pivoted overnight. She picked up Brielle Summers, Hollywood’s freshest, sweetest ingenue, showering her with the exact resources that had once been mine. She told the inner circle it was a lesson in obedience. When we crossed paths on the set of a live primetime variety show, Brielle didn’t miss the chance to sink her teeth in. “Without Ava’s name behind you, Sloan, what are you, really?” she purred in the dressing room corridor, tilting her head. “Be a good little stepping stone today. If you make me look good on camera, maybe I’ll convince her to toss you a background role in my next feature.” Everyone in the studio was waiting for the exact same thing: to watch me slip into the mud so they could step on my fingers on their way up. They had no idea that I had already made a move of my own. And unlike Ava, my new backer hadn’t needed any convincing to claim her territory. The headlines about Ava championing Brielle had been trending across every major entertainment outlet for seventy-two straight hours. My pending luxury cosmetics campaign quietly vanished, reappearing under Brielle’s name. Even the Rising Star trophy at the Golden Crest Gala—an honor that had been verbally promised to my team for months—ended up in her manicured hands. When we crossed paths backstage in the VIP lounge, Brielle smoothed down the skirt of her gown with a delicate, practiced coyness. “Ava practically begged me to wear this on stage to accept the award,” she sighed, holding out the billowing fabric. “It’s so loose in the waist, honestly. But she insisted it was the only piece worthy of me tonight. It’s almost exhausting how attentive she is.” It was a custom Zuhair Murad gown. The kind that required a six-month lead time and an airtight relationship with the Parisian atelier. Of course it hung loose on her frame. It had been tailored to my measurements. Ava had commissioned it months ago, back when we were still burning through sheets in her Tribeca penthouse, murmuring that she wanted to give me an unforgettable birthday gift. Now, it had become a prop in her public demonstration of how easily I could be replaced. Word of our fallout had saturated every corner of the industry. Ava neither confirmed nor denied the split; she simply let the silence do the work, watching as producers, directors, and former friends took the cue. Those who used to fawn over me now averted their eyes in the hallways, terrified of catching any residual fallout from the Montgomery family’s displeasure. Brielle spun slowly in the gown, watching me with predatory satisfaction. “I heard you were dying to wear this tonight, Sloan. What a shame. If you want, I can slip it off in the dressing room and let you try it on? Though with your undertones, I don’t know… it might look a little cheap. We wouldn’t want people laughing at you.” She wanted to see me crumble. She wanted a scene. I looked at the sagging bodice, letting a faint, amused smile touch my lips. “I’m not sure how it would look on me, Brielle, but on you, it looks like a child playing dress-up in her mother’s closet.” I paused, letting my gaze drop deliberately. “You might want to look into fillers. Ava has never had a taste for the flat-chested look.” “You—” Before she could finish, I turned on my heel and walked away. By the time I sank into a hot bath at home, the internet was ablaze. #BrielleSummers spotted leaving the gala with Montgomery heir. #AvaMontgomery secures custom Zuhair Murad for new flame. My phone vibrated violently against the porcelain edge of the tub. It was my manager, Melissa. “Three brand deals just pulled their contracts,” Melissa said, her voice strained and breathless. “All of them cited direct pressure from Montgomery Holdings. Sloan, please. Just call Ava and tell her you didn’t leak those photos. Why are you digging your heels in with a billionaire? What do you gain by making an enemy out of her?” I leaned back, letting the warm water lap against my collarbone. “I have nothing to explain to her.” Melissa let out a heavy, defeated sigh. “Tomorrow’s live panel show—Brielle just got added to the lineup. Because of that award tonight, they bumped her to top billing. The producers know the history. They’re going to use you as her punching bag to juice the ratings. Prepare yourself mentally.” I gave a noncommittal hum, and after a few more frantic warnings, Melissa finally hung up. The notifications kept rolling across my screen, harsh and relentless. Then, a single private message cut through the noise. Want me to bury the press? I typed back two words: No need. I powered down the phone and closed my eyes. The