Chapter 3Don't Stay in the Winter for Me

Back in the studio, the host pushed through the awkwardness to the next segment: "Truth or Dare."

In this industry, everyone has secrets they’d kill to keep. Most people play it safe, but Seraphina Brooks was looking for blood. She’d hated me since I beat her out for the lead in The Emerald Gate. She lived to "accidentally" like hate-tweets about me.

I lost the first round. Seraphina’s eyes gleamed. "Elena, darling. Truth or Dare?"

"Truth," I said, my voice steady.

She leaned in, a shark sensing chum. "The question everyone wants to know. Did you and Hudson ever actually date? Or was he really just a 'joke' like you said?"

The host went pale. The entire crew stopped moving. This was the forbidden topic—the one Hudson’s lawyers usually scrubbed from interviews.

I felt Hudson’s gaze burning into the side of my face. He was waiting.

I looked down at my hands, my nails digging into my palms. "We never dated," I lied, the words tasting like ash. "There was never anything between us."

A collective gasp echoed through the room.

Hudson let out a low, terrifying laugh. "See?" he said, his voice cold as a razor. "She said it herself. Why would I ever be with someone like Elena Rossi?"

Under the table, I saw his hand tighten around his wine glass. The stem snapped. Shards of glass sliced into his palm, blood blooming red against the tablecloth. He didn't even flinch. He just sat there, bleeding in silence.

The producers called for an early wrap on the day’s filming. Most of the guests rushed to Hudson’s side, fawning over his injury. I felt a wave of dizziness and nausea. I slipped away to my dressing room, swallowed my medication, and collapsed into a dreamless sleep.

I was woken up at 4:00 PM by a production assistant. We had to film a "communal dinner" segment where we cooked for each other.

When I walked into the kitchen, Hudson was already there, leaning against the counter. His hand was bandaged. He looked at me with pure vitriol. "I hear Elena is quite the chef," he mocked. "Why don't you show us your skills? Or is that just another lie for your bio?"

He was obsessed with me. Even now, he couldn't stop.

I looked at his bandaged hand and felt a pang of relief—at least he could still move his fingers.

The other guests followed his lead.

"Oh, Elena, you've got this!" Seraphina chirped.

"We’re all so hungry!"

"I’m a disaster in the kitchen, so I’ll stay out of your way."

Within minutes, they had all vanished to the patio to drink cocktails, leaving me alone to prep a dinner for twelve.

I was exhausted. My bones felt like lead. I started chopping vegetables, my vision blurring. I put a pan on the stove, but I lost focus. Suddenly, a flame flared up.

A hand reached over my shoulder and slammed a lid onto the pan, extinguishing the fire.

It was Liam.

"I can't cook worth a damn," he said softly, "but I can wash and chop. Tell me what to do, Elena. You look like you’re about to faint."