The Ice Queen's Secret Superstar Husband

The heavy metal door of the luxury RV slammed shut, cutting off the blinding California sun and the chaotic screaming of the film set. Katy Riddle let out a ragged breath. She dropped her weight onto the white leather sofa. Her muscles ached. She reached up and ripped the heavy hair extensions from her scalp. She threw the fake hair onto the glass coffee table. Her scalp burned from the pulling, but the physical pain was a relief. The RV door clicked open. Paige, her new assistant, walked in. She was hugging a massive stack of scheduling folders to her chest. Paige's high heel caught the edge of the thick wool rug. Her body pitched forward. She let out a sharp gasp. The folders slipped from her grip. White papers exploded across the RV, fluttering down like snow. Katy's jaw tightened. She stared at the mess, her eyes turning cold. The silence in the small space felt heavy. "I am so, so sorry, Miss Riddle," Paige stuttered. She dropped to her knees. Sweat beaded on her forehead as her hands scrambled over the rug, grabbing at the scattered papers. In her blind panic, Paige's elbow swung out. It slammed hard into the side of Katy's limited-edition Birkin bag resting on the edge of the coffee table. The bag tipped over. It hit the floor with a heavy thud. The metal clasp popped open. The contents spilled out across the rug. A small, worn leather notebook tumbled out. It hit the floor and splayed open. Tucked securely into the back pocket of the binding, a glossy, high-definition polaroid slipped halfway out. It was a candid, close-up shot of Oscar-winning actor Arther Knowles, his intense eyes staring straight into the camera, a picture she had carried for years. Paige's hand froze mid-air. Her eyes locked onto the polaroid. Her mouth fell open. She sucked in a sharp breath. The image completely destroyed the ice-cold, untouchable persona Katy maintained. Katy followed Paige's gaze. Her stomach dropped to the floor. Her heart slammed against her ribs, missing a beat. Hot blood rushed up her neck and burned her cheeks. She moved faster than her exhausted body should have allowed. She launched herself off the sofa, diving toward the rug like a predator protecting a kill. Katy grabbed the book. Her fingers dug into the edge of Arther's printed face. She shoved the polaroid deep into the pages and slammed the cover shut, desperate to erase it from Paige's sight. Paige slowly looked up. Her eyes were wide with pure shock and confusion. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Katy sucked in a harsh breath. She forced her facial muscles to freeze. She built the ice-cold mask back over her features and stared down at the trembling assistant. She shoved the leather book deep into the Birkin bag. She ripped the zipper shut. Her movements were sharp and violent, pretending the last ten seconds never happened. Katy stood up. She walked over to the mini-bar, grabbed a bottle of ice water, and downed half of it. The freezing liquid did nothing to slow her racing heart. She turned around. She looked at Paige, who was still kneeling on the floor. "Cancel all my afternoon calls and interviews," Katy ordered. Her voice was flat, devoid of any emotion. Paige swallowed hard. "But... the afternoon interview is an exclusive with Vogue. The breach of contract fee is seven figures." Katy didn't blink. She reached back into her bag and pulled out a checkbook. She grabbed a pen, scribbled a string of zeros, ripped the check out, and slapped it against Paige's chest. "Fix it," Katy said. Paige looked down at the astronomical number written on the paper. She swallowed the lump in her throat, nodded quickly, and kept her mouth shut. Katy gave a single, tight nod. She turned and walked into the private back room of the RV. She slammed the door shut, locking it. The moment the lock clicked, Katy's knees gave out. She slid down the wooden door and hit the floor. She pressed her hand hard against her chest. She couldn't breathe. The panic clawed at her throat. She crawled over to the full-length mirror. She stared at her flawless makeup. She let out a dry, mocking laugh. Katy stood up and stripped off the expensive couture dress. She pulled on a cheap, oversized black tracksuit. She grabbed a black baseball cap and pulled the brim down low over her eyes. She walked over to the built-in dresser. She reached into the very back of the bottom drawer and pulled out a burner phone. She powered it on. Her thumb moved purely on muscle memory, logging into the X app under the handle 'Chi-Chi'. Her screen instantly flooded with notifications about Arther Knowles's VIP fan meet happening tonight. The panic in her chest vanished. A hot, obsessive energy replaced it. She unlocked the door and shoved it open. She ignored Paige, who was still standing in the main area holding the check. Katy grabbed the handle of the main RV door and threw it open. "Drive," Katy yelled to the driver up front. "Staples Center. Downtown LA. Now." The heavy engine roared to life. The RV slowly rolled out of the studio lot. Katy sat in the dark shadows of the back seat. She shoved her hand into her bag and gripped the worn leather book. Her knuckles turned white.