I dropped the carving knife on the granite counter with a loud clatter. I didn't stab him. I didn't scream. I just grabbed my coat and walked out the front door, ignoring Ryan’s confused shouts echoing down the hallway.

I drove straight to the steakhouse, my hands gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white.

I pushed through the heavy oak doors of the restaurant and bypassed the hostess stand entirely. Damien sat in the private back booth, checking his watch.

"Where's the golden boy?" Damien asked, lifting his whiskey glass.

Tears finally spilled over my lower lashes. I slid into the leather seat opposite my brother and buried my face in my hands.

"He's not coming," I choked out.

Damien slammed his glass down. The amber liquid splashed over the rim, staining the white tablecloth.

"Who made you cry?" Damien demanded, his voice dropping an octave. "Did he put his hands on you?"

"Worse." I wiped my cheeks with the back of my wrist. "He told his friends I was unwanted trash. He's only staying with me because I'm pregnant. He thinks I'm trapped."

Silence stretched across the table.

I expected Damien to pull me into a hug. I expected soft words of comfort. Instead, he leaned forward, his eyes turning to absolute ice.

"Stop crying, Olivia," he commanded.

I blinked, dropping my hands. "What?"

"Tears are for victims. You are a Frost." Damien pointed a stern finger at me. "You built his career from nothing. If you can elevate him to an A-list celebrity, you can stomp him right back down to a D-list nobody."

A shudder wrecked my frame. "But the baby—"

"We can afford to raise this child," Damien interrupted, cutting off my panic. "You don't need a parasite attaching himself to our family just to play dad. We have the money. We have the power. You have me."

His harsh words acted like ice water on my face. The suffocating weight in my chest began to recede.

"You're right," I whispered.

"Break it off," Damien said. "Tonight. I'll have the legal team draft the termination papers for his agency contract tomorrow morning. We pull his funding. We pull his endorsements."

"I'm ending it right now." I grabbed my purse and stood up.

"I'll handle the bill," Damien said, waving me off. "Go handle your mess."

I marched out of the private room, my spine straight.

Ryan stood in the narrow hallway near the restrooms, his phone pressed to his ear. He hung up immediately when he saw me.

"Liv! What the hell was that?" he demanded. "You just walked out of the house!"

"We're done, Ryan."

He scoffed, adjusting his cuffs. "Don't be dramatic. Just because we had a minor miscommunication—"

"I heard the recording," I cut in. "From the bar. Lily Monroe brought it to my house."

The color drained from his face, leaving his skin a sickly gray. His jaw locked.

"So it's over," I said, stepping closer to him. "Pack your things and get out of my house. My lawyers will contact your agent tomorrow to terminate your contract with Frost Media."

I expected him to beg. I expected a pathetic apology.

Instead, a terrifyingly calm smile stretched across Ryan's face.

"You can't dump me, Olivia," he murmured.

"Watch me."

"Go ahead," Ryan challenged, stepping right into my personal space. "Announce our breakup. Tell the world. But the second you do, I'm going straight to the press."

"To say what? That you're a gold digger?"

"To say you used your capital to force me into a relationship."

My stomach dropped. "You're insane."

"I'll tell them you threatened to ruin my career if I didn't sleep with you," Ryan continued, his tone conversational and light. "I'll say your constant abuse drove me into severe depression. I have medical records for anxiety, Liv. The public will eat it up."

"Nobody will believe that lie."

"The internet loves a tragic victim." He tapped his temple. "If I accuse the mighty Frost family of exploiting a young actor, your company's stock will plummet. Your shareholders will riot."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me." Ryan smoothed the lapels of his suit jacket. "Go home, Liv. Rest up. We have a red carpet event on Friday, and you're going to smile for the cameras."

He bumped his shoulder against mine as he walked past me, heading for the main dining room.

Bile rose in my throat. I couldn't breathe in the stuffy hallway. I needed air.

I pushed open the rear exit door, stepping out into the cold alleyway behind the steakhouse.

Blinding white light exploded in my face.

