Page 2 of Pack to the Wall

6 AM tomorrow? This event won't even wrap up until midnight. And then there's the VIP after-party.

Maggie appeared at her side, her arm slipping around Chrissy's waist. "You killed it, sweetheart." Her whisper held genuine warmth. "Your dad would be so proud."

Leslie's hand shot out like a whip, shoving Maggie aside with enough force to make the makeup artist stumble backward. The warm comfort of Maggie's arm disappeared from around Chrissy's waist.

"Get off her," Leslie snapped. "You're paid to do her makeup, not cuddle her."

Before Chrissy could protest, Leslie's fingers clamped around her bare arm, her nails digging into the soft flesh. The crystal beading on Chrissy's midnight blue gown scraped against Leslie's expensive blazer as she yanked her forward.

"You'll fix that little flub in your Instagram post tonight, though." Leslie practically dragged her through the backstage area, her heels clicking aggressively against the polished floor. "And put this cropped leather jacket on. That tight revealing dress makes you look like a stripper."

Leslie thrust a black leather jacket at her chest. Chrissy caught it reflexively, her throat tightening. The sweetheart neckline of her gown wasn't even that low—just enough tohighlight her natural curves without being distasteful. But arguing would only make things worse.

"Now," Leslie barked.

Chrissy slipped her arms into the jacket, the material stiff and hot against her skin. The moment she zipped it up, Leslie seized her wrist and resumed marching her toward the VIP lounge.

Chrissy flinched at the grip but bit her tongue. She'd learned that lesson months ago—every objection just fueled Leslie's venom. And tonight, with exhaustion burning behind her eyes and her dad's song still echoing in her mind, she lacked the energy for another confrontation.

God, what would her dad think if he saw how they treated her? The thought made her chest tight.

The VIP lounge glittered with wealth and exclusivity—crystal chandeliers, plush velvet couches, and the unmistakable gleam of fame. But all Chrissy noticed was Marty Shriner's cold stare as he stood by the bar, his tailored suit as sharp as his expression.

Leslie delivered her like a package. "Here she is."

No "great performance." No "well done." Just that predatory assessment that made her skin crawl.

Marty's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around her upper arm with bruising force as he pulled her to the side of the room. His ice-blue eyes narrowed beneath his perfectly groomed auburn hair.

"What the hell was that performance?" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper that somehow cut through the ambient music. "You were flat on the bridge of 'Midnight Dreams,' you botched Stella Wang's name, and you looked like you were sleepwalking through the whole set."

Chrissy's heart hammered against her ribs. "I'm sorry, I'm just tire?—"

"Tired?" Marty's grip tightened. "You think I care? Your new album just dropped. We have promotions lined up across three continents."

"But I asked for just two days to see my dad?—"

"Time off?" A harsh laugh cut through her plea. "This entire industry is built on momentum, and momentum means no breaks. I made you a star, Rivera. Now you need to act like it."

Something snapped inside her—a thread pulled too tight for too long. The memories of recording 'Daddy's Girl' in her bedroom, the joy of music before contracts and handlers, before becoming property instead of a person.

"Made me a star?" Heat flooded her cheeks. "I made myself a star. You just showed up after my TikTok video went viral and slapped a contract in front of me that I was too naïve to read properly."

Marty's eyes flashed dangerously. "Watch yourself."

"No, you watch yourself." The words tumbled out, unstoppable now. "I'm a human being, not a wind-up toy. I need sleep. I need to see my family. I need five minutes to breathe without you or Leslie yanking me around like a dog on a leash."

The room seemed to still around them. Marty's face transformed into something cold and feral.

"You belong to my company." His voice dropped to a whisper that chilled her blood. "Try to run, and we'll ruin you."

The threat hung in the air between them, crystalline and poisonous.

The VIP lounge suddenly seemed smaller, the glittering chandeliers dimmer. Her pulse hammered in her ears as she stared into Marty's ice-blue eyes, seeing something inhuman lurking behind them.

"Excuse me, but I simply must interrupt."

The soft yet commanding voice sliced through their confrontation like a velvet-wrapped blade. Chrissy turned,grateful for the reprieve, and found herself face-to-face with a diminutive woman who somehow commanded the entire room despite her small stature.

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