Chapter 1
Scarlett Vance
“Tell me I’m not being punked.”
I was mid-eyeliner, halfway to achieving “smoky seduction,” when Dani’s voice crackled through my AirPods with enough static to make my spine itch.
“You got the role,” she said, like she wasn’t detonating my whole life. ”Venom & Velvet. Lead role. It’s official.”
My eyeliner flicked up like it sensed drama. I stared at myself in the mirror: glamorous, glowing, halfway to greatness. Then she dropped it.
“One tiny catch.”
There’s always a catch in Hollywood. Sometimes it’s budget cuts. Sometimes it’s a nude scene. And sometimes—
“It’s Knox,” she said. “Knox Wilder.”
I blinked. Just once. My soul, however, left the building with a dramatic hair flip and filed a restraining order against fate.
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not. It’s him. You and Knox. Lovers, enemies, whatever- it’s happening. The studio is fast-tracking the announcement. The official press conference is at the W Hotel in two hours, Scarlett. I’m already en route to your set with wardrobe.”
I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. If I so much as flinched, everyone in the studio would smell blood in the water. And Scarlett Vance did not bleed on camera.
“You okay, babe?” the makeup artist asked, gently dabbing highlighter on my cheekbones.
“Mmm-hmm.” I smiled sweetly. “Just had a tiny stroke.”
In the background, the director was yelling something about “intoxicating allure” and how I should look like I just got kissed by sin itself. Which, ironically, is exactly how I’d describe Knox Wilder—if sin had an ego problem and a six-pack.
“Scarlett,” Dani said in my ear, “this is the kind of career moment people kill for. You said you’d do anything for this role.”
“‘Anything’ didn’t include faking chemistry with the man I’d gladly throw into traffic.”
She sighed. “Then fake it. Till you fall. Or win an Oscar. Same thing.”
I hung up before I could say something unprofessional. Like I’d rather get hit by a boom mic. Or I hate him so much it makes my teeth itch.
Once wardrobe handed me the final look for the campaign shoot, I stepped onto the mark. The director leaned over. “Alright, darling. Final take. You’re in love. You’re conflicted. You’re obsessed. Action!”
I turned to the camera, forced my lips into a smile, and said softly:
“Obsession. It’s not love... until it ruins you.”
The set went quiet.
“Cut! Brilliant! You’re magic, Scarlett!”
Magic. Right.
Ten minutes later, I was tearing off my wardrobe robe in the dressing room, trading it for the fitted cream suit Dani had brought with her. It made me look expensive and emotionally unavailable.
Dani stood by the mirror, brushing imaginary lint off my blazer. “Don’t say you hate him.”
I glared at her reflection. “I do hate him.”
“Great. Then say it with your eyes, not your mouth,” she snapped. “Because if you so much as twitch the wrong way, TMZ will run with ‘Scarlett Vance Snubs Co-Star in Brutal Press Conference Meltdown.’ Which would trend. But still, not ideal.”
I reached for my lip gloss. “Except I’ll be touching Knox.”
“Only when cameras are watching. Otherwise, pretend he’s a mildly handsome mannequin.” Dani grinned like a proud evil genius. “Now that’s a woman about to fake a fairytale. Marcus is outside. Let’s go.”
I walked off set like I wasn’t seconds away from committing a felony. Head high, heels sharp enough to stab someone—preferably a certain co-star-to-be.
The assistant handed me my sunglasses, and I slipped them on like armor. The second the studio doors opened, I was greeted by a wave of camera flashes so aggressive it felt like a personal attack.
“Scarlett! Scarlett! Over here!”
I smiled like I was paid to—because I was. Radiant. Warm. Unbothered.
“Hi, lovelies,” I called out, blowing a kiss toward the crowd. One fan shoved a pen into my hand, eyes wide like I’d just descended from heaven in a La Mer cloud. I signed a neon pink phone case, giving them what they wanted. Always did.
Our lead bodyguard, Marcus, swooped in beside me. “Car’s ready,” he murmured, shielding me as a paparazzi shouted, “Who’s your next co-star, Scarlett? Can we expect chemistry like the Theo shoot?”
I stopped. Briefly. A blink too long. A smile a touch too tight.
I laughed—light, airy, award-winning. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
And then I got into the back of the SUV before I committed to telling the truth: That my next co-star was Knox freaking Wilder, and the only chemistry we had was the kind you needed a hazmat suit for.
