From Jilted Assistant To Zillionaire Queen

Kayla rubbed her forehead. Her heart hammered against her ribs from the sudden shock.

She squinted into the darkness.

The man was incredibly tall. His shoulders blocked the faint moonlight coming from the high windows.

He didn't speak. He didn't ask if she was okay.

He simply took one step back and turned his body slightly, clearing the path to the kitchen.

Kayla pressed her back against the wall. She slid past him, her skin prickling from the sheer physical pressure of his presence.

She walked quickly into the kitchen and fumbled for the under-cabinet light switch.

A soft yellow glow illuminated the counter.

Kayla opened the cabinet, found the white first-aid box, and pulled out a tube of hydrocortisone cream.

She rubbed the cold cream onto her collarbone. Her pulse was still racing.

She turned around to look back at the hallway.

The space was empty. The man was gone.

Kayla turned off the light and walked back upstairs. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

That pine scent. That heavy, suffocating aura. It didn't belong to Jax or Rhys.

The producers were hiding something.

The next morning, the blare of a megaphone shattered the quiet of the house.

Kayla threw off her blankets. She washed her face, pulled her hair into a tight ponytail, and put on a black sports bra and leggings.

She walked downstairs without a drop of makeup on.

The other guests were gathered in the dining room, drinking coffee and yawning.

Bria glared at Kayla's flawless, bare skin and aggressively bit into a piece of toast.

Don stood in the center of the living room holding a clipboard.

"Good morning!" Don shouted. "Today, we welcome our final, highly anticipated guest."

The room went quiet. Everyone looked toward the heavy oak front doors.

Heavy, measured footsteps echoed from the porch.

The doors swung open. The morning sun poured into the room, blindingly bright.

A man walked through the light.

He wore a tailored black button-down shirt and dark slacks. His face was carved from marble, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass.

The entire room sucked in a collective breath.

It was Juelz Spencer. The youngest Best Actor winner in a decade and the CEO of DT Media.

He was Hollywood royalty.

Juelz stopped in the middle of the room. His cold, indifferent eyes swept over the cast.

Kayla stood in the back. Her pupils dilated slightly.

It was the man from the dark hallway.

When Juelz's gaze passed over Kayla, it stopped for a fraction of a second. Then, he looked away.

Don was sweating. He stammered as he welcomed Juelz to the show.

Bria immediately pushed her way to the front, sticking her chest out. Juelz didn't even look at her.

Guillermo stood near the sofa. His fake smile faltered. He looked at Juelz with a mix of desperate greed and deep intimidation.

The director stepped out from behind the cameras.

"To break the ice," the director announced, "we are starting with a physical challenge. Everyone to the beach obstacle course."

Kayla frowned. She flexed her fingers.

This body was weak. It had survived on crash diets and alcohol.

She followed the group out to the scorching sand, her stomach tightening with dread.