The Ice Queen's Secret Superstar Husband

The heavy metal door of the luxury RV slammed shut, cutting off the blinding California sun and the chaotic screaming of the film set.

Katy Riddle let out a ragged breath. She dropped her weight onto the white leather sofa. Her muscles ached.

She reached up and ripped the heavy hair extensions from her scalp. She threw the fake hair onto the glass coffee table. Her scalp burned from the pulling, but the physical pain was a relief.

The RV door clicked open. Paige, her new assistant, walked in. She was hugging a massive stack of scheduling folders to her chest.

Paige's high heel caught the edge of the thick wool rug. Her body pitched forward.

She let out a sharp gasp. The folders slipped from her grip. White papers exploded across the RV, fluttering down like snow.

Katy's jaw tightened. She stared at the mess, her eyes turning cold. The silence in the small space felt heavy.

"I am so, so sorry, Miss Riddle," Paige stuttered.

She dropped to her knees. Sweat beaded on her forehead as her hands scrambled over the rug, grabbing at the scattered papers.

In her blind panic, Paige's elbow swung out. It slammed hard into the side of Katy's limited-edition Birkin bag resting on the edge of the coffee table.

The bag tipped over. It hit the floor with a heavy thud. The metal clasp popped open.

The contents spilled out across the rug.

A small, worn leather notebook tumbled out. It hit the floor and splayed open. Tucked securely into the back pocket of the binding, a glossy, high-definition polaroid slipped halfway out. It was a candid, close-up shot of Oscar-winning actor Arther Knowles, his intense eyes staring straight into the camera, a picture she had carried for years.

Paige's hand froze mid-air. Her eyes locked onto the polaroid. Her mouth fell open. She sucked in a sharp breath. The image completely destroyed the ice-cold, untouchable persona Katy maintained.

Katy followed Paige's gaze.

Her stomach dropped to the floor. Her heart slammed against her ribs, missing a beat. Hot blood rushed up her neck and burned her cheeks.

She moved faster than her exhausted body should have allowed. She launched herself off the sofa, diving toward the rug like a predator protecting a kill.

Katy grabbed the book. Her fingers dug into the edge of Arther's printed face. She shoved the polaroid deep into the pages and slammed the cover shut, desperate to erase it from Paige's sight.

Paige slowly looked up. Her eyes were wide with pure shock and confusion. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

Katy sucked in a harsh breath. She forced her facial muscles to freeze. She built the ice-cold mask back over her features and stared down at the trembling assistant.

She shoved the leather book deep into the Birkin bag. She ripped the zipper shut. Her movements were sharp and violent, pretending the last ten seconds never happened.

Katy stood up. She walked over to the mini-bar, grabbed a bottle of ice water, and downed half of it. The freezing liquid did nothing to slow her racing heart.

She turned around. She looked at Paige, who was still kneeling on the floor.

"Cancel all my afternoon calls and interviews," Katy ordered. Her voice was flat, devoid of any emotion.

Paige swallowed hard. "But... the afternoon interview is an exclusive with Vogue. The breach of contract fee is seven figures."

Katy didn't blink. She reached back into her bag and pulled out a checkbook. She grabbed a pen, scribbled a string of zeros, ripped the check out, and slapped it against Paige's chest.

"Fix it," Katy said.

Paige looked down at the astronomical number written on the paper. She swallowed the lump in her throat, nodded quickly, and kept her mouth shut.

Katy gave a single, tight nod. She turned and walked into the private back room of the RV. She slammed the door shut, locking it.

The moment the lock clicked, Katy's knees gave out.

She slid down the wooden door and hit the floor. She pressed her hand hard against her chest. She couldn't breathe. The panic clawed at her throat.

She crawled over to the full-length mirror. She stared at her flawless makeup. She let out a dry, mocking laugh.

Katy stood up and stripped off the expensive couture dress. She pulled on a cheap, oversized black tracksuit. She grabbed a black baseball cap and pulled the brim down low over her eyes.