Marcus shut the door, the tinted windows instantly drowning out the noise as we pulled away into traffic. Dani was already scrolling through social media beside me, holding out her phone.
“They’ve already posted the teaser,” she said.
Onscreen: a sleek black poster with silver script.
VENOM & VELVET Starring Scarlett Vance & Knox Wilder. Passion is a poison.
I stared at it. It stared back. Somewhere in Hollywood, my dignity was sobbing into a martini.
“You know he’s already at the W Hotel, right?” Dani added, sipping a green juice I had zero intention of sharing. “Looking annoyingly unbothered.”
Because of course he was. Knox Wilder could be standing in the middle of a firestorm and still look like he just got back from a silent retreat in Maui.
“Don’t punch him,” Dani added casually as Marcus pulled up to the hotel valet.
“I’m wearing rings.”
“I know. I picked them. Smile like he’s your favorite human. Lie like it’s your religion.”
“And if he tries anything?”
“Smile harder. And picture him bald.”
Marcus opened the door, and I stepped out into a sea of blinding flashbulbs.
Showtime.
The press room was buzzing. Chairs filled with media, PR reps circling like over-caffeinated hawks, and stage lights hot enough to melt the truth right off your face.
And there he was.
Knox Wilder, in a charcoal suit tailored within an inch of its life, legs casually crossed, arm draped along the back of the chair like he owned the moment—or maybe the building. His hair was slightly longer than I remembered, slicked back like sin dressed up for a premiere. And his face? Still obnoxiously symmetrical.
He looked up right as I walked in. His mouth curved into a slow, smug, camera-ready smile.
I knew that smile. That was the “I know something you don’t” smile. That was the smile that once cost me everything.
But today? I smiled back. Bigger. Brighter. With enough teeth to suggest I might bite him if we weren’t on camera.
One of the studio handlers clapped once. “Scarlett, Knox—could you come together for a quick photo-op before the Q&A begins?”
Of course.
I walked toward him, heels silent but lethal. He stood, hands in his pockets, waiting with all the warmth of a marble statue. And then—because Hollywood is a lawless place where dignity goes to die—he opened his arms for a hug.
I hesitated for half a second, then stepped into it like it didn’t cost me a piece of my soul. His hand touched the small of my back. His lips brushed my cheek.
Click-click-click-click. Flashbulbs exploded.
“You smell expensive,” he muttered, his voice like velvet and menace.
“You smell like regret,” I whispered back sweetly.
We pulled apart, still smiling murderously.
We took our seats at the long table beside the director and the producers. Microphones glared up at us like little judgmental robots. Bottled water. Cue cards. Lies.
The moderator introduced us, gave a few grand speeches about the “electric casting,” and then opened the floor to the press.
A journalist from Variety leaned forward. “So, Scarlett, Knox—how did you two first meet?”
My fingers twitched beneath the table. Knox answered before I could.
“We went to college together,” he said, all polite charm and perfect posture. “Drama program at Langston University. Small world.”
I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. Because suddenly, I wasn’t sitting at a high-stakes press conference anymore.
I was nineteen. Nervous. Hopeful. Standing barefoot on a scuffed black box stage, waiting for my turn at an open audition.
And then he walked in.
[FLASHBACK]
“Who’s that?”
I had whispered it to the girl beside me. She didn’t answer—too busy staring.
He walked like he didn’t care what people thought of him. Like he’d already decided he was better than all of us. Tall, dark curls, combat boots, a leather jacket over a threadbare hoodie. A script in one hand, coffee in the other. He looked like he hadn’t slept in two days and somehow made it fashionable.
Knox Wilder. First-year transfer. Already whispered about. Already infuriating.
I didn’t like him. I liked people who waited their turn. Who earned things. He skipped the line that day, smiled at the director like he was doing them a favor, and got the lead in Death of a Salesman because of course he did.
And then he leaned against the doorframe after callbacks, looked right at me, and said:
“You’ve got a good voice. Too bad it trembles when you look at me.”
I’d never spoken to him before. I never forgot him after.
[END OF FLASHBACK]
“Scarlett?” the moderator prompted gently.
I blinked, snapping back to the present. “Sorry—jet lag.”
Knox turned his head slightly, eyes glinting like he knew exactly where I’d gone.
“College,” I said quickly to the reporter. “We were classmates. It’s been a while.”
Lies. It hadn’t been that long.
Not since the kiss. Not since the betrayal.
But that? That’s another story. And I wasn’t about to give it away... not yet.
