The lobby of Aurora Pictures was a cathedral of glass and steel, designed to make visitors feel insignificant. Serena walked to the reception desk, her heels clicking with a confidence she didn't feel.
"I have an appointment with Charles Chen," she told the receptionist.
The young woman behind the desk looked up. Her eyes widened slightly-recognition. Then pity.
"Mr. Chen is in a meeting," she said.
"I'll wait," Serena said.
She sat on a leather sofa in the waiting area. She waited for an hour. Then two. People bustled past-producers shouting into phones, actors clutching headshots. No one looked at her. She felt invisible.
Finally, an assistant scurried out. She didn't invite Serena back. She handed her a manila envelope.
"Mr. Chen asked me to give you this," the assistant said, avoiding eye contact. "The funding for Loving You has been placed on indefinite hold."
Serena stood up, the envelope crinkling in her grip. "What? We have a contract."
"Strategic realignment," the assistant recited. "Corporate policy."
"Is this because of the photos?" Serena demanded. "Because of the rumors?"
The assistant shrugged helplessly. "I just work here, Mrs. Sterling."
Serena stormed out of the building. The sun was high and brutal. She felt exposed. Without the Sterling seal of approval, she was toxic.
She drove to Soho House in West Hollywood. She needed a drink, or at least a friend.
Harper was waiting on the terrace, nursing a kale smoothie.
"They pulled the plug," Serena said, collapsing into the chair opposite her.
"I told you," Harper said, shaking her head. "This town has no loyalty. They smell blood in the water. Or in your case, divorce papers."
"We're not getting divorced," Serena said automatically.
"Does Julian know that?" Harper raised an eyebrow. "Look, Ren. Why are you doing this the hard way? You're married to a billionaire. Just ask him for the money. He spends more on car insurance than your budget requires."
"No," Serena said firmly. "I want this to be mine. If I take his money, it's just another thing I owe him. It's just another way I'm... kept."
...
Thirty feet away, behind a dense partition of climbing ivy, Julian Sterling stood perfectly still.
He was walking with two executives from Warner Bros, heading to his private table. As he passed the divide, the familiar cadence of her voice had stopped him cold. He had signaled the executives to continue without him and stepped closer to the greenery, hidden from view.
He listened.
"I don't want his money," Serena's voice drifted through the leaves, low and strained. "It makes me feel like a prostitute. Like I'm selling myself for lifestyle maintenance."
Julian's face went rigid. The temperature around him seemed to drop ten degrees.
He felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest. A prostitute. That was how she saw their marriage? That was how she saw his support?
He turned on his heel.
He didn't confront her. He didn't make a scene. He simply walked away, his stride long and furious, the words echoing in his mind like a curse.
...
"Oh my god," Harper whispered, looking over Serena's shoulder. "Ren. Don't look now."
"What?" Serena turned.
She caught a glimpse of a grey suit jacket disappearing around the corner of the building.
"Was that...?"
"That was Julian," Harper said, her eyes wide. "He looked pissed."
Serena's heart sank. She pulled out her phone and texted him.
Serena: Were you at Soho House?
No reply.
She waited five minutes. Ten.
Nothing.
She put her phone down. She felt sick. He had heard. He had heard her complaining about him, rejecting him.
"I have to fix this," she murmured. But how? She couldn't ask him for money now. It would prove his point-that she was just a gold digger.
She needed cash. Fast. Independent cash.
She looked at her purse. It was a Birkin, a gift from her father for her 21st birthday.
"Harper," Serena said slowly. "Do you still have the number for that consignment shop on Melrose?"
Harper stared at her. "You're going to sell your bags?"
"I'm going to fund my own movie," Serena said. "Whatever it takes."
