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I try not to squint through the myriad of flashing lights.

Cameras snap and click, only giving me seconds to conjure up new poses. Hair touch. Hip twist. Pageant pose. Model walk. My chin is elevated, my smile only hinting.

Posture, posture, posture.

This isn’t my first rodeo, but my body still itches to slouch like I’m permanently hunched over my too-short computer desk, researching the kleptoparasitic behavior of a cuckoo bee.

As I nod my thanks to the swarm of photographers and step away, my attention latches onto two jade-green eyes fixed in my direction. Heat radiates from his gaze, firing straight into my core.

Buzz.

I jolt in place when my cell phone vibrates against my thigh, attached by a lacy garter. Fetching it quickly, I peer down at the familiar name of my best friend as a smile crests.

Allison

It’s been five minutes since I’ve gotten an update. I’m dying over here.

Me

You’re in Belize. I’m sure you’re enduring.

Allison

Erik is drunk on Malibu and singing that coconut song in a British accent like Zazu in The Lion King. OVER AND OVER.

I giggle and cringe simultaneously, the song immediately stuck in my head.

Me

Yikes.

Allison

I’m breaking up with him as soon as we land back in LA.

Me

Seriously? I thought it was…well, serious.

Allison

It was serious until he forgot my name while introducing me to some babe in an itty-bitty bikini. Slimeball. Erik is just another placeholder. Tell your husband to find me a husband because he’s a fantastic husband and I trust his husband endorsements.

Me

What an ass! We’ll commiserate over sangria when you get back. In the meantime, get a nice tan, plus an extra one for me since I’m incapable.

Allison

ghost emoji Will do. Is the launch going amazing? How famous are you at this exact moment? Did I just become famous by association?

Me

LOL. I’m not famous, but it’s going well.

Allison

Make those connections, Ev. You’re a superstar.

Me

You make me sound more important than I am. I just stand around, looking mildly pissed off and constipated, while people take my picture.

Allison

You’re right. Maintaining experimental cultures of aphids and cabbage stem flea beetles would have been way cooler than fame and fortune.

Me

Thanks for that dose of stone-cold regret.

Allison

Mwahaha. Anyway, I gotta go tend to my inebriated placeholder. I hope you have extra hot sex tonight to make up for the fact that I’ll be sad and celibate. Send lots of pics!

Allison

…Of the party. Obviously. Not of the sex.

Allison

…Maybe. devil emoji

Laughing out loud, I send her a flurry of multicolored hearts and slip my phone back into my garter, just as my name echoes throughout the ballroom.

Well, half of my name.

“Cross!” A man beelines toward me in a peachy button-down shirt and an eclectic jacket reminiscent of Alexander McQueen. “Shorter in person, but infinitely more stunning. I’ll need meticulous notes detailing your moisturizing routine.”

Blinking, I shift my attention to the unfamiliar man, while instinctively straightening my spine at the “short” comment. “Oh, thank you. Do you work for Casey?”

Casey Lee Abner designed the clothing line I’ve been representing with a few other models who have resumes far more intimidating than mine.

Tonight is the launch party.

“No, I’m just sleeping with him.” He says it casually, slurping some kind of fruity cocktail made of slush and a half-a-dozen paper umbrellas. “Trevor Scott. Social media influencer from Miami and a legendary fashion icon in a past life. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

“Of course.” I take the hand he offers, clearing my throat. “I’m Everly Cr?—”

“I know who you are. Casey hasn’t stopped talking about you since you killed that video ad for his swimwear line. He thinks you’re the next big thing.”

I buzz at the memory of how liberated I felt in front of the cameras that day, wearing nothing but a turquoise bikini and the residual chafing from my Brazilian wax.

But then the rest of his words register.

Next big thing.

I’ve always felt like the odd one out in this industry. Fellow models often exclude me from their social circles and tight-knit bubbles, poking fun at my height and gossiping about my personal life, claiming I was only given this opportunity because I married a highly respected agent. “That’s extremely flattering,” I respond, squaring my shoulders. “Tell him I said thank you.”

Trevor snatches a champagne glass off a server’s tray, handing it to me. “Your Instagram presence is impressively lacking, but I can help you there. I had a blue tick before everyone had one.” Sucking down another sip of his neon-swirled cocktail, he eyes me over the rim of the glass. “But that face is a real money-maker. The hair, the eyes, the bone structure. Who does your hair, by the way?” He flicks it with two fingers.

An awkward laugh falls out. “Allison James.”

“Never heard of her.”

“She’s my best friend.”

