"Impossible." Riley was the first to break the silence, her voice dripping with scorn.

"Avalon, get real," Hailey said, shaking her head. "A guy on Julian Thorne's level? Why would he be interested in a scholarship kid who's barely scraping by?"

"Exactly," Madison sneered. "You can't even afford a new set of brushes. What could a man like that possibly see in you?"

A flicker of hope returned to Savannah's eyes. "Avalon, I know you're heartbroken over Rhys," she said, her voice dripping with false sincerity. "But you can't just invent fantasies. Do you have any idea the kind of women Julian Thorne dates? Supermodels, heiresses, A-list actresses."

"Yeah, you're on financial aid. You can barely cover tuition," Riley scoffed. "Why would he want you?"

"Savannah's right. You're delusional," Hailey scoffed.

I met their gazes one by one, saying nothing. To explain would be to show weakness. I didn't need to.

I gathered my portfolio and strode toward the cafe's entrance.

"Avalon!" Savannah called out behind me. "Don't be a fool! Is facing reality that hard?"

I pushed open the heavy glass door. The afternoon sun was blinding.

And there he was. Julian Thorne, leaning against a low-slung, obsidian-black electric sedan that gleamed under the sun. He looked up as I stepped out, and a corner of his mouth lifted in a smile meant only for me.

"There you are, my muse." He crossed the space between us in three long strides, his arm sliding possessively around my waist as he pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead.

A sharp, collective gasp rose from the cafe behind me.

I deliberately glanced back through the huge plate-glass window. Savannah and her pack of sycophants were practically plastered to the glass, their mouths agape in disbelief.

Julian opened the passenger door for me. "After you."

I slid gracefully into the car. The interior was all soft, white leather and cool, brushed steel. A bottle of champagne was chilling in an onboard fridge, and the air was scented with an expensive, woody cologne.

As the car pulled away from the curb in complete silence, I took one last look out the window. Savannah's face was still pressed against the glass, her expression utterly shattered.

A small, satisfied smile touched my lips.

"What's so amusing?" Julian asked, his eyes on the road.

"Nothing." I smoothed down the fabric of my dress. "Just an old memory."

Our first stop was a private art gala at a gallery perched high in the Hollywood Hills, packed with LA's elite: tech moguls, film producers, and old-money families, all of them vying for a moment of Julian's time.

Julian's hand never left the small of my back. The gesture was possessive, territorial—a clear declaration to anyone watching. A few scantily clad women attempted to catch his eye, but he dismissed them with a coldness that was almost brutal.

"Mr. Thorne!" A portly, well-dressed gallery owner scurried over. "Such an honor! We'd all but given up hope you would grace us with your presence."

"I'm only here because my muse wished to see the paintings," Julian stated, his gaze fixed on me.

Muse. The word hung in the air, sending a fresh ripple of whispers through the room. I could feel dozens of eyes on me.

"Julian," I tugged on his sleeve, playing my part. "I want to see the Rothko."

"Lead the way, Avalon."

We stopped before a massive canvas of deep, pulsating crimson, perfectly lit.

"It's breathtaking," I said softly.

Julian barely glanced at it. "I'd rather look at you."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't suppress a small smile.

"Avalon?" A familiar voice cut through the noise, and a chill snaked down my spine.

I turned.

It was Savannah. Here. Poured into a tight red dress, clinging to the arm of a man who looked like he'd just made a fortune in cryptocurrency.

"What a coincidence!" Savannah beamed, her eyes sliding right past me to devour Julian.

"You must be Julian Thorne." She extended a perfectly manicured hand. "I'm Savannah Reed. Avalon's best friend."

Julian glanced at her outstretched hand as if it were a piece of garbage, then completely ignored it.

"I know who you are," he said, his voice flat.

Savannah's smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered. "I've heard so much about you. Perhaps we could get a drink sometime? I'd love to pick your brain about the innovations at Thorne Dynamics…"

"No," Julian cut her off, the single word sharp as a scalpel.

The crypto bro at Savannah's side began to sweat. "Honey, let's go look at the sculptures," he mumbled, tugging at her arm.

"Wait." Savannah ignored him, taking a step closer to Julian. "I don't mean to be forward, it's just…"

"You have five seconds to remove yourself from my presence before my security escorts you out," Julian said, his voice a blade's edge.

