I turned so quickly that champagne climbed the sides of my glass.
The man behind me wore a navy tuxedo, a diamond watch, and the kind of smirk only found on men who had never been punched hard enough.
I recognized him after half a second.
Sebastian Vale.
Producer. Investor. Professional piece of shit.
He had financed several award-winning films and spent the last decade pretending that gave him permission to touch anything with a pulse.
Rumors followed him everywhere, but rumors were harmless in Hollywood when the man attached to them had enough money.
He looked me up and down without even attempting to hide it.
"Sorry," he said, still smirking. "My hand didn't touch it on purpose."
I stared at him.
His hand had somehow crossed an entire ballroom, navigated through a crowd, passed my waist, and landed directly on my ass by accident.
A remarkable journey.
Nina appeared at my side, her expression changing the moment she saw my face.
"Riley?"
Sebastian lifted his glass toward her. "We were just saying hello."
"No," I replied. "You were grabbing my ass."
The people nearest to us became suddenly fascinated by their drinks.
That was another thing Hollywood did beautifully. Everyone saw everything, but nobody wanted to witness anything.
Sebastian chuckled as if I had made a joke.
"Don't be dramatic."
I felt the anger rise slowly.
Not hot. Not wild.
Cold.
Heavy.
I had spent years smiling through uncomfortable interviews, wandering hands during photographs, comments about my body disguised as compliments, and men twice my age explaining that actresses needed to be "open-minded" if they wanted serious roles.
I had laughed when I wanted to scream.
I had moved away when I wanted to break fingers.
I had been agreeable because agreeable women kept working.
Not tonight.
"Did you just tell me not to be dramatic after grabbing me?"
"I said it was an accident."
"Your hand accidentally grabbed and squeezed?"
His smile tightened.
"I think you've had too much to drink."
I looked down at the champagne in my hand.
I had taken only one sip.
Nina touched my elbow. It was probably meant to calm me, but it felt more like a silent reminder.
This man had influence.
This room had cameras.
One bad reaction could become a headline before dessert.
Riley Carter Causes Scene at Prestigious Premiere.
They would not mention what he had done.
They would mention my dress, my alcohol consumption, my history, and whether I had recently suffered a breakdown.
Hollywood loved an angry woman as long as it could call her unstable.
Sebastian leaned closer.
His cologne invaded my lungs. Something woody and expensive, probably designed to make women forget he was human garbage wearing cuff links.
"Let's not make this embarrassing," he murmured.
"For whom?"
His gaze hardened.
"There are a lot of important people here."
"And yet I'm stuck talking to you."
Nina made a tiny choking sound beside me.
Sebastian's cheeks darkened.
"That mouth is going to get you in trouble one day."
"My mouth isn't the problem. Your fucking hand is."
Several heads turned.
Sebastian glanced around, finally noticing the attention. For the first time, his confidence slipped. Not because he felt guilty. Men like him rarely did.
He was worried about being seen.
He gave a low laugh and raised his hands.
"All right. Fine. I apologize."
"That didn't sound like an apology."
"What do you want me to do? Get on my knees?"
The thought of him kneeling almost improved my mood.
"I want you to admit you touched me deliberately."
His smile disappeared.
"You're seriously going to accuse me of sexual harassment in the middle of a party?"
"I don't need to accuse you. You did it."
"Careful, Riley."
The way he said my name made my skin crawl.
Just Riley, as if he knew me. As if my face appearing on billboards meant I belonged to everyone who recognized it.
"You should be careful," I said. "There are witnesses."
He looked toward the crowd.
Most people immediately turned away.
Cowards.
Sebastian's smirk returned.
"What witnesses?"
That sentence told me everything.
He knew nobody would speak.
He knew money could erase almost anything.
Something inside me snapped.
I decided I was done.
I lifted my glass and poured the champagne directly over his head.
The entire room inhaled.
Golden liquid streamed through his carefully styled hair, down his forehead, and over the collar of his designer tuxedo. A drop hung from the end of his nose.
For one full second, nobody moved.
Sebastian stood frozen.
I tilted the empty glass.
"Oops," I said. "My hand didn't do it on purpose."
Nina stared at me.
I stared back.
Her expression said, We are absolutely fucked.
Mine probably replied, Worth it.
A laugh escaped from somewhere behind us. It was quickly smothered, but Sebastian heard it.
His face turned crimson.
"You stupid bitch."
"There it is," I said. "I was wondering when your personality would arrive."
He wiped champagne from his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Do you have any idea who I am?"
"Yes. That's why I'm surprised you can't afford basic manners."
"You think this is funny?"
"A little."
"You just made the biggest mistake of your career."
The words struck exactly where he intended them to.
My stomach tightened.
For years, that threat had kept women silent.
Career.
The magical word.
The chain wrapped in velvet.
Men could touch you, insult you, corner you, and threaten you, but if you reacted, you were difficult. Unprofessional. A liability.
Maybe my career was already eating me alive.
At least this time, I would choose the poison.
"You're dripping on the floor," I told him.
Sebastian took one step toward me.
Nina moved between us, but I caught her arm and gently pulled her back.
I didn't need protection from this bastard.
At least, that was what I told myself.
His eyes swept across my face with open hatred.
"You spoiled little cunt."
My body went rigid.
Several people gasped, yet nobody intervened.
A famous director near us stared into his glass as if it contained the secrets of the universe. An actress I had known for years looked away.
So much for industry friendships.
"You grab me, lie about it, and then insult me because I embarrassed you," I said. "That's pathetic even by Hollywood standards."
"You have no idea what I can do to you."
"You're right. Maybe you can make another mediocre film and force everyone to call it visionary."
His hand curled into a fist.
Nina whispered my name.
I knew I should stop.
I knew I should step back, find security, call my lawyer, and do everything the correct way.
But the correct way was a maze designed by people like him.
Sebastian moved closer until only a few inches remained between us.
"I can make sure no studio in this city hires you again."
"Then I'll work somewhere else."
"I can bury you."
"People have tried."
"I'll make sure everyone knows exactly what kind of woman you are."
A bitter laugh escaped me.
"And what kind is that?"
"An attention-seeking whore who gets drunk, throws herself at men, and cries assault when they reject her."
The cruelty of it stole my breath.
Not because I believed him.
Because I knew other people would.
All he needed was one tabloid, one edited photograph, one anonymous source claiming I had flirted with him first.
Truth was fragile here.
Money wasn't.
"You disgusting bastard," I whispered.
His gaze flicked around the room again. He was cornered now, humiliated before the very people whose admiration he collected like trophies.
His hand rose.
For half a second, my mind refused to understand what was happening.
Then I saw his palm coming toward my face.
I didn't have time to move.
A hand shot between us and caught his wrist.
The slap never landed.
Sebastian made a startled sound.
The room fell into a silence so complete that I could hear the soft clink of ice settling inside someone's glass.
My gaze followed the black sleeve covering the arm that had stopped him.
A perfectly tailored suit.
A silver watch.
Dark tattoos disappearing beneath a crisp cuff.
Long black hair fell over one shoulder as the woman stepped between us.
Sebastian's face lost all its color.
I looked up into blue eyes colder than ice.
Elena fucking Harper had stopped him.