Chapter 3

Three days later.

Karen pulled the collar of her cheap black trench coat tighter around her neck. She walked down the marble hallway of an exclusive private club in Beverly Hills.

She had just finished a brief meeting with an independent film producer. She needed a job. She needed to survive.

She turned the corner toward the restrooms.

A woman in a pristine white Chanel haute couture suit blocked her path.

Ayla Conley.

Ayla turned around. The delicate, fragile smile on her face vanished the second she saw Karen. She handed her Birkin bag to her assistant, S. Page, and waved her away.

They were alone in the hallway. Ayla's eyes turned venomous.

She stepped forward, her red-soled heels clicking against the marble. She looked Karen up and down, taking in the cheap coat. She let out a sharp scoff.

"Look at you," Ayla whispered, her voice dripping with malice. "Just a cheap warming pan, thrown out with the trash."

Karen clenched her fists inside her pockets. "Keep your man on a tighter leash, Ayla. And stay out of my way."

Ayla's eyes gleamed. "Oh, Israel tells me everything. He even told me about that ugly tree in the backyard."

Karen's stomach twisted.

Ayla covered her mouth and giggled. "He said he shredded it just to make me smile. To clear out the garbage."

The string holding Karen's sanity together snapped.

She stepped forward, her eyes burning red. "Shut your mouth. Don't you ever talk about that tree."

Ayla's gaze suddenly shifted. She looked past Karen, staring at the reflection in the glass doors at the end of the hall.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure was approaching.

Ayla's lips curled into a wicked smirk. Suddenly, she threw herself backward.

Karen instinctively raised her hand to brace herself, her fingers miles away from touching Ayla's clothes.

Ayla let out a blood-curdling scream. She collapsed onto the marble floor.

The heavy oak doors burst open. Israel stormed into the hallway, the air temperature dropping the second he appeared.

Ayla lay on the floor, clutching her chest. She gasped for air, her face twisting in fake agony.

Israel's eyes widened in panic. He sprinted forward and dropped to his knees, pulling Ayla's fragile body into his arms.

"She pushed me," Ayla sobbed weakly, burying her face in his chest. "Israel, my heart..."

Israel snapped his head up. The look he gave Karen was pure, unfiltered hatred.

"I didn't touch her," Karen said, shaking her head and taking a step back.

Israel didn't listen. He didn't care. To protect the woman dying in his arms, he shot his arm out and shoved Karen out of the way.

The force of his push was brutal. Karen lost her footing.

She tumbled backward, falling down the three marble steps at the end of the corridor.

Her knee slammed into the sharp edge of the stone. A sharp, tearing pain shot violently through her ankle, radiating a burning agony all the way up her calf. Her elbow scraped raw against the floor.

She curled into a ball at the bottom of the stairs, gasping through the blinding pain.

Israel stood at the top of the steps, looking down at her like she was an insect.

"If anything happens to her heart," Israel snarled, "I will bankrupt your entire family."

He tightened his grip on Ayla. "I will have my legal team blacklist you from every studio in Hollywood. You will pay for this jealousy."

He scooped Ayla up into his arms and walked away, leaving Karen shivering on the freezing marble floor.