Reborn To Marry My Billionaire Rival

Felicity threw her entire body weight against the heavy doors.

They burst open. A wall of deafening orchestral music and blinding stage lights slammed into her.

She stepped onto the red-carpeted aisle of the Dolby Theater. The star-gradient gown caught the massive spotlights, shimmering like a galaxy.

Heads in the back rows snapped toward her. Whispers erupted instantly.

A floor director with a headset sprinted toward her, waving his arms frantically. "Miss Klein! You can't be out here!"

Felicity dodged him with the agility of a panther. She kept her eyes locked dead ahead, marching straight down the center aisle toward the VIP front rows.

On stage, a legendary director was mid-speech, but the sudden commotion in the audience derailed him.

The live broadcast director in the control truck panicked. He smashed the button for camera two, cutting the live feed directly to Felicity. Two men in black suits were already closing in from the wings to intercept her, but a single, ice-cold glare from Collins stopped them dead in their tracks.

Her cold, determined face flashed onto the massive screens flanking the stage.

A collective gasp rippled through the three thousand Hollywood elites in the room.

Felicity ignored the thousands of eyes burning into her skin. Her gaze swept over the front row of billionaires and studio heads like a radar.

She found him.

Sitting three seats from the aisle, looking utterly bored, Collins Saunders was adjusting the cuffs of his Tom Ford suit.

He felt the shift in the room's energy. He slowly lifted his head. His sharp, predatory eyes locked onto her.

Their gazes collided in the heavy air.

Collins' brow furrowed in genuine confusion. He stopped adjusting his watch.

Felicity stopped three feet away from him. Her chest heaved violently from the sprint.

Looking at his living, breathing face-without the blood, without the fire-shattered her composure. Her eyes instantly welled with hot tears.

Collins saw the tears. A microscopic crack appeared in his icy facade. His muscles tensed, and he instinctively started to stand up.

Before he could fully rise, Felicity launched herself forward.

She didn't hesitate, rushing around the low VIP table separating them. Her heavy gown swept across its surface, knocking over a crystal champagne flute as she launched herself at him.

It shattered against the floor, splashing cold champagne onto Collins' polished leather shoes.

Felicity crashed directly into his chest, her momentum throwing him back into his velvet seat with a heavy thud.

She threw her arms around his thick neck, burying her face deep into his shoulder. The scent of cedarwood and expensive fabric filled her lungs.

Collins' entire body went rigid. His muscles turned to stone. His brain completely short-circuited.

This was the woman who had publicly humiliated his company, the woman who supposedly hated his guts.

His first instinct was to push her off. He raised his large hands, but the moment his fingers brushed the bare skin of her trembling shoulders, he froze.

Felicity sobbed. The hot, wet tears soaked right through the collar of his silk shirt, burning his skin.

His hands hovered awkwardly in the air over her waist, stripped of all their power.

The Dolby Theater descended into absolute, stunned silence. The presenter on stage stood frozen with his mouth open.

In the back of the theater, Brandt burst through the doors. He saw Felicity straddling his greatest rival. His face contorted into a mask of pure, ugly rage.

The press photographers snapped out of their shock. A blinding hurricane of camera flashes erupted, capturing the impossible embrace from every angle.

In the broadcast truck, the ratings graph shot straight up like a rocket.

Twitter servers buckled under the weight of a million simultaneous searches for "Felicity Collins hug." The ABC live feed stuttered and froze for three agonizing seconds.

Collins finally found his voice. "Felicity," he rasped, his voice a low, dangerous rumble in her ear. "What the hell are you doing? The cameras."

Felicity didn't care. She tightened her grip, burying her nails into his jacket.

She pressed her lips against his ear and whispered, her voice cracking with emotion.

"Got you."

The two words hit Collins like a physical blow to the chest, completely destroying the last pillar of his self-control.