The Caged Canary's Spectacular Comeback

Jayme Barnes POV

The metallic tang of iron flooded my mouth.

Autry pulled back, his hand flying to his lips. When he pulled it away, his fingertips were stained red.

I didn't think; I reacted. I shoved him.

I put every ounce of my rage into that shove, channeling months of frustration into the heels of my hands.

He stumbled back, his boot catching on a stray cable.

The Great Don Autry Villarreal, knocked off balance by a girl in combat boots.

"Get off me!" I screamed, my voice cracking.

The set went dead silent. You could hear a pin drop.

Autry touched his lip again, staring at the blood on his fingers. When he looked up, his eyes weren't angry.

They were hungry.

"You still feel it," he said, his voice rough with something dark.

"I feel nothing but disgust," I spat.

I grabbed my camera bag, slinging it over my shoulder. "I quit."

"You can't quit," Autry said, regaining his composure and straightening his jacket. "You have a contract."

"Sue me," I said.

I walked off the set, ignoring the stares of the crew.

I walked all the way back to the hotel, my boots pounding against the pavement.

Once inside my room, I locked the door and threw the deadbolt.

I took a shower and scrubbed my lips until they were raw, trying to erase the ghost of his touch.

Exhaustion claimed me, and I slept for twelve hours.

I woke up to my phone blowing up.

My agent-the one who fired me-was calling repeatedly.

Chloe, my friend back home, was texting in all caps.

DON'T LOOK AT INSTAGRAM.

So, naturally, I looked at Instagram.

JaymeBarnesScandal was the number one trend in the world.

There were photos. Grainy, black and white monstrosities.

They showed a woman who looked like me snorting lines of cocaine in a bathroom stall.

They showed a woman who looked like me entangled in bed with a married senator.

They were fake.

I knew they were fake because the woman in the photos didn't have the small tattoo of a bird on her shoulder.

But the internet didn't care about tattoos. The internet wanted blood.

Cassie had posted a photo of herself crying.

Caption: Heartbroken that someone I welcomed into my home would try to ruin my family. Addiction is a disease. Praying for Jayme.

She was framing me.

She was destroying my reputation so that no one would believe me if I ever told the truth about them.

I saw red.

I didn't call a lawyer.

I called Autry.

He didn't answer.

I called again.

Voicemail.

I grabbed my coat.

I knew where he was staying. He always rented the biggest villa in town.

I stormed up the hill, my breath hitching in my throat.

The gate was open. The front door was unlocked.

I walked in.

Autry was in the living room.

He was wearing a silk robe, looking every inch the relaxed king.

He was watching the news coverage of my "scandal."

He looked up when I entered. He didn't look surprised.

"Fix it," I said.

"Jayme," he started, standing up.

"Fix it, Autry! You know those photos are fake! You know I've never touched drugs in my life!"

"I can't," he said.

"Can't? You're the Don. You control the press. You control the police."

"Cassie leaked them," he said quietly.

"So?"

"If I expose her lie, I expose the cracks in our alliance. Her father will pull the treaty. War will start again. Men will die."

I stared at him. The room spun.

"So you're letting her destroy me?" I whispered.

"I'm protecting the family," he said.

He reached for a briefcase on the table and opened it.

It was full of cash. Stacks of hundred-dollar bills.

"Take this," he said. "Go to Switzerland. Change your name. Start over. I'll make sure you're safe. I'll make sure you never want for anything."

He was paying me to be the villain.

He was paying me to die.

"You promised to protect me," I said, my voice breaking. "You gave me that star and promised."

"I am protecting you," he insisted. "This is the only way you survive Cassie."

"No," I said.

I looked at the money.

Then I looked at him.

I finally saw him clearly.

He wasn't a king.

He was a coward in a tailored suit.

"You aren't protecting me, Autry. You're burying me."

I stepped back.

"Keep your money. I'd rather starve."

"Jayme, be reasonable!"

"I'm done being reasonable. And I'm done being yours."

I turned around and walked out into the night.

I had no reputation.

I had no home.

I had no money.

But for the first time in my life, I was free.