Chapter 1
Aura
Thesingletearleavinga hot trail down my cheek isn’t mine, but it leaves me emotionally drained. It’s almost a relief to get lost in the character’s grief rather than thinking about my own problems for a change. But when I blink the bland room back into focus, my own pain comes rushing back to me. Every single face seated around the oval table appears unmoved by my performance. The gray-haired man with the jowls to my right is yawning, while the blond suit beside him with the skin stretched too tight across his face isn’t even watching. Instead, he has the audacity to tap away on his phone while I pour my soul into my performance.
“You can go.” The one with the obvious facelift waves a hand at me in dismissal, and my heart plummets.
I clench my jaw to keep my lip from trembling. I nailed it. I know I did. It might even have been the best audition of my career, but I never had a chance.
Adrenaline is still ripping through me, and the past six months of humiliation and rejection finally catch up. I’ve got nothing left but the inferno swirling around in my chest.
“Why did you bring me in for this if you weren’t even going to watch?” They all look up in unison, confusion on their faces—the ones that can still show emotion, anyway—as I step forward, slamming my palms onto the wooden table. It’s as if they’re not used to anyone challenging them.
The jowly one recovers fastest. “She is mouthy.”
The fiery rage inside me coalesces into a ball in the pit of my stomach, and it takes every ounce of restraint to keep it contained.
“Someone owed Belinda a favor.” The loose skin on his neck stretches as he looks over at the blond suit, who has gone back to typing on his phone.
“Right.” I nod, stepping back again. Even my agent is getting desperate enough to waste favors on me. “So you were all just wasting my time. I never had a chance, did I?”
Jowls speaks, his voice dripping with condescension. “Honey, you’d be lucky to get a part as one of the murder victims onThe Sci Files.”
Facelift and the others join in with his laughter as I spin around and shove out the door, not even pausing to thank them. I’m too good an actress to let them see it, but myveins are filled with liquid fire, and all I want to do is get home to hit my punching bag.
I pass Megan Jane on my way out. She had a small arc onPaisley Creek, and we were on friendly terms.
“Megan.” I offer her a megawatt smile.
She gives me a tight smile back, then drops her eyes, running her hands up and down her thighs.
Right. Of course. It’s all fucking fake. Everything and everyone in this goddamn town is fake. I need to get the fuck out of here, like, yesterday.
I throw my shoulders back and march out of the studio, putting on the best freaking show of my life. Aurelia Lane doesn’t give a shit what you think of her. It may not be true, but they don’t need to know that.
But when I get out to the lot, I realize I forgot to message my driver, so I shoot him a quick text and then reach into my bag to slip my oversized sunglasses on.
A car pulls up, but it’s not mine, so I pull out my phone, pretending to scroll as if I don’t have a care in the world.
“Aura! Surprised to see you here.” That voice rips through me, threatening to destroy my carefully constructed walls. It’s like she’s trying forbright and sunnybut only managestanning bed bulbs. Fake as fuck.
I take a deep breath, stretch my lips into the brightest smile I can manage, and look up from my phone. “Kelly. What are you so surprised about? That you and your cheating boyfriend’s ploy to end my career didn’t work?”
“What?” she says, mouth gaping like a fish on a hook, but then her smile turns mean and her eyes narrow. “So, you landed a role. Congratulations.”
“Mmm,” I say, trying for nonchalant. A black sedan pulls up, and relief floods me as Miles steps out of the car to open my door for me. I wiggle my fingers over my shoulder at Kelly, bending at the knees to slip into the buttery-soft leather seat.
The door clicks shut, tinted windows blocking me from view, but I can still see Kelly standing there staring at the place I just vanished from.
“Heading home, Miss Lane?” Miles asks.
“Could we stop at Marino’s on the way home, please?” Nothing is going to make this day better, but some sugar with a side of caffeine might at least keep me upright.
“Right on.”
Soft pop music fills the car, and I lean back in my seat, trying to relax. Traffic crawls as usual.
We pass by the café once, then twice, until I’m getting twitchy. Someone lays on their horn, blasting over the general cacophony of LA drivers, and it’s the last straw.