"There she is!" a shrill voice screamed.

Camera flashes fired like strobe lights, disorienting me. I threw my hands up to shield my eyes.

A mob of people surged forward from the shadows. Teenagers with homemade signs. Men holding heavy cameras.

"Olivia! Is it true you're forcing Ryan to marry you?" a reporter shouted, shoving a microphone at my chin.

"Leave me alone!" I backed up against the brick wall.

"Lily posted the truth!" a young girl shrieked, her face contorted with rage. "You're a controlling bitch! You're ruining his life!"

They swarmed me. Hands grabbed at my coat. Fingers tangled in my hair.

"Get back!" I yelled, swatting away a camera lens.

"You don't deserve him!" another fan hollered.

Someone shoved me hard in the chest.

My shoes slipped on the damp pavement. I flailed, reaching for the wall, but my fingers found nothing but empty air.

I crashed backward.

My spine hit the concrete, followed immediately by a sharp, agonizing impact to my lower back and pelvis.

The world spun into a blur of flashing lights and angry faces.

"Keep taking pictures!" a voice commanded over the chaos.

I tried to push myself up on my elbows. A strange, wet warmth pooled between my thighs.

A sudden, violent cramp ripped through my abdomen. It felt like a serrated blade twisting inside my stomach.

I didn't scream. I just let out a bizarre, broken laugh.

The pain flared again, hotter and sharper this time.

I looked down.

Dark crimson stained the inside of my pale dress, spreading rapidly across the fabric.

"My baby," I gasped.

The paparazzi didn't stop. The shutters kept firing, capturing every drop of blood spilling onto the cold alley floor.

My vision faded at the edges, turning the screaming mob into hollow ghosts. The deafening noise of the crowd turned into a dull, underwater hum.

I was losing my child.

And as the darkness finally pulled me under, only one thought remained in my fading mind.

I was going to kill them all.

"Where is the article?" I asked, staring at the blank television mounted on the hospital wall.

"There is no article," Damien replied.

"The paparazzi took a hundred photos of me bleeding in that alley last night. I saw the flashes."

"Gone." Damien crossed his arms over his chest. "Every single agency signed an NDA overnight."

"That makes no sense. A miscarriage scandal involving Frost Media is worth millions."

"It is. And Ryan's team paid it." Damien stepped closer to my bed. "They bought the silence."

I pressed a hand flat against my empty stomach. The physical pain was a dull ache, but the rage burned hot, scorching my throat.

"He erased my baby," I whispered.

"He did worse." Damien tossed his tablet onto my lap. "Press play."

I tapped the glass screen.

Ryan sat in a dimly lit room, wearing a plain gray t-shirt. No makeup. Unstyled hair. He looked exhausted, vulnerable, and perfectly rehearsed.

"I didn't want to speak out," Ryan's recorded voice played, cracking perfectly on the last syllable. "But I can't live in fear anymore."

"What is this?" I asked.

"His morning livestream. Five million concurrent viewers."

Ryan looked directly into the camera. "When you sign with a powerful family, you think you're getting a dream opportunity. You don't realize you're signing away your bodily autonomy. I wanted to be an actor. I just wanted to share my art. But Olivia Frost made it clear. If I didn't belong to her, I wouldn't belong in this industry."

He wiped a single tear from his cheek.

"She isolated me from my friends," Ryan continued. "She tracked my location. And when I finally tried to leave last night, she threatened to destroy my life."

A dry, hollow laugh scraped its way up my throat.

Damien frowned. "You think this is funny?"

"I think he's a fantastic actor," I noted, my tone dead flat. "He deserves an award for that tear alone. Did he use glycerin or onions?"

"Take this seriously, Liv." Damien snatched the tablet back. "He’s framing you as an abuser. The public loves to tear down a wealthy woman."

"Look at the trending list below the video."

I glanced down. A bold hashtag dominated the screen.

*#CapitalistHeiressHiddenRulesTopStar*

"Number one across all platforms," Damien stated.

