The Cold Superstar Demands A Second Chance

Avery remained frozen in place, her muscles locked tight.

Quinn jogged up beside her, grabbing the sleeve of her blazer and giving it a hard tug.

"The elevator is here," Quinn muttered, pulling her forward.

Avery blinked, snapping out of her trance, and let Quinn drag her toward the elevator bank.

The bodyguards had formed a solid, impenetrable wall of black suits in front of the VIP doors.

Graham stood at the very front. He had one hand shoved casually into his pocket, his head tilted back slightly as he watched the digital numbers drop. His back was a wall of cold stone.

Avery and Quinn were forced to stop three feet away. The air between them felt like a freezer.

A heavy-set man in a sharp grey suit stepped out from behind the bodyguards. It was Cyrus Finch, Graham's legendary agent.

Cyrus had eyes like a hawk. He spotted Avery instantly, fully aware of the scandal currently burning down the internet.

But Hollywood ran on fake politeness. Cyrus stepped forward and extended a hand toward Quinn.

Quinn plastered on a flawless, plastic smile and shook his hand.

Cyrus pulled a thick, gold-embossed business card from his jacket and handed it to Quinn. His sharp eyes flicked to Avery for a fraction of a second. "Mr. Gilbert appreciates people who stand their ground in a storm," Cyrus said smoothly. "Let's touch base sometime."

Avery stood silently. Her eyes bypassed Cyrus entirely, locking onto the side of Graham's face.

Graham didn't react to the conversation happening inches behind him. He didn't even shift his weight.

Ding.

The VIP elevator doors slid open.

Graham stepped in first, his long legs crossing the threshold. The bodyguards immediately piled in around him.

Cyrus gave Quinn a quick wave and stepped inside.

Just as the metal doors began to close, Graham shifted his gaze.

Through the narrowing gap, his dark eyes slid over and landed directly on Avery's face.

The eye contact lasted for exactly half a second.

There was no anger. No pain. Just a chilling, absolute emptiness.

The doors clamped shut.

Avery's rigid shoulders instantly collapsed. She let out a shaky, ragged breath that she had been holding in her burning lungs.

Quinn flicked the gold business card with her fingernail, her eyes shining. "Well, this trip wasn't a total waste. I actually got Cyrus Finch's direct line."

Avery turned her head slowly. She looked Quinn in the eyes, her voice dead serious.

"He really is my ex-boyfriend."

Quinn's smile vanished. She looked Avery up and down.

Quinn reached out and pressed the back of her hand against Avery's forehead. "The internet hate has finally cracked your brain. You're having delusions."

Avery slapped Quinn's hand away in frustration. "I'm not crazy. Seven years ago, in New York-"

"Stop," Quinn interrupted harshly. "Did you see the way he just looked at you? He looked at you like you were a piece of trash on the sidewalk."

Quinn shoved the business card into her pocket. "Do not make up insane lies to get attention right now, Avery. It will backfire."

Avery opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She realized with a sickening drop in her stomach that she had absolutely zero proof. Every photo, every text, every trace of him had been deleted seven years ago.

The standard elevator arrived with a chime.

Quinn pushed Avery inside. "Stop daydreaming. We have a war to fight upstairs."