Chapter 1
“Tell me I’m not being punked.”
I was mid-eyeliner, halfway to achieving “smoky seduction,” when Dani’s voice crackled through my Air Pods 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.”
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 I finished my makeup and got dressed, I was ready.
The director leaned over. “Alright, darling. Let’s run the line. You’re in love. You’re conflicted. You’re obsessed.”
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.
Then: “Cut! Brilliant! You’re magic, Scarlett!”
Magic. Right.
I pulled off my robe, handed it to wardrobe, got into my jeans and T-shirts and kept my face as neutral as possible.
Inside, I was screaming.
Outside, I was ready to become the leading lady in the world’s most toxic love story—opposite the man who once told me I’d only ever be good for shampoo commercials.
Knox Wilder.
My co-star.
My nightmare.
My next on-screen lover.
This industry is hell.
I walked off set like I wasn’t seconds away from committing a felony. Head high, robe gone, 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 doors opened, I was greeted by a wave of camera flashes so aggressive it felt like a personal attack.
“Scarlett! Scarlett! Over here!” “Who’s the ad for? Is it Obsession or Redemption?” “Is it true you turned down the indie film to do this?” “Scarlett, is that a Cartier anklet?”
I smiled like I was paid to—because I was.
Radiant. Warm. Unbothered.
“Hi, lovelies,” I called out, blowing a kiss toward the crowd. I signed two headshots, a bottle of perfume, and someone’s neon pink phone case. One fan shoved a pen into my hand, eyes wide like I’d just descended from heaven in a La Mer cloud.
I gave them what they wanted. Always did.
One of the bodyguards—Marcus, thank the gods—swooped in beside me. “Car’s ready,” he murmured.
I nodded, still smiling as a paparazzi shouted, “You look incredible, Scarlett! Who’s your next co-star? 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 car 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 behind me. The windows tinted out the noise, but I could still hear them shouting my name as we pulled away.
I finally exhaled, like I’d been holding my breath for the past ten minutes.
My phone buzzed again. This time, a text from Dani:
“Congrats, babe. The official press release goes out in an hour. Just breathe. You’ve got this.”
Breathe?
I was about to fake a romance with the one man on this planet who knew exactly how to get under my skin. And I had to sell it. Publicly. Believably. For months.
Hollywood wasn’t going to be my big break.
It was going to be my villain origin story.
---
Scarlett Vance
“Don’t say you hate him.”
Dani’s voice was sharp enough to slice through my contour.
I glared at her reflection in the mirror. “I do hate him.”
“Great. Then say it with your eyes, not your mouth,” she snapped, brushing imaginary lint off my blazer. “Because if you so much as twitch the wrong way, TMZ will run with ‘Scarlett Vance Snubs Co-Star in Brutal Press Conference Meltdown.’"
She paused. “Which would trend. But still, not ideal.”
I rolled my eyes and reached for my lip gloss. “Remind me why I agreed to this?”
“Because it’s Venom & Velvet, Scarlett. Because the director is an Oscar magnet. Because it’s your name above the title. And because this role will make you untouchable.”
“Except I’ll be touching Knox.”
“Only when cameras are watching. Otherwise, pretend he’s a mildly handsome mannequin.”
I let out a breath and stood, smoothing the fitted cream suit that made me look expensive and emotionally unavailable.
Dani grinned like a proud evil genius. “Now that’s a woman about to fake a fairytale.”
My townhouse was buzzing. Hair team. Makeup team. Dani. A nervous assistant with a tray of green juices I had zero intention of drinking. The press conference was being held in a private room at the W Hotel, with every major entertainment outlet invited. Cameras, flashing lights, a moderator, and a stage wide enough to keep me and Knox a safe seven feet apart.
“You know he’s already there, right?” Dani added, sipping her iced Americano like this was not a crisis. “Looking annoyingly unbothered.”
I didn’t respond.
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.
“I’m wearing rings.”
“I know. I picked them.”
Thirty minutes later, I was in the car, hands clasped tightly in my lap as Marcus navigated through traffic. Dani was scrolling through social media beside me.
“They’ve already posted the teaser,” she said, holding out her phone.
Onscreen: a sleek black poster with silver script.
VENOM & VELVETStarring 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.
We pulled up to the hotel. Marcus opened the door. Dani handed me a compact mirror like a weapon.
“You know the drill,” she said. “Smile like he’s your favorite human. Lie like it’s your religion.”
“And if he tries anything?”
“Smile harder. And picture him bald.”
I stepped out into a sea of camera flashes.
Showtime.
--
The room was buzzing.
Chairs filled with press. PR reps circling like over-caffeinated hawks. Lights hot enough to melt the truth 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.
Of course it was.
He looked up, right as I walked in.
His mouth curved. 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, voice like velvet and menace.
“You smell like regret,” I whispered back sweetly.
We pulled apart, still smiling.
Murderously.
We sat at the long table beside the director, the producer, and two studio heads. Microphones glared up at us like little judgmental robots. Bottled water. Cue cards. Lies.
The moderator introduced the cast, gave a few speeches about the “vision” and “electric casting,” and then opened the floor for questions.
A journalist from Variety leaned in, voice smooth and fake-casual.
“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 straight 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 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 BEGINS]
“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, 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. 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.
[FLASHBACK ENDS]
“Scarlett?” the moderator prompted gently.
I blinked. “Sorry—jet lag.”
Knox turned slightly, eyes glinting like he knew exactly where I’d gone.
“College,” I said quickly. “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.