His face sours. “Well, it was great to finally meet you. I need to make the rounds and flirt my way into somebody’s good graces,” Trevor chirps, chugging the rest of his drink. “Keep in touch, Criss Cross Applesauce. Here’s my card.” He pulls a business card from the front pocket of his suit jacket and slips it into my hand. “Also, let me know if you see a rogue ferret getting into trouble around here. She likes to chew through leather handbags—specifically Prada. Goes by the name of Sprinkles.”

I watch him skip away, an amused frown gathering between my eyes as I spin the champagne stem between my fingers and stick the card under my garter to join my phone. As I take a sip, a warm hand presses along the small of my back, pulling my focus to the right. I instantly light up like a starlit sky. “Jasper.”

He grins, snaking both arms around my waist and pulling me to him, his chest flush with my back. “Mmm. You smell divine.”

“I smell like whatever that guy was wearing.” I’m still choking on cologne fumes.

Chuckling, Jasper nuzzles his face into my tamed hair—an endeavor that took over an hour to straighten without Allison’s help—and drags his nose down the length of it, until it’s buried in the crook of my neck. “Is my girl making connections?”

I shiver at the contact. “Inelegantly.”

“You looked like a pro from where I was standing,” he murmurs, kissing my shoulder as we start to sway. “Graceful. Classy. Sexy as fuck.”

“You have to say that. You’re my agent.”

“If I were only your agent, you’d have a sexual harassment lawsuit on your hands right about now.” Despite the crowd of partygoers, Jasper edges his palms down my hips and starts to inch the hem of my silver sequined slip dress up my thighs. “I’m your husband. And I’m going to make love to you all night, until you believe with undeniable certainty that you’re perfect in every way.”

Oof.

Wetness pools between my legs, and I’m two seconds from allowing him to take me right here in the middle of this ballroom packed with fashion designers, high-demand models, and a ferret nibbling through a table full of French baguettes?—

I blink, distracted, then shake myself from the lusty haze. “We’re getting looks.”

“Let them stare.” He sucks the skin along my neck between his teeth, nibbling gently. “Let them stew in their jealousy, knowing that I’m sleeping with the most gorgeous woman here.”

Spinning in his arms, I plant my hands against his chest and look up. His eyes are hooded, glittering with future promises of late-night lovemaking.

It’s been three years since I was introduced to Jasper Cross at a wine bar while studying for an exam. On a whim, I stopped by his agency later that week for a modeling audition. The audition turned into a paid job for an eyewear company’s website banner, which then manifested into a hot and heavy relationship with the dreamiest agent I’d ever met—which, eventually, spurred a marriage proposal at the same wine bar, one year later.

I never really saw myself getting married or falling in love. I had plans, dreams to live out, rooted in the field of entomology and science. I grew up with an exotic dancer for a mother and a father who died when I was five months old, which gave me a burning desire for independence and stability. Mom and I are close, but I saw how her career choices had weighed on her throughout the years. Overnight shifts. Necessities, dependent on her tips. I never judged or resented my mother for doing what she needed to do to keep a roof over our heads, but I wanted something different.

Now, I can’t imagine my life without this man.

Before I melt beneath his molten stare, he plants a kiss to my hairline, cupping my face between two large palms. “I’ll try to keep my hands from misbehaving for a little while longer.” Jasper smirks, lowering his head until our foreheads press together. “Mostly because I’m dying to hear what Trevor Scott said to you.”

Out of my peripheral vision, I catch sight of Trevor wrangling the ferret that just skittered over to an adjacent table and is now chewing through the burlap table runner as guests flee the scene.

I snicker under my breath and return my attention to Jasper. “He said Abner was impressed with my work on that ad last month.”

“For the swimwear?” Curling his fingers around my upper arm, my husband guides me toward a quieter corner of the room. “Your hashtag was trending on TikTok. I knew he’d notice.”

“It’s such a surreal feeling,” I breathe out, gnawing on my bottom lip as my pulse thrums with adrenaline. “He said Abner called me ‘the next big thing.’ Me. The pint-sized girl who had zero modeling experience and wanted to be a bug scientist.”

“Shit, baby.” His onyx eyebrows lift to his hairline, his smile stretching as wide as the tickle in my heart. “That’s fantastic. This is fucking huge.”

More elation sweeps through me, more ecstatic disbelief. “What does it even mean?” I don’t realize my knees are wobbling until I reach for Jasper to hold myself steady.

“It means you’re going to take this industry by the balls, and you won’t stop until Everly Cross is a household name. It means you’re going to light up billboards and television screens and runways, and you’re going to prove to the world that a five-foot-two spider enthusiast can become a renowned supermodel.” He clasps my face between his hands and pulls our noses together, breathing against my lips. “It means I get to stand by your side and shout to anyone who will listen, ‘That’s my beautiful wife ,’ while cheering you on, feeling so goddamn proud.”