She walked over to the built-in dresser. She reached into the very back of the bottom drawer and pulled out a burner phone.

She powered it on. Her thumb moved purely on muscle memory, logging into the X app under the handle 'Chi-Chi'.

Her screen instantly flooded with notifications about Arther Knowles's VIP fan meet happening tonight. The panic in her chest vanished. A hot, obsessive energy replaced it.

She unlocked the door and shoved it open. She ignored Paige, who was still standing in the main area holding the check.

Katy grabbed the handle of the main RV door and threw it open.

"Drive," Katy yelled to the driver up front. "Staples Center. Downtown LA. Now."

The heavy engine roared to life. The RV slowly rolled out of the studio lot. Katy sat in the dark shadows of the back seat. She shoved her hand into her bag and gripped the worn leather book. Her knuckles turned white.

The RV idled in the dark alleyway behind the Staples Center.

Katy pushed the door open. Her sneakers hit the wet asphalt. She pulled her black face mask up higher over her nose and walked into the shadows of the fire lane, searching for the hidden VIP entrance.

She pressed her shoulder against the damp brick wall. She moved slowly, hiding from the massive crowd of screaming fans gathered on the main street.

Her personal phone vibrated violently in her pocket. The sharp, obnoxious ringtone echoed off the brick walls.

Katy flinched. Her heart leaped into her throat. She dug her hand into her pocket and yanked the phone out, desperate to silence it.

The screen glowed in the dark. The name 'Rex Vance' flashed across the glass.

Katy's jaw clenched. A wave of pure disgust rolled through her stomach.

She wanted to hit decline. But Rex was a loose cannon. If she ignored him, he would run to the tabloids and make up a story. She pressed her thumb against her index finger, digging the nail into her skin, and answered the call.

"What do you want, Rex?" she snapped.

"Someone sounds grumpy," Rex's arrogant, mocking voice poured through the speaker.

He didn't waste time. He immediately brought up the box office numbers for her latest indie film. He laughed, the sound dripping with malicious joy over her failure.

Katy let out a cold laugh. She didn't hesitate. She brought up the photos leaked last month of him stumbling out of a nightclub with two different women.

The line went dead silent. Katy could hear his heavy, angry breathing. She had hit the nerve.

Rex cleared his throat. His voice dropped lower, taking on a smug, secretive tone.

"I just got my VIP pass for the Hollywood Gala tomorrow night," Rex bragged.

Katy rolled her eyes in the dark. "Congratulations. You finally begged your way into a room full of people who hate you. I'm hanging up."

"Arther Knowles is the surprise guest," Rex said quickly.

Katy stopped breathing.

The brick wall against her back suddenly felt freezing cold. Her brain completely flatlined. The insult she had ready died on her tongue.

Her hand gripped the phone so hard her knuckles ached. Her lungs refused to expand.

"Hello? Katy?" Rex laughed. "Are you jealous you won't be in the same room as the Best Actor?"

Katy snapped back to reality. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. The sharp pain grounded her. She forced her vocal cords to relax.

"I don't care about fake social events," Katy said. Her voice was perfectly flat. "And I certainly don't care who attends them."

She pulled the phone away from her ear and hit the red button. She shoved the phone deep into her pocket.

She looked left. She looked right. The alley was empty.

Katy's knees buckled. She slid down the wet brick wall and crouched on the dirty ground.

She pressed both hands over her mouth. Her shoulders shook violently. She screamed into her palms, the sound completely muffled by her hands.

Arther was going to the Gala. She could see her husband. In public. Tomorrow night.

Katy shot up from the ground. The fear in her posture vanished. Her spine straightened.

She pulled out her work phone. She dialed her agent, Julian Croft.

He picked up on the second ring.

"Get me a ticket to the Gala tomorrow night," Katy ordered.

"What?" Julian sounded completely lost. "Katy, you explicitly told me yesterday to reject the invitation. You said you hated the organizers."

