The Superstar's Obsession: My Unwanted Husband

The premiere ended. The black Lincoln drove away from the theater, the inside of the car heavy with tension.

Bridie sank deep into the leather seat. She held her phone with both hands, her thumbs flying across the screen at lightning speed.

She was logged into her main verified Twitter account, fighting Jory and Alaina's fans in the replies.

A hater tweeted: You're just a jealous psycho.

Bridie replied instantly: Jealous of what? She looks like an unpeeled flamingo.

Another comment popped up: Your acting is garbage.

Bridie typed: My bad acting is still better than your idol's botox-filled zombie face.

Her blood was pumping. She opened her profile and changed her bio to: Forever young, forever speaking harshly.

Harriet sat next to her, watching the trending numbers climb higher. Harriet's face was red with high blood pressure.

Harriet lunged across the seat. She snatched the phone right out of Bridie's hands.

"Hey!" Bridie yelled, reaching for it. "I wasn't done destroying the one named 'Jory's Abs'!"

Harriet shoved the phone deep into her designer purse and snapped it shut. "You are banned from the internet for the rest of the night. If you post one more thing, I am tearing up your contract."

Bridie groaned. She slumped back against the window, running her hands through her styled hair in frustration.

Harriet sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Fine. I'll buy you dinner. Whatever you want. Just calm down."

Bridie's eyes instantly lit up. "K-Town. The most expensive Wagyu hotpot place."

The car made a sharp U-turn. Thirty minutes later, they pulled into the dark back alley of an exclusive restaurant in Koreatown.

Wearing black baseball caps and masks, they followed the waiter into a private, soundproof room.

A pot of boiling, spicy red broth was set on the table.

Bridie stared at the plates of perfectly marbled A5 Wagyu beef. Knowing she didn't have to pay for it made the knot in her chest loosen.

"Two bottles of Jinro soju!" Bridie yelled to the waiter.

"Bridie, no," Harriet warned.

But the waiter already placed the green bottles on the table. Bridie cracked one open and poured a full glass.

She tossed the alcohol back. The burn hit her throat, warming her stomach.

Her cheeks flushed a deep pink. Her eyes grew cloudy and unfocused.

She shoved a piece of meat into her mouth and started slurring her words. "My dad is a capitalist dictator," she mumbled, slamming her glass on the table. "He threatened to cut off my black card if I step out of line! I'm walking on thin ice with zero freedom!"

Harriet sighed, picking up the tongs to cook more meat for her. Harriet just listened as Bridie complained.

Two hours later, Bridie was completely wasted. She laid her head on the sticky table, giggling to herself and muttering about making millions of dollars.

Harriet paid the massive bill. She grabbed Bridie by the arm and hauled her heavy, limp body up.

The driver helped shove Bridie into the backseat of the Lincoln.

The car drove smoothly to the edge of Beverly Hills, pulling into the underground garage of Bridie's apartment building.

Harriet dragged Bridie out of the car and pushed her into the private elevator that went straight to the penthouse.

"Go straight to bed," Harriet ordered, stepping back as the doors closed.

The elevator shot upward. Bridie leaned heavily against the metal wall, her eyes half-closed, watching the floor numbers blur together.

With a soft ding, the doors opened directly into her penthouse.

Bridie stumbled forward, her legs wobbling as she stepped out of the elevator.