next morning, on the way to the studio, a video clip hit the feeds. It showed the two of us exiting the backstage hallway the night before: me walking ahead, stone-faced and detached, and Brielle trailing behind, dabbing at tear-filled eyes. Within minutes, the algorithm worked its magic. The comment sections were an absolute bloodbath. [Sloan Parker is vile. How dare he bully Brielle like that? Cancel her already!] [Word is Sloan got cut off by his sugar mommy for acting out, and now that he’s with Brielle, he’s taking out his bitter jealousy on an innocent girl.] [Wait, so the rumors are true? Her backer was the Montgomery heir? Does that mean Brielle is…] [Don’t compare them! Ava and Brielle are a real couple. Sloan was just a side piece who tried to cling to Ava, and Ava never even claimed him.] [God, I despise men like Sloan. A kept man acting like he has any right to police who he dates next.] “Ava just retweeted the clip,” Melissa announced in the van, staring at her tablet in sheer disbelief. “And her legal team issued a public statement condemning workplace harassment on Brielle’s behalf. She’s really… she’s really trying to ruin you.” Melissa didn’t know whether to scream or cry. Melissa remembered, just as vividly as I did, the times Ava had completely lost her mind over me. She had witnessed Ava threatening to blacklist an executive who dared to grab my bare arm at an afterparty. She had seen Ava Montgomery—a woman who bowed to no one—drink three consecutive glasses of neat bourbon until she was physically ill just to secure a director she knew I wanted to work with. She had seen her drop six figures on an antique trinket simply because I glanced at it twice in an auction catalog. When Ava loved you, she placed the world at your feet. She indulged your temper, kissed your tears away, and begged you to stay. Yet in five years, she had never once introduced me to the public as her boyfriend. And the moment those private photos surfaced, her first instinct was that I was trying to trap her into marriage. We had screamed at each other in her penthouse that night. She refused to believe my innocence, and I was utterly sickened by her lack of faith. Before she slammed the door, she had sneered down at me: “My mother doesn’t tolerate actors in our family tree, Sloan. You should know that by now. This little stunt of yours was pathetic.” To make me pay for my “ambition,” she picked up Brielle and paraded her in front of every camera in the city. She was waiting for me to break. She expected me to crawl back, weeping, pleading for forgiveness. Unfortunately for her, she miscalculated. The very morning after the industry caught wind of our split, a different door had opened. Harper Montgomery. Ava’s older sister. The quiet, ruthless architect who actually held the reins of Montgomery Enterprises. Ava had introduced me to her once at a private charity gala. Harper had stood there under the chandeliers, radiating a cold, impenetrable gravity that made everyone in the room tread lightly. Her message to me two nights ago had been just as precise: Come with me? The variety show was broadcast entirely live. Thanks to the viral storm from the night before, the concurrent viewer count blew past eight figures the moment the red light flashed on. Five minutes before going on air, my phone lit up with a text from Ava. Apologize to Brielle on camera, and I’ll drop the legal notice. I didn’t even hesitate. I hit delete, blocked the number, and handed my phone to the floor manager. After the opening introductions, the host flashed a bright, calculated smile. “For our first segment today, we’re doing a little spontaneity test! Each guest will open their phone, call their pinned contact, and convince them to come down to the studio right now. If your guest fails to show, you’ll face the ice tank penalty.” The host turned first toward Brielle. “Brielle, sweetie, who’s at the top of your favorites list?” Brielle blushed, covering her mouth with her hands before handing her phone over with a theatrical show of reluctance. The camera zoomed in on the screen. The pinned name read: Ms. Montgomery. The live stream chat went into immediate hysterics. [Oh my god, this is sickeningly sweet! The heiress and the starlet!] [“Ms. Montgomery” sounds so formal yet so intimate, like a husband talking about his wife!] [Ava is clearly head over heels. Not like her past flings—this is the real deal.] [Look at Sloan’s face! He’s practically green with envy.] While the chat tore me apart, Brielle dialed. The call connected on the second ring. “Hello?” Ava’s voice came through the studio