I'm pursued by superstar after betrayed

The next morning, Violeta Reynolds was heading out when she ran straight into Raiden Evans on her front steps. At six-foot-two, Raiden towered over her, his tailored dark suit cutting an imposing figure that commanded every bit of the space he stood in. When he stepped toward the door, his dark brows pulled down just a fraction.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked.

Violeta was bent over in the foyer slipping on her heels, her posture steady and no-nonsense. "I’m heading to the studio," she answered simply.

She’d co-founded the talent development studio years ago, but stepped back almost entirely after marrying Raiden. Now, with her own savings stashed away, she’d decided to put money back into the place and sign new artists. She was curious to see how it would all play out.

Raiden’s face hardened. "Isn’t the three thousand a month I give you enough?" he asked, voice icy.

He’d always expected her to stay home, a pretty trophy waiting for him to come back each night. That was how their life had worked for the past two years.

A lump swelled in Violeta’s throat, but she swallowed it down and finished lacing her shoe. "I’m going to work," she repeated.

Raiden’s gaze held hers for a long few seconds before he looked away, tone flat and unconcerned. "Suit yourself."

He was dead sure once she hit the hard edges of the real world, she’d come crawling right back home, begging to be taken care of.

When he sat down at the dining table, he noticed the breakfast spread was off. "Who made this this morning?" he asked. It tasted nothing like Violeta’s usual cooking—definitely someone else’s handiwork.

"We did, sir. Mrs. Reynolds asked us to prepare it," one of the house staff answered.

Raiden said nothing more. He didn’t see the point in picking a fight. Maybe he had been neglecting her lately, and this was just her way of acting out. He figured he’d pick up some fancy jewelry later to smooth things over.

Violeta drove toward the studio, her thoughts cutting off abruptly when she spotted a giant billboard outside the mall. It was Lenora Kelly, the new face of the perfume line Raiden’s company had just launched. Lenora, who’d been spotted out with Raiden just the night before. The girl he’d poured millions into, building her up from nothing to be his newest star. Violeta’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. She drew in a slow breath, then pressed her foot harder on the gas.

The studio was only a ten-minute drive from Raiden’s company, tucked on the top floor of an old downtown building. When she reached the door, she could hear it already—the steady, rhythmic thud of a fist hitting a punching bag.

Rounding the corner, she caught sight of him: a young guy in a black short-sleeve, gloves strapped on, pummeling the bag over and over. His hair fell just over his ears, his muscles cut sharp and defined, but there was still a soft, boyish edge to his face. He stood a full six-foot-three, taller than Raiden even.

Violeta snuck a look at his profile. He was younger than Raiden, for sure, but quieter, more contained. Almond-shaped eyes and sharp, angular bones held a quiet intensity that made it hard to look away.

"Excuse me…" she started.

When he heard her voice, he spun his head around—only for the swinging punching bag to catch him square in the side of the face.

She shoved the glass door open quickly. "Are you alright?"

He shifted a little, rubbing the red mark blooming on his cheek, his lips pressed tight in a silent line.

Violeta glanced around. This was definitely the five-year lease she’d paid a fortune for, but right now it looked more like a run-down boxing gym than a talent studio.

She felt weirdly out of place, like a duchess wandering straight into a crowded street market, as she scanned the messy room.

The man dropped his gaze, unclipped his gloves, tossed them hard onto a nearby bench, and headed straight for the door. His hair was damp with sweat, every step thrumming with restless, coiled energy.

He nearly slammed right into the person coming in. The newcomer’s eyes went wide with curiosity first, then lit up bright when they landed on Violeta. "Violeta! What a surprise seeing you here! Am I dreaming? You’ve barely stepped foot here since you got married!"

It was Leighton Howell, her old friend and business partner. Relief washed through Violeta. She hadn’t walked into the wrong place after all.

Leighton playfully shoved the younger man back inside, chuckling. "Where d’you think you’re going? Weren’t you asking when the boss would show up? Well, here she is!"

The man’s wrists were still wrapped in padded tape. He tilted his head just a little, and mumbled one quiet, "Oh."

Violeta looked closer at his face. He was devastatingly handsome, but nothing like Raiden’s polished, cold aloofness. He was a lone pine perched on a mountain peak—pale, cool skin, lips so bright and red they looked like they’d been tinted with rouge. That strange, inherent mix of soft and sharp made it impossible to look away.

Leighton pulled Violeta off to the side, voice dropping low. "I’ve had nothing but bad luck since you left. All our artists bailed one by one. Thank god Quincy stayed, otherwise I’d be panhandling on the sidewalk by now."

Guilt pricked at Violeta’s chest as she glanced over at Quincy Lawrence, standing off to the side with his head down, lost in his own thoughts.

"Why did he stay?" she asked.

Leighton scratched her chin, thinking. "Beats me. The kid’s only twenty-three, with looks like this? Any other agency would have turned him into a household name by now. Directors are dying to cast him just for his face."

Back when they first opened the studio, they’d pulled out all the stops, using Violeta’s connections to get every big director in the room. Then she got married, lost all interest in running the place, and let it spiral right to the brink of closing. Only one artist stuck around.

And what an artist he was.

Violeta’s eyes locked back on Quincy. She watched him slowly lift his head, catch her staring, and glance away just as fast. His expression was closed off, guarded… and more captivating than anything she’d seen in years.