"I changed my mind," Katy lied smoothly. "I just heard Anna from Vogue is going to be there, and she's actively scouting for the September issue cover. I am not letting Isabella snatch that spot. Get me a seat at the front."

Julian sighed heavily into the phone. "Fine. I'll call them. But you owe me."

Katy hung up. She took a deep breath of the damp alley air. She adjusted the brim of her hat.

She walked out of the shadows and merged into the massive sea of screaming fans, heading straight for the ticket gates.

The flashbulbs blinded her.

Katy stepped out of the black limousine. She walked down the red carpet, her silver sequined backless gown catching every light. She followed the usher through the gold-trimmed hallway and stepped into the massive Gala ballroom.

She found her seat at the VIP table in the very front row.

The crystal chandelier above her cast a bright, unforgiving light. Katy picked up a flute of champagne. She plastered a flawless, commercial smile on her face for the cameras tracking her every move.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rex sitting at the next table. He raised his glass to her, a nasty smirk on his face. Katy stared right through him, turning her head away.

The ballroom lights suddenly cut out. The loud chatter died instantly.

The giant LED screen on the stage lit up. A fast-paced, aggressive video montage played.

The host walked out to the center microphone. He dragged out the introduction, his voice booming through the speakers, announcing the mystery guest.

Katy's fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne glass. Her manicured nails dug into the fragile glass. Her chest rose and fell rapidly.

A sharp, ice-blue spotlight hit the center of the stage. Thick white smoke rolled out from the floorboards.

The hydraulic lift slowly rose. Arther Knowles stood in the center of the smoke. He wore a custom-tailored black suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly.

The entire room erupted. Applause thundered through the ballroom. A-list actresses at the tables behind Katy stood up, clapping wildly.

Katy felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. All the air left her lungs. Arther looked untouchable. Cold. Perfect. Her brain completely short-circuited.

Arther walked up to the microphone. "Good evening," he said.

His deep, raspy voice vibrated through the massive speakers. A physical shiver ran down Katy's spine.

The corners of her mouth twitched. Her facial muscles fought against her control. She wanted to smile. She wanted to scream like the fans outside.

She bit down on the tip of her tongue. Hard. The metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth. The pain forced the smile down.

Katy lifted the champagne glass and took a slow sip. The freezing liquid hit her stomach, cooling the heat rushing through her veins.

Isabella, sitting diagonally behind her, leaned forward.

"His tailor needs to be fired," Isabella whispered loudly. "That lapel is tragic."

Katy turned her head slowly. Her eyes were dead.

"Your stylist put you in a dress from two seasons ago, Isabella," Katy said, her voice dripping with ice. "I don't think you should be talking about tragedy."

Isabella's face turned bright red. She snapped her mouth shut and sat back in her chair.

On stage, Arther began a short monologue. His dark eyes scanned the VIP tables.

His gaze swept toward Katy's section.

Panic seized her chest. Katy immediately dropped her head. She reached down and pretended to smooth out an invisible wrinkle on her silver dress.

As she looked down, she noticed a red light blinking in the shadows to her right. A paparazzi camera lens was pointed directly at her face.

Cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck. Katy forced her spine straight. She locked her jaw and stared at the stage with the bored, critical expression of a rival actor.

Arther finished his speech. He bowed his head slightly. The room exploded into applause again.

Katy clapped her hands together. Her movements were small, stiff, and completely devoid of emotion.

Arther turned around and walked off the stage, disappearing behind the heavy velvet curtains.

Katy let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

Her silver dress felt heavy and suffocating against her damp skin. She set the full glass of champagne down on the table.

She stood up. She nodded politely to the director sitting next to her.

She grabbed the heavy fabric of her skirt and walked toward the side exit of the ballroom. She needed to get to the backstage dressing rooms.

Her steps looked elegant, but she was walking dangerously fast. She needed to escape the cameras. She needed to breathe.

She pushed through the heavy double doors. They clicked shut behind her, cutting off the noise of the ballroom. Katy leaned against the wall and exhaled a long, shaky breath.