speakers, smooth and unmistakable. Brielle’s cheeks flushed pink under the studio lights. “Ava? Are you busy?” “I’m fine,” she replied, her tone noticeably gentle. “What’s going on?” The studio audience cooed. The live comments were melting down. Brielle leaned closer to the mic, her voice sweet as honey. “Well, I’m in the middle of shooting the live show, and the challenge is to invite our pinned contact to the studio… I know how slammed you are at the office, so please don’t worry if you can’t. Work comes first, I completely understand.” She glanced at the host with an expression of soft, martyr-like disappointment. “It’s okay, I’ll just take the penalty.” The host was about to chime in with a comforting comment when Ava’s voice cut back in over the line. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Text me the stage address.” Brielle’s eyes lit up with genuine triumph. She blew a loud, cheerful kiss into the receiver before hanging up. The host clutched her chest in mock jealousy. “Save some romance for the rest of us, please!” Brielle dabbed at the corner of her eye, looking visibly moved. “She’s just… she carries so much weight on her shoulders with the family business, but she still makes time for me. It just means a lot.” She finished with a subtle, victorious smirk directed right at my seat. The host smoothly shifted her gaze, pointing the microphone straight at me. “Mr. Parker, would you mind calling your pinned contact for us?” The word no hovered on the tip of my tongue. Then I caught myself. Playing hard to get with powerful women was a delicate dance; overplay your hand, and the curtain drops. After Harper’s initial text, she had reached out once more, and I had hesitated. Having spent five years orbiting the Montgomery circle, I knew precisely where their boundaries lay. They were willing to indulge a man, but they did not beg. I unlocked my phone and handed it to the production assistant. The camera locked onto my screen. The pinned contact at the top of my list was also saved as: Ms. Montgomery. A heavy, bizarre silence fell over the studio floor. A second later, the live stream chat erupted into pure chaos. [LMAO is he serious right now?! He’s going to call Ava too? The shamelessness!] [He clearly didn’t know this segment was coming and got caught red-handed trying to pull a desperate publicity stunt!] [This is so embarrassing. Ava literally just agreed to come for Brielle!] [He’s trying to force a confrontation on live television. What a psychotic move.] The host gave me a tight, mocking smile. “Mr. Parker, are you sure you want to dial Ms. Montgomery? Brielle just got off the line with her.” Brielle leaned forward, adopting a tone of patronizing sympathy. “Sloan, please don’t do this to yourself. I know you and Ava have history, but she already promised me. If you call her now, it’s just going to put her in an uncomfortable position.” I met her gaze, arching an eyebrow. “Is there a problem with me making a call?” It wasn’t the same woman. Brielle pulled back, looking hurt on my behalf. “I just don’t want to see you humiliated. It’s over between you two, and frankly, she never acknowledged you publicly anyway. A man should have some self-respect. If you keep clinging to her like this, what will people say about you?” The live chat was virtually unanimous in her defense, praising her grace while labeling me an unhinged stalker. I pressed the call button. The line rang three times before an unfamiliar, crisp male voice answered. “Good afternoon. Ms. Montgomery is currently concluding an executive briefing. May I ask what this is regarding, Mr. Parker?” It was Harper’s senior executive assistant. I briefly explained the live broadcast segment into the speaker. The assistant remained impeccably polite: “Understood. I will relay the message to Ms. Montgomery immediately.” The call ended. The studio erupted in snickers, and the live comments became a wall of laughing emojis. [DECEASED. He doesn’t even have her direct cell! He had to go through a secretary!] [The assistant was clearly blowing him off. “I’ll relay the message” is corporate speak for “lose this number.”] [Ava literally just told Brielle she could come, and now her office claims she’s in a meeting? The level of rejection here is art.] Within five minutes, the tag #SloanParkerDesperateClinger shot to the top of the trending sidebar. Brielle walked past my stool, pausing to murmur with quiet condescension, “Sloan, independent men focus on their craft. Maybe if you spent less time trying to manipulate wealthy women, your acting wouldn’t be so mediocre.” I rolled my eyes