Tears rush to my eyes. I choke on a strangled laugh, the kind of laugh you make when you’re obscenely high on emotion and too overwhelmed to speak.

“Personally, I’m ready to celebrate right now.” He kisses the tip of my nose, then the bow of my lips. “Us, tangled in our new French linen sheets.” Jasper cradles my cheek, gifting me another lingering kiss. “All this hair spilling down your back like a fine champagne while you moan my name and drive me wild.” Dragging his lips to the shell of my ear, he finishes in a low voice, “Putting a baby in you.”

My heart jackhammers.

A baby.

Anxiety swims through me at the notion.

“Not yet,” he clarifies, smirking. “I know your career comes first. I just can’t stop imagining how stunning you’ll be, glowing from head to toe, this body carrying my child.” Jasper presses a palm to my flat stomach, his eyes sparking with heat.

My pulse steadies as I stretch a teasing grin. “Apparently, you’re not the only one eager for that.”

He drops his hand. “Mm. That’s never going to happen.”

“The couple is persistent.”

“Let them persist. The only child you’ll bear is mine .”

I chew on my cheek, nodding as I gaze up at him.

A few months ago, I was approached with an offer to become a surrogate for an anonymous couple. After my bathing suit ad went viral, a slew of unique opportunities had been presented to me—surrogacy being the most unanticipated.

I denied the proposal, even though it carried with it a startling price tag. Then I denied the counteroffer to donate my eggs.

Jasper wasn’t on board.

And as much as the idea of helping a couple bring new life into the world to complete their family tugs at my heartstrings, I know, deep down, I’m not a good fit. My life is just taking off, gaining traction, the future clear and bright. There are plenty of other women out there, better candidates. Maybe someday I can reevaluate, but for now, the timing isn’t right.

“Anyway,” I continue, reaching up to straighten his tie. “I want a baby, too. You know I do. In a couple of years, maybe.”

At thirty-four years old—and ten years my senior—I know Jasper wants to start a family. I also know his white-picket-fence dreams are temporarily on hold because he married his most promising rising star.

Swallowing, he bends down to graze his nose with mine. “As much as the thought of getting you pregnant turns me on, I can be patient.” His grin is playful and provocative. “Abner is a legend in the making, and he has his eyes on you.”

“I know, and I’d hate to throw a wrench into an opportunity like this.”

I swear he winces, and I cringe at the crass analogy.

A wrench.

I just compared our future child to a mechanic’s tool.

“God, I didn’t mean it like that.” Shaking my head, I fluster through my words, giving Jasper’s arms a loving squeeze. “I just want the timing to be right. Perfect. Please don’t think I?—”

He shushes me with a kiss. “Shh, I understand, baby,” he tells me, his tone mimicking his words. “I get it. And you’re right, I shouldn’t be talking about babies five seconds after you break that kind of news to me. I’m just…”

“Excited,” I provide, smiling softly. “I know.”

Jasper drags his thumb over my bottom lip until he’s dusting my jaw, his eyes alight with glimmering sentiment. Then he whispers, “I was going to say hopelessly and stupidly bewitched.”

We stumble through the front door an hour later, lips locked, hands roaming, hearts pumping wildly with anticipation. Jasper kicks the door shut with the heel of his shoe, only pulling away to rip off his suit jacket. Our mouths collide, groans permeating the quiet house, and I toss my stilettos off, one by one.

I suck his tongue into my mouth before inching back, breathless. “More.”

He slams his mouth to mine.

Then I bite his bottom lip, roughly tugging it between my teeth.

Jasper pulls away, wincing. “Ow.”

“I… I’m sorry.” My body churns with a frenzied need for rough kisses, mean touches, and violently delicious sex. But guilt gnaws at my bones when I see a dollop of blood pooling on the inside of his lower lip. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.” Forcing a smile, Jasper swipes at his mouth, smearing the crimson pearl. “I like it when you get carried away.”

“You do?”

“Mmhmm.”

My excitement falters. His words don’t ring true. I think I scare him sometimes when I bite and scratch and claw, like a feral spark awaiting a matchstick. Jasper always tames me, dousing our fire with sweet, honest lovemaking.

It’s still satisfying.

He gets me off, takes his time, cherishes every inch of me.

But sometimes I crave more. There’s an inherent desire inside me, yearning to carry it to the next level.

And that’s when I scare myself.

A stab of embarrassment has me backing away before Jasper reaches out and curls his hand around my wrist.

“I’m not done with you yet.” A Cheshire grin lifts on his mouth as he yanks me closer, cupping my face with both palms, and pressing his lips to mine for a tender kiss.

I allow the moment to be what it is: kind, love-laced, and pure.

