Page 90 of Butterfly

She whips her head up.

“I was seventeen.” My chest tightens with the impulse to shut the hell up. But Sienna found the courage to open up to me and tell me about her past. I can do the same for her. “Rebecca developed a fixation on me. She kept staring at me when we were together in a room, even with her husband present. When we were alone, she touched me, whispering things. I didn’t know what to do. After a few days of working together, she used to surprise me alone in my changing room, follow me to the small flat I rented close to the studios, and try to touch me any time she could.”

Sienna draws in a breath. “She could be your mother.”

“I confess I was surprised by her attention. More surprised and pleased than horrified. She was this big, important director, and I was a young actor in my first professional experience. The fact that she was beautiful didn’t hurt either. But I didn’t know how to behave around her, and I was worried she might fire me if I said or did the wrong thing. When she got tired of playing cat and mouse with me, she blackmailed me.” I let out a bitter chuckle. “At that moment, I didn’t think it was blackmail. She told me she could find another D’Artagnan in a moment, that I wasn’t unique, and that everyone in the film industry had to pay a special price. Everyone does it, she said. It was my turn to pay for the privilege of being in her film. I can’t say she’s entirely to blame. I found her fascinating, charming, and attractive. Her attention confused me though. I’d dated a few girls at that point, but I hadn’t done half of the things she wanted me to do.” I lower my gaze because the sorrow and compassion in Sienna’s gaze are too much. “Rebecca kept her promise. She got me a role in another movie. I didn’t audition for the part. Everything was arranged with a phone call from her. Of course, I had to pay my price again. Every time she found a role for me, I had to pay. I grew uncomfortable. I was her slave. When I told her I wanted to stop, she got angry and told me that she had made me, and she could destroy me. A few calls from her, and I wouldn’t have worked in the film industry ever again. I was scared and alone. So, I kept doing everything she wanted.” I take Sienna’s hand when she tries to cup my cheek. “She lost interest when I grew up. When I confronted her again, she said that if I said anything, everyone would know that I didn’t deserve any of my roles, that I got them only because I screwed the director. In fact, she told me I had no talent at all. She chose me only because I looked pretty in her bed.” I sigh. “I think I believe her,” I whisper.

“Alex.” Her hands find mine. “That’s awful, and don’t let her mess with your head. You have talent.”

“When my dad died…” I take a deep breath. “When he died, I was with Rebecca. Letting her screw me. Charles called and told me Dad was at the hospital, and the odds didn’t look good. He asked me to return home. But I was too ashamed of what I’d done with Rebecca, too worried my mum would have seen it in my face. I made an excuse. I didn’t go, and he died without me. Because I was a lousy selfish coward.” My voice cracks, and I have to swallow and breathe hard not to cry. But when Sienna’s arms are around me, I can’t keep it together anymore. “I wasn’t with him when he died because I wanted to live my dream too badly. See? I understand how you feel. I know what it means to feel cheap and undeserving. Do you think my money means anything compared to how much I love you?”

“Alex.” She holds me, and I bury my face in her neck, letting the tears fall.

Thirty

Sienna

WEEKS AFTER Alex finishes shooting, his words keep replaying in a loop in my mind. Should I let him help me? Pay my debts? Maybe we can come to a compromise. I can pay him little by little.

Next to me, he’s laughing at something Martin said while we are at one of those parties celebrities throw after finishing shooting a film. An unofficial party. No journalists, people snapping pictures, or fancy dresses. Still, I recognise at least two actors fromGame of Thrones, three fromBridgerton, and I think that brunette lady might’ve been inWonder Woman. It’s exciting and scary at the same time.

I shift my weight, caressing Dart’s head. Having him close lowers my anxiety, and he doesn’t give a toss about the people in this room. His company doesn’t carry any burdens, and he accepts me for who and what I am, no matter if I have scars on my back. Well, as Alex does.

Dart wiggles his tail and turns his muzzle towards the glass door opening to the garden, whimpering.

“Alex,” I say, stretching out an arm to touch him. “I’ll take Dart out for a few minutes.”

“Okay.” He leans closer to press a quick kiss to my lips. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

I stiffen and glance around, still not used to being his official girlfriend, but no one is looking at us. Chilly air hits my cheeks when I push the sliding doors open. Dart runs away along the gravel path, eager to do his canine stuff. The scent of honeysuckle—

“It’s nice here, isn’t it?” Emily comes out of a dark corner, her dark-blue dress hugging her curves.

“Very.” I rise on my toes to keep an eye on Dart, lest he do something he shouldn’t do in Martin’s garden.

“You must be thrilled. You and Alex are a thing now.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “There’s a hashtag only for you two. #AlexsQueen.”

“Don’t you have an extra to humiliate?”

She laughs, a genuine, warm laugh. “Oh, I love that.” She touches the screen of her phone. “I’ve got something to show you.”

“What?”

Cold pricks the back of my neck as I stare at the screen. It’s the video,thatvideo, or a section of it. It’s only the part of me pushing Walter to his death, but it’s obvious what’s happening. He falls and doesn’t get up. A mix of anger and dread sours my mouth. The sound of footsteps echoes. I shut my eyes and dig my fingernails into my palms. Not here. Not in front of her. I’d rather die than fall into pieces in front of her. If anything, what happened with Alex’s family made me stronger. Not completely sane, but I push down the rising fear and ignore the padding footsteps. Blimey. The first time I’ve seen the video, and it has to be here, in Martin’s house with Emily.

“How did you get this?” I grit out.

“Does it matter?” She pockets the phone, studying my face. “Think about what is going to happen to Alex’s career when everyone knows that he’s dating a murderer.”

I gnash my teeth, biting down a comment. There’s no point in justifying myself with her. It’ll only feed her hatred.

“Oh, I know what you’re thinking.” She runs her thumb over her chin. The purple nail paint gleams in the moonlight. “He abused you. You were defending yourself. But alas, you know how social media works. People jump at your throat and kill you first, then apologise later. Maybe. Meanwhile, you get buried so deep in dirt and mud that, even if you get cleaned up, no one will touch you with a barge pole. Doubts and gossip will linger. And Alex will become one of those actors who was famous for a while before falling into oblivion.”

A cramp seizes my stomach, and the sound of footsteps echoes around me in rhythm with my pulse. “What do you want?”

“It’s not about what I want, but whatyouwant.” She inches closer, her sweet perfume enveloping me. “You want Alex to have a long and successful career, don’t you? You want him to be happy, his secrets kept in the dark,” she whispers the last words. “Because when a shitstorm hits, another one is brewing, especially if you refuse to let him go. If your past comes out, rest assured that his own past will come out as well. I know enough about Alex and Rebecca to destroy them. Trust me; he isn’t going to survive the scandal.”

“What do you want?” I ask again.

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