without bothering to hide it. As if she hadn’t bought her trophy with Ava’s credit card. While the crew prepped for the guest arrivals, the floor director called a ten-minute commercial break. Back in the empty makeup room, Brielle shoved the door shut, dropping her sweet facade the instant we were alone. “Without Ava, you are nothing,” she hissed, stepping into my space. “You’re going to sit out there and play the pathetic ex today. If you behave, maybe I’ll let her throw you a bone down the line. But if you try to embarrass me again, I swear to God I will have Ava erase you from this industry until nobody even remembers your name.” She whipped her hair over her shoulder and strutted out before I could respond. A second later, my phone vibrated in my palm. Arriving in ten minutes. The red light blinked back on. The host spoke into her lapel mic with heightened excitement: “Our first special guest has arrived! Please give a massive round of applause for Ava Montgomery!” True to her word, Ava had driven straight onto the studio lot. Through the massive glass bay doors at the back of the soundstage, a cherry-red Ferrari pulled to a halt. The camera panned over as the driver’s door swung open. Ava stepped out in a tailored casual blazer, sunglasses pushed up into her dark hair. It had only been a week since our explosive fight, but looking at her now… she didn’t seem nearly as striking as she used to. The arrogance that I once mistook for confidence just looked cheap. Brielle practically flew across the stage, throwing her arms around her. “Ava!” Ava patted her arm lightly, but her eyes immediately drifted past her, locking onto me. I looked away, checking the studio clock. Ten minutes. She should be here. Brielle caught the direction of Ava’s gaze, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features before she masked it with a laugh. “Ava, did your assistant tell you that Sloan tried to call you on air earlier?” Ava froze for a fraction of a second, her brow furrowing as she looked back at me. Brielle gave her a quick, hushed summary of the call. A look of smug comprehension settled onto Ava’s face. She deliberately took off her jacket and draped it over Brielle’s bare shoulders, but her words were aimed entirely at me. “If you want my help, Sloan, a stunt on a live broadcast isn’t the way to ask for it.” Brielle leaned snugly into her side, casting a gloating glance in my direction. The host seized the moment, grinning at the camera. “So, Ms. Montgomery, you came today specifically for our lovely Brielle, correct?” Ava kept her eyes fixed on me, her tone cool and dismissive. “Naturally.” “Well then!” the host announced cheerfully. “Since Ms. Montgomery came for Brielle, Mr. Parker’s invitation has officially failed. It’s time for the penalty!” Two stagehands wheeled out the punishment rig. Above my designated mark, a heavy galvanized bucket filled with ice water was suspended from a pulley. I stepped onto the mark, frowning. “The ten minutes haven’t run out yet.” The host gave an awkward, patronizing laugh. “Mr. Parker, Ms. Montgomery is already standing right here for Brielle. Please don’t make this difficult for production.” “Did it ever occur to you,” I said evenly, “that she isn’t the only Montgomery in this city?” “Enough, Sloan,” Ava snapped, her patience running out. “Stop throwing a tantrum. I’m not changing my mind. Take the penalty and get it over with.” She thought I was bluffing. She thought I was using her family name to save face. Ava stood there with her arm around Brielle, watching with cold amusement, waiting for the ice water to drench me so I would finally crumble and beg for her favor. The live stream chat was practically foaming at the mouth with schadenfreude. [Serves him right!] [Drench him! Let’s see what he looks like with his makeup ruined!] The stagehand pulled the release pin. The bucket tipped. A freezing wall of water cascaded downward. I braced myself, closing my eyes tight. In the fraction of a second before the deluge hit, heavy footsteps shattered the silence. A broad, towering silhouette broke through the studio lights, moving with blinding speed. A heavy, bespoke wool jacket was thrown over my head, enveloping me in the rich scent of cedarwood, tobacco, and rain. Not a single drop of ice water touched my skin. I pushed the lapel aside and looked up. My breath caught in my throat as I met a pair of deep, impossibly calm gray eyes. Behind us, a voice cracked across the soundstage in sheer, unadulterated shock: “Harper?! What the hell are you doing here?!”
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