Savannah went pale. The crypto bro practically dragged her away.

I watched them retreat, my expression carefully neutral. Inside, my mind was racing, planning every next move.

Julian turned to me, his brow furrowed. "I don't like her."

"She's not so bad," I said, feigning loyalty. "Just a little… enthusiastic."

He studied my face for a long moment. "You're too kind."

"Maybe."

Julian waved over a man in a headset. "Contact her agent. Draft a contract for Thorne Dynamics to exclusively sponsor Miss Hayes's work for the next three years."

The assistant immediately began tapping on a tablet.

"A sponsorship? Now?" I asked, affecting surprise.

"Of course." Julian's gaze was intense as he reached up to gently caress my cheek. "No one is allowed to ruin our evening. Consider this multi-million dollar contract my apology for the interruption."

The surrounding guests stared, their faces a mixture of envy and awe. A multi-million dollar sponsorship, sealed with a word.

I smiled, my gaze locking with Savannah's across the room as she was being hurried away. Her face was ashen, a mask of humiliation.

Any other man would have played along, rejecting Savannah for my benefit while secretly pocketing her number for later. I could always see the flicker of desire in their eyes.

She thought all men were the same.

That was her mistake. She had just met Julian Thorne. A man addicted not to women, but to absolute control.

Three weeks later, I stood on the precipice of Thorne Dynamics' grand product launch. The venue was a symphony of holographic projections, futuristic decor, and digital art flowing across the walls. It was the first time Julian had brought me to a company event.

"Relax, Avalon," he murmured in my ear, his breath warm on my neck. "Tonight is just a simple product showcase."

I nodded, tightening my grip on his arm.

His possessiveness had escalated. It wasn't just the possessive hand on my back anymore; it was the dark, angry marks he'd leave on my neck to claim his territory, the security detail that followed me 24/7. I never thought he'd let another woman get this close.

"Julian!" A familiar, saccharine voice called from the stage.

It was Savannah, descending a brightly lit staircase in a slinky, silver-sequined gown.

What was she doing here?

"Savannah." Julian acknowledged her with a curt nod, his voice polite but cold. "You made it."

I remained silent, a whirlwind of confusion in my mind.

Savannah glided over to us, shooting me a defiant smirk. "Avalon, long time no see."

She then turned to Julian, deliberately flexing a toned bicep. "Julian, look." Her arm gleamed under the spotlights, her skin impossibly smooth. "The results are incredible, aren't they?"

"Very good," Julian replied, his eyes scanning her arm with professional detachment.

"Your 'bio-enhancement therapy' is a miracle," Savannah said smugly.

Bio-enhancement therapy?

I looked at Julian, a question in my eyes. He seemed uncharacteristically flustered.

"Savannah's father is an investor in our new biomedical division," Julian explained quietly. "As a favor, I made her a brand ambassador for the new product line and let her trial the therapy."

My heart sank. "You let her be part of the experiment?"

"A preliminary showcase of its potential," Julian said, squeezing my hand reassuringly. "Avalon, you have to trust me. I'm yours. Always."

But the moment the words left his mouth, he turned his attention back to Savannah. "Come. I'll show you the main lab."

I watched as they walked towards a restricted-access elevator leading to the basement, an area off-limits to even most senior executives.

I followed, keeping a careful distance.

The basement lab was a sterile, futuristic world of stainless steel, cool-toned lighting, and humming, sophisticated instruments behind sealed glass chambers.

"This is our most advanced formula," Julian said, showing Savannah an auto-injector pen. "A single dose can increase muscle endurance by thirty percent, instantly."

Savannah's eyes widened with greed. "Can I try it?"

"It's still in the testing phase," Julian said slowly. "We need more data."

"I can help with that." Savannah's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I know people. Underground fighters, extreme athletes… They would pay anything for an edge like this."

A flicker of interest crossed Julian's eyes. "Go on."

"My influencer network gives me access to them," Savannah said, pressing her advantage. "I can quietly funnel them to you as 'volunteers.' I can even..." she paused, lowering her voice further, "...provide their complete biometric data. Off the books. No one would ever know."

A predatory gleam sparked in Julian's eyes.