Retreating, I send him a smile. “I’ll meet you upstairs in a minute.”

He tucks a defiant piece of hair behind my ear that’s been newly zapped with humidity. “Cranberry juice?”

“Maybe.” I’m weird. I always need to have a cold glass of cranberry juice waiting for me on the bedside table post-sex. “It’s refreshing.”

“You’re a nutter.” Laughing, Jasper bends down and places another kiss on my forehead. Slow and precious, like he’s savoring a delicacy.

I swoon, gazing up at him with stars in my eyes. “If I’m a nutter, then you’re a nutter lover,” I murmur, lost in our galaxy for two.

“Always.” Smacking my butt, he steps backward with a grin and starts to toe off his dress shoes.

I flash him a toothy smile, then make my way down the hall and into the kitchen to fetch the juice. The evening’s events funnel through my mind, harnessing my joy. The lights, the crowds, the cameras, the shining accolades from peers and industry bigwigs.

A dream come true.

A future igniting in a multicolored swirl.

As I move around our custom quartz island, I drag my fingertips across the surface, a feeling of disbelief coursing through me. I’m only twenty-four years old, and this is my life—a devoted husband by my side, a dream home, a star-studded career on the horizon, just taking shape.

The next big thing.

I have it all.

And then the dream buckles, the lights dim, and my future shatters with a resounding?—

CRACK.

I let out a scream and nearly hit the ceiling.

Oh, my God.

Something exploded.

Something in my house exploded .

My ears ring, my heartbeats hammering against my ribcage as a sickly cloud of fear envelops me. “Jasper.” His name strangles me on the way out as my world crumbles beneath my feet. Spinning around, I dart back the way I came and stop dead in my tracks when I face the foyer. “ Jasper !”

No.

This can’t be happening. This isn’t real.

A milky shaft of moonglow spotlights the image of my husband lying face-down on our Gioia tiles with a gunshot wound to his back.

“ No !” I screech like a rabid howler monkey as my vision blurs. Almost as if it refuses to believe what my eyes are telling it to see.

He’s still, so eerily still, and I know there must be a gunman nearby, planning to shoot me, too, but all I care about is getting to Jasper.

I race to him as a pool of scarlet horror begins to form underneath his chest, oozing into the white tile cracks.

My husband. The love of my life.

He’s bleeding out before my eyes, dying in front of me.

My shrieky sob pierces the air as I fall to my knees and reach for him?—

But that’s as far as I get.

I’m not even allowed one last touch, hug, or tragic goodbye before I’m yanked to my feet by the roots of my hair. A dark shadow materializes out of nowhere. A monster. My worst nightmare brought to life, dressed in black, like twilight and ashes, hauling me away from Jasper.

Scalp stinging and legs thrashing, I whip my hands out, desperate to latch on to him. Scratch him, bite him, smack him, kill him.

I want to kill him.

But I’m a mere one-hundred-and-fifteen pounds of heartache, and he’s a serpent. His arm snakes around me, twisting me toward him, until I’m staring up into two coal eyes through the holes of his ski mask as tufts of coarse red hair spill out at his shoulders.

I feel weightless in his grip, like I’m nothing at all. A twig about to be snapped in two. A tiny ant waiting to be crushed by someone’s boot.

My chest heaves with terror as tears crawl down my cheeks. My body resists him, flailing and kicking and fighting, but it’s futile.

I scream as loud as I can, hoping I’ll wake Jasper from the dead.

Then instinct takes over. I lunge at the firearm in his hand, fingers scraping for control.

Pain detonates across my cheek as the gun’s butt slams into my face, sending me sprawling. The floor meets me like concrete, knocking the breath from my lungs in a whoosh . Jasper’s blood seeps into my hair, warm and sticky, tethering me to a horror I can’t escape.

A shadow looms over me, crouching closer. Before I can react, a sharp sting pierces my neck.

No.

Sirens wail in the distance—hope, fleeting and faint—but the wooziness creeps in fast, clouding my mind, sapping my strength. My body slackens, limp and useless, as strong arms haul me off the floor.

He slings me over his shoulder, and I dangle like a ragdoll, helpless as he carries me from my home. From my beautiful, charmed life.

From Jasper.

It happens too fast. One moment, we were tangled in love, the world melting away as I imagined waking in his arms at dawn, the light catching his sleepy smile.

Now I’m jostled with each heavy step as the patio door slides open, and the cool night air steals what little warmth I have left.

As we vanish into the dark, my blurry eyes land on Jasper’s lifeless body—crumpled and still on the floor we’d once danced across. Tears burn down my cheeks, but my fight is gone, drained with every labored breath.

The only thing worse than dying is living another moment without him.

And the only thing worse than that…

Is what I fear will come next.