Chapter 3

Kayla changed into a simple pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. She signed her discharge papers and walked out the automatic doors of the hospital.

The harsh Los Angeles sun hit her face. She narrowed her eyes against the glare.

She took a deep breath. The hot exhaust fumes filled her lungs. She was really alive.

A black company van sat idling by the curb. The driver laid on the horn, two sharp, impatient blasts.

Kayla's face remained entirely blank. She walked to the van, pulled open the heavy sliding door, and climbed into the back seat.

She didn't look at the driver.

Effa Nichols sat in the passenger seat, barking into her phone.

"Yes, she's a trainwreck, but she brings the hate-watchers," Effa sneered, not bothering to lower her voice.

Kayla pulled a pair of wireless earbuds from her pocket and shoved them into her ears. She didn't turn on any music.

She pulled out her phone and typed Guillermo's name into the search bar.

The screen populated with hundreds of articles. Guillermo Sims: Hollywood's Most Devoted Fiancé.

A physical wave of heat crawled up Kayla's neck. Her teeth ground together so hard her jaw ached.

The van merged onto the Pacific Coast Highway. Effa ended her call and twisted around in her seat.

"Listen to me," Effa warned, pointing a manicured finger at Kayla. "Don't do anything stupid on this show. Just sit there and look pretty."

Kayla slowly pulled one earbud out. She met Effa's eyes.

"Make sure my appearance fee actually hits my account this time, Effa," Kayla said. Her voice was terrifyingly calm. "I read the ledger on the phone you just gave me. I know about the twenty percent you've been skimming off the top."

Effa's face drained of color. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Kayla put the earbud back in and looked out the window.

The van fell into a suffocating silence.

An hour later, the vehicle pulled up to a massive, modern glass villa sitting right on the sands of Malibu beach.

Kayla pushed the door open. The salty ocean breeze whipped her hair across her face.

Crew members rushed around the driveway, carrying cables and light stands.

Kayla pulled her small suitcase from the trunk. A production assistant with a clipboard walked right past her, rushing to greet a male model stepping out of an Uber.

Kayla didn't react. She stood still, her eyes scanning the perimeter.

She spotted three hidden cameras tucked into the palm trees and the eaves of the roof.

Two lighting technicians stood near the garage, whispering and pointing at her.

"That's the internet joke," one muttered.

Kayla's lips twitched into a cold half-smile.

An assistant finally walked over and shoved a laminated schedule into her hand without making eye contact.

Kayla looked at the paper. She memorized the timestamps and locations in five seconds.

A loud engine roar shattered the background noise. A neon-green sports car slammed on its brakes at the edge of the red carpet.

Bria, a trending pop singer, stepped out. She wore oversized sunglasses and a dress that barely covered her thighs.

Photographers swarmed her instantly.

Bria walked up the path. As she passed Kayla, she deliberately dropped her shoulder and slammed it into Kayla's collarbone.

Bria let out a loud, mocking scoff.

Kayla's feet stayed planted. She didn't stumble.

She calmly raised her hand and brushed her shoulder, exactly where Bria had touched her, as if wiping away dirt.

Behind a monitor in the production tent, the director's eyes widened. He tapped the screen.

A crew member waved the guests inside.

Kayla gripped the handle of her suitcase and walked through the massive double doors.

The living room was blindingly bright. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling.

Two male guests, Jax and Rhys, sat on the plush velvet sofas. They looked up when Kayla entered.

They gave her a tight, dismissive nod.

Kayla nodded back. She didn't smile. She didn't try to start a conversation.

She walked to a single armchair in the darkest corner of the room and sat down.

Jax exchanged a confused look with Rhys. This wasn't the desperate, attention-seeking girl they had read about.

The speakers in the ceiling crackled.

Don, the veteran host, spoke through the intercom. "Welcome to the house. Cameras are rolling."

Kayla lifted her chin. She stared directly into the lens of the camera mounted across the room.

Her eyes were dark and predatory.