The Cold Superstar Demands A Second Chance

Avery turned her back on Quinn and walked straight into her bedroom.

She pushed open the heavy doors of her walk-in closet.

Her eyes skimmed past the soft pastels and elegant silk dresses she usually wore for her daytime talk show. She hated them right now.

She reached into the back and yanked out a sharp, tailored black power suit.

Ten minutes later, she sat at her vanity. She uncapped a tube of deep, blood-red lipstick and painted it over her pale lips, masking every ounce of vulnerability.

Quinn walked into the bedroom, ending her call. She stopped and let out a low whistle at Avery's reflection.

Avery picked up a pair of oversized black sunglasses and slid them onto her face.

They walked out of the apartment in silence, taking the private elevator directly down to the underground garage.

Quinn hit the unlock button on her keys. The headlights of a black Range Rover flashed in the dim concrete structure.

Avery pulled open the passenger door and slid into the leather seat, pulling the seatbelt tight across her chest.

Quinn started the engine. The heavy rumble echoed off the concrete walls.

The SUV drove up the ramp and burst out onto the street. The blinding California sun hit the windshield.

Avery rolled her window down an inch, needing to breathe. The hot wind hit her face as her brain shifted into full PR mode.

She pulled out her tablet.

"I need you to map out every hidden camera blind spot in that house," Avery said, her eyes locked on the screen.

Quinn kept her eyes on the road. "Do not show any aggression on camera, Avery. They will edit you into the villain."

Avery let out a cold breath. "I'm going to play the perfect, fragile, resilient victim."

The Range Rover stopped at a red light. A bright yellow convertible pulled up into the lane next to them.

The convertible's radio was blasting a local gossip station.

"Avery Bird's career is officially in the grave, folks," the radio host laughed loudly over the speakers.

The three teenage girls in the convertible turned their heads. Through the newly opened gap in the tinted glass, one of them caught a clear view of Avery's unshielded profile.

Their eyes widened. They immediately shoved their phones over the door panel, snapping rapid-fire photos.

"Homewrecker!" one of the girls screamed, her face contorted with disgust.

Quinn cursed under her breath and slammed her finger on the window button, rolling the glass up tight to cut off the noise.

Avery stared straight ahead. The muscles in her face didn't twitch.

The light turned green. Quinn slammed on the gas, leaving the convertible far behind.

Quinn shot a worried glance at the passenger seat. "Are you going to survive this?"

Avery pulled off her sunglasses. Her eyes were sharp.

"That was just the appetizer."

She opened the Twitter app on her phone, scrolling through the fresh wave of hate comments, letting the anger fuel her.

Suddenly, a breaking news alert popped up at the top of her feed.

It showed a massive crowd of fans blocking the main entrance of the network headquarters.

Avery zoomed in on the photo. Hundreds of girls were holding up neon signs, swarming the street.

"There aren't any boy bands recording today," Avery muttered, her brow furrowing.

Quinn glanced down at the GPS on the dashboard. The main road leading to the studio was glowing dark red.

The Range Rover was forced to a complete stop at the next intersection. Ahead of them was an endless ocean of cars and screaming people.