“You’re even more stunning in person,” he said, his voice like thick molasses.
I stayed close to my mother, my arm brushing hers. She didn’t notice the way I stiffened.
“I’ll let you two talk,” she said, already turning for the door.
“No, mom—wait,” I said, reaching for her hand.
She smiled gently, as if I was being silly. “Don’t be a child, Brit. This is business.”
Then the door closed.
And the silence in that room was louder than any stadium I’d ever walked.
Young poured himself a drink. “So,” he said, leaning on the kitchen island, “you want to be a star.”
I took a shaky breath. “I already am one.”
He laughed, low and smooth. “Cute. But you want the real spotlight, don’t you? Movies. Campaigns. Maybe a fragrance deal?”
“I want to earn it.”
“You will.” He walked closer, handed me a glass. I didn’t take it. He set it down on the table.
“You know,” he continued, circling me like a lion with its prey, “every girl who’s made it did what she had to do.”
I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
He came too close, his fingers brushing my waist. I stepped back.
“I think I should go,” I said, voice trembling.
He smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Relax. I’m not asking for anything you don’t want to give. But you want to win, don’t you? This is how you win.”
His hands moved fast. One gripped my wrist, the other ran over the curve of my hip, lower, possessive.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please stop.”
But he was whispering too—things I didn’t want to hear. About my body. About what he could make me if I "cooperated."
And then he pushed me down gently, like I was some doll he owned.
I tried to fight him. I swear I did. But my body was frozen, locked in fear.
He didn’t have sex with me, but he touched me. Made me touch him. His breath was hot and sour against my ear, his moans like poison. I don’t remember everything because my brain tried to shut it out.
But I remember crying. Quiet, so quiet. I remember the way he shushed me, like I was overreacting. Like this was just another part of the game.
Then the door opened.
“Oh,” my mom’s voice floated in, cheerful. “Are you two—oh.”
Young was quick. He straightened, fixed his shirt, chuckled.
“Just chatting business,” he said smoothly.
I scrambled up, eyes red, mouth trembling. My mother didn’t see any of it.
