The 28th-floor sanctuary felt vast and chillingly modern. Evelyn Meyers spent her first night smoothing out new sheets and organizing her designer cosmetics in the marble bathroom. The kitchen was a chef's dream, but there was one glaring problem: she couldn't cook to save her life.
She ended up at a small stall downstairs, nursing a bowl of hot and sour noodles. Am I an idiot? she wondered. I didn't get rid of the 'Saint,' I just evicted myself. She checked her phone one last time before bed. No texts from Michael, no missed calls. Just a sea of notifications on social media.
The next morning, Evelyn traded her pajamas for a sharp white suit and a long black wool coat. She arrived at the set of the new epic movie she was staring in.
The director of the movie was very talented, and a legend at producing good movies. But, he was also notorious for one thing; a hair trigger temper.
He eyed Evelyn with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. "You're a novice, so your scenes are limited for now. We'll start with the dialogue in the early episodes to see if you have the spark. If you fail, the script ends for you."
Evelyn nodded, her resolve hardening. Shortly after, she was introduced to her new agent, Stacy Martins, the director's sister.
Stacy was a powerhouse who didn't care about Evelyn's "connections" as long as she was professional.
"Read the script," Stacy commanded. "Then we head to the office for your first endorsement deal."
As Evelyn flipped through the pages, her heart nearly stopped. The Male Lead was George Sin, the world reknown Actor she'd kicked in the backside just days ago. And the Female Lead? Erica Jones.
The world is too small, Evelyn thought grimly. Her role was a minor character destined to be killed off within ten episodes. At least she wouldn't have to endure Erica for long. She consoled herself that way.
The first day was simple: a garden scene where Evelyn only had to say a single line.
George Sin arrived in full action. Gone was the playful ruffian; he looked steady and regal, causing half the female staff to blush. Evelyn kept her face hidden behind her script, praying he wouldn't recognize the woman who had assaulted him in a parking lot.
George's eyes stayed on Erica during the scene, but as Evelyn raised her head after her line, she caught Erica's gaze. Erica didn't break character, but her eyes flashed with a mocking, triumphant light. Welcome to my world, Evelyn. Here, I am the Queen, and you can only hide behind a minor Character.
While filming for the movie was sporadic, Stacy landed Evelyn a major eyeshadow advertisement. After a grueling day of shooting and posing, the campaign launched.
It was a sensation.
The ad featured Evelyn with shimmering orange-gold eyes, her lips parted slightly as a male model leaned in for a near-kiss. Her face began to appear on billboards across different parts of the country.
In the executive office of Thorn International, Michael Thorn stared at the ad on his phone. The sight of another man's face so close to his wife's sent a surge of possessive rage through him. He knew exactly who was pushing her career.
At 11:00 PM, Evelyn dragged her exhausted body back to the apartment. She was learning the brutal reality of the industry, early call times and midnight wraps. She just wanted a hot bath and a dreamless sleep before her big scene tomorrow.
She threw her bag on the sofa and walked into the bedroom, only to freeze. A man was lying on her bed, his presence filling the room.
The fatigue vanished, replaced by a spike of adrenaline. Evelyn ignored him, retreated into the bathroom and pointedly locking the door. She soaked for an hour, hoping he'd be gone by the time she came out.
When she finally emerged, wrapped in a plush towel, she ducked into the guest room and locked that door too. I am not playing this game tonight, Michael.
Ten minutes later, she heard the unmistakable click of a spare key. Michael walked in, his expression unreadable but dark. He watched as she stubbornly continued to smooth the guest bed sheets, refusing to acknowledge him.
Michael reached out, pulling her into his arms. "How long are you going to keep this up?"
Evelyn struggled, trying to twist away, but his grip was like iron. "I have a 5:00 AM call time, Mr. Thorn. Let go."
"A week without a word, Evelyn. You really are stubborn," he hissed against her ear. He hated how much he had missed her, and he hated even more that she seemed to be thriving without him.
"Entering the entertainment circle on another man's arm?" Michael's voice was a low, dangerous vibration. Evelyn remained silent, her back to him.
"Evelyn Meyers, you're playing with fire." Still, she said nothing.
"Nothing to say? Fine. Since you won't talk, let's see if you can act."
"Let you go? In your dreams." He pulled her flush against him, his kiss punishing and possessive, tasting of the jealousy he refused to admit.
Evelyn struggled, her heels digging into the floor, and in a moment of his distraction, she stomped hard on his foot and shoved him away. She rubbed her lips with the back of her hand, her eyes flashing with hatred.
He could live with Erica Jones in their home, flaunting his "Saint" to the world, but the moment she stepped into the light to reclaim her own name, he had "opinions."
Before Michael could strike back, his private phone rang. He answered with a snarl.
"Sir," Dominic voice came through, strained. "Miss Jones is suffering from severe stomach pain. She's confined to her bed at the villa. Should I...?"
"Tell her to go to the hospital herself!" Michael barked.
"But she's too weak to move, and she's insisting on seeing you."
Michael's jaw tightened. He looked at Evelyn, who was watching him with a cold, mocking sneer. This was her "husband", always one phone call away from his mistress.
"I'm coming back," Michael said, hanging up. He turned to Evelyn, his expression iron-clad. "I'm going back to the villa. And listen to me: fade out of the entertainment industry. Don't make me say it a third time."
He walked out without looking back, leaving Evelyn alone in the silence of her apartment, tears gathering in her eyes.
Evelyn didn't fade out. Instead, she exploded. Her Instagram following jumped from ten million to fifty million almost overnight. The city was obsessed with the "Orange Flame" girl. Meanwhile, Erica Jones had mysteriously begun losing roles, her "Saintly" image flickering as rumors of her health issues and temperament grew.
It was late autumn when Evelyn returned to the apartment from a distant film set, dragging her suitcase through the door. She froze. Michael was leaning back on her sofa, his eyes closed, looking more exhausted than she had ever seen him.
They hadn't spoken in over two months.
She began unpacking in the bedroom, trying to ignore the familiar scent of him drifting through the doorway. Suddenly, she was held from behind. The familiar heat of his body made her close her eyes in pain. She had missed him every night, even as she hated him for being with Erica.
Michael turned her around, his kiss no longer punishing, but hungry, a desperate reclamation of the two months they had lost.
The next morning, Michael took Evelyn to lunch at a high-end hotel. He didn't hide. He didn't care about the cameras.
By the afternoon, the internet was in a frenzy. A photo of Michael Thorn lifting Evelyn into the passenger seat of his car was the top headline. The world of social media exploded, Erica's fans, Michael's followers, and Evelyn's new supporters were all at war.
Evelyn sat across from Michael in the hotel restaurant, her phone buzzing incessantly with calls from Jade and her agent, Stacy.
"Michael," she said, putting her fork down. "We were photographed. It's everywhere."
"Eat," Michael said calmly, elegantly sipping his soup.
"You need to have it deleted! Like you do for Erica!"
Michael looked at her deeply, his bruised lip long healed but his intensity sharper than ever. "I won't delete it."
"But I'm just starting my career! If the public thinks I'm the 'Mistress' in your relationship with Erica, I'm finished."
Michael reached across the table, took her steak, cut it into perfect, bite-sized pieces, and handed the plate back to her. "You're worried about being called a 'Mistress'?"
"Yes! Their fanbases are ruthless!"
Michael leaned in, a dark, decisive light in his eyes. "You have the marriage certificate in your bag, don't you? Take a picture of it. Post it. I'
m giving you permission to tell the world exactly who you are."