I scrolled through the live chat replay. The vitriol moved so fast it blurred.

*Burn in hell, Olivia.*

*Frost Media is a human trafficking ring. Save Ryan!*

*She deserves to get hit by a truck.*

*Boycott Frost Media! Lock that bitch up!*

"They think I forced him into my bed." I shoved the tablet away. It slid across the thin hospital blankets.

"Your personal accounts are flooded with death threats. I had the security team lock down your estate." Damien ran a hand through his hair. "I've been pulling posts since 2 a.m. I hired three external crisis firms to scrub the comments."

"Did it work?"

"No. It’s a hydra. Cut off one post, three more pop up."

"We own half the media outlets in this city," I said, gripping the edge of the mattress. "Shut down the servers if you have to."

"I tried." Damien stopped pacing. "Frost Media's PR department has been working all night. We're getting outbid."

"Outbid? By who? Ryan doesn't have that kind of capital. We froze his accounts at midnight."

"Exactly." Damien pulled his phone from his pocket, bringing up a financial report. "Someone else is funding this smear campaign."

"Show me."

He turned the screen toward me. Rows of data highlighted massive wire transfers to offshore server farms.

"A bot network activated out of nowhere," Damien explained. "Millions of dollars poured into algorithms to keep that hashtag at the top. Real fans don't coordinate this fast. This is a military-grade digital assault."

"Who signed the checks?"

"Nova Entertainment."

The name hit me like a physical blow. "Our biggest competitor."

"They just signed a distribution deal with Ryan's manager under the table." Damien's eyes narrowed. "This isn't just a messy breakup, Liv. This is a corporate takeover."

"They're using my relationship to tank Frost Media's stock."

"Check the market."

I grabbed my own phone from the nightstand. The stock widget flashed bright red. Down twelve percent since the opening bell.

"If the board panics, they'll force a vote of no confidence against me," Damien warned. "We need to counter-attack. Now."

"We need to release a statement," I said. "Something aggressive."

"A denial won't calm the shareholders."

"No neutral statements," I shot back. "Neutral looks like guilt. We go on the offensive."

"We don't have the ammunition yet."

"We manufacture it." I threw the blankets off my legs. The cold hospital air hit my bare skin.

"Get my clothes," I ordered.

"The doctor said you need three days of bed rest."

"My baby is dead, Damien. My reputation is in ashes. I'm not laying in this bed."

He studied my face. He didn't argue. He walked to the small closet and retrieved the spare black dress he'd brought from my house.

"What's the play?" he asked, tossing the garment onto the bed.

"Ryan wants to play the victim of a tyrannical boss?" I stood up. My knees wobbled, but I forced them straight. "Let's give him a real monster to fight. Call a press conference for noon."

"To apologize?"

"To fire him. Publicly."

"The internet will crucify you," Damien warned. "Without proof, you're just proving his point."

"I have proof. The audio recording of him admitting he only stayed with me for the baby."

"Lily Monroe has the recording," Damien corrected. "And she hates you."

"Then we buy her loyalty." I stepped into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. "Everyone has a price."

"Lily doesn't need money."

"Then find out what she does need." I grabbed a rough paper towel, drying my skin. "Find the paparazzi who took the photos in the alley. Nova Entertainment paid for their silence, but they didn't buy their loyalty. Double the payout."

"They signed NDAs."

"NDAs are broken all the time. Offer to cover their legal fees." I threw the towel into the trash bin. "I want the photos of me bleeding out on that concrete plastered on every billboard in the city."

Damien paused in the doorway. "Are you sure? That's your private trauma."

"It was my child." I shoved my feet into my flats. "And Ryan is going to pay for every drop of blood I lost."

Damien nodded once. "I'll make the calls."

My phone buzzed in my hand. An unknown number flashed on the screen.

I swiped to answer. "Speak."

"Olivia Frost?" a woman's voice asked.

"Who is this?"

"Someone who just found out Ryan isn't just playing you." The voice paused, the line crackling with static. "I'm his wife."