The Imperial Hotel's second-floor ballroom hummed like a beehive kicked by a boot. Crew members scrambled around camera rigs while extras sipped lukewarm coffee—tonight's shoot for Corporate Ascent, a drama about a CEO's rise from intern to empire-builder. Vivian Sterling, its Emmy-tipped lead, checked her diamond-encrusted watch. 6:07 PM. Dammit, Selena.
Three takes. Three slaps. Each one a masterclass in bad acting from Selena Vance, the last-minute replacement co-star. Vivian's cheek still stung. "Cut!" The director's voice cracked with frustration. "Selena, sweetheart—when I say 'rage,' I don't mean 'mild indigestion.' Try again."
Selena fluttered her spider-leg lashes. "So sorry, darling." Her saccharine smile didn't reach her eyes. "I'm just too civilized to hit hard." Next take", she mouthed at Vivian, "I'll make you bleed.
Vivian's agent, Amanda, materialized at her elbow. "Don't react. TMZ's here." She nodded toward paparazzi clustering like vultures. "One snapshot of you scowling and it's 'Sterling's On-Set Meltdown' by breakfast."
Clara Morgan paced the hotel's gilded hallway, lost in a maze of identical ballrooms. Where's the damn shoot? Her heels clicked a frantic SOS on marble.
"Clara?" Alexander Han leaned against a pillar, blue shirt sleeves rolled to reveal tattoos snaking up his forearms. "You look like someone stole your coffee."
"Alexander! Is Ballroom C near—"
A slap echoed from a doorway—crisp as a gunshot. Clara flinched.
Alexander's smirk deepened. "Sounds like my hotel's hosting WWE night. Come on."
They pushed through heavy doors just as Selena's palm cracked across Vivian's face. The director yelled, "Wrap!"
Vivian glared at Selena, hand pressed to her flaming cheek. Then she spotted Clara. "Peach!" She bulldozed through grips and cables to crush Clara in a hug. "Tell me you brought tequila."
Clara laughed. "Come on, we're about to have dinner. I'll get Bruce to order all your favorite dishes."
"Well, well." Just then Selena walked over, her voice dripped venom. "If it isn't Sebastian Hartwell's recycled trash."
Alexander's amusement vanished. Recycled trash? His mind flashed to Ethan Windsor—the man Sebastian nearly murdered at the club. So Clara's the "garbage" he couldn't keep?
Vivian stepped between them. "Careful, Selena. Your jealousy's leaking through that discount Botox."
Amanda hissed, "Vivian! Paparazzi!"
Ignoring her, Selena bared teeth. "At least I didn't get dumped by the Windsors' castoff."
Clara linked arms with Vivian. "Fascinating—what does that make the woman who slept with their reject? The recycling bin? Or just Tuesday's pickup?"
Vivian's grin turned feral. "Darling, she's the dumpster fire of his hookups."
Alexander snorted—a loud, unguarded bark of laughter.
Selena lunged.
Clara sidestepped, but Selena collided with Vivian, sending both women crashing to the floor. Vivian grabbed Selena's hair extensions; Selena clawed at Vivian's silk blouse. They rolled like feral cats in a cloud of hairspray and flying sequins.
"Vivian!" Clara dove to pull her friend back.
"Fuck her Prada!" Vivian shrieked, kicking blindly. "I'll neuter this bitch!"
Alexander raised his phone. "Move your elbow, Selena—I can't see the nose job scars."
Paparazzi surged forward. Flashes exploded—capturing Selena's split lip, Vivian's torn sleeve, the Louboutin dangling from one hand like a weapon.
Amanda and Zachary (Selena's agent) shield-barged reporters. "No photos! Delete those!"
Clara snatched Vivian's purse. "Time to go!" She dragged her toward the service elevator, Alexander holding the door.
As it closed, Vivian flipped off the chaos. Selena screamed, "You're dead, Sterling!"
Alexander watched the elevator ascend. Well. Dinner just got interesting.