Angela's POV
I went back to the winery anyway.
I pulled into the parking lot, turned off the engine, and waited. The lights inside the winery were dimming. Only a few cars were still there.
I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel, trying to shake off the unease tightening in my chest. Time passed. I didn’t leave. By then, the sky had turned pitch-black.
Then I saw him.
Aaron walked out with his assistant and Mr. Whitmore, heading toward the parking area.
I opened my car door and stepped out, slamming it shut behind me. Aaron was about to get into his car when I moved fast, cutting him off.
“We need to talk,” I said.
He stopped. His eyes flicked to me, then to his assistant. “Go with Mr. Whitmore. I’ll catch up.”
The assistant nodded without question and left, taking Mr. Whitmore with him. The lot fell quiet.
Aaron studied me for a moment, then gestured toward his car. “Get in.”
Sharp. Flat. An order, not an invitation.
I scoffed, glaring at him. “You really like telling people what to do, don’t you?”
He didn’t respond. Just opened the door and got in.
Damn it.
I clenched my fists, then followed. The moment I shut the door, silence closed in.
Aaron sat calmly, one hand on the wheel, eyes forward—like I wasn’t even there.
I didn’t waste time. “This is your doing, isn’t it?”
No answer. He started the engine instead, letting the sound fill the space between us.
“Aaron,” I said, quieter now, but firm. “Answer me.”
He finally turned, his expression unchanged. “You’ll have to be more specific. I do a lot in a day.”
Heat surged through me.
“This scandal,” I snapped. “My career is wrecked. My name’s all over the media. Everyone thinks I broke up someone’s marriage. And you expect me to believe that’s a coincidence?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re quick to look for a villain. Maybe this one’s on you.”
“I know you still hate me.”
He didn’t deny it. Didn’t confirm it either. He just leaned back in his seat.
“I want the truth, Aaron.”
He turned slowly, his gaze sharpening. “And if I deny it, would you believe me?”
My jaw tightened. “I just want to know.”
He let out a short, humorless smile. “The truth?” His voice was cold. “That word sounds funny coming from you.”
I took a breath. “I know you’re angry. I never said I was innocent. I was young back then. I...”
“But you didn’t hesitate to turn me into the villain,” he cut in. “In front of everyone.”
His voice stayed level, but every word hit hard.
“I paid the price,” he continued. “I lost everything. Because of you.”
Our eyes locked.
There was no warmth in his. Just something old and unresolved. A wound that never healed. And I knew—he hadn’t forgotten a single second of it.
“So this is revenge?” I asked quietly.
Aaron tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, then looked at me.
“If it is,” he said, “what are you going to do about it?”
My heart slammed against my ribs. My throat tightened as he leaned closer.
“Are you going to fight me, Angela?” His voice dropped. “Or are you finally going to admit this is the punishment you deserve?”
I couldn’t answer. No sound came out.
A few seconds passed. Then he glanced at his watch.
“We’re done here,” he said flatly.
Then, without hesitation, “Get out.”
I didn’t move right away. My eyes stayed on him. His expression hardened. His jaw clenched.
“Don’t make me say it again.”
I wanted to snap back. Say something sharp enough to cut him the way his words cut me. But it wouldn’t change anything. I’d already destroyed the man I once knew.
Without a word, I opened the door and stepped out. I slammed it shut.
The night air hit my face but it felt warmer than the look he’d given me.
His engine roared. Headlights washed over my legs before the car pulled away, leaving me alone in the dark, empty lot.
I stood there, watching him disappear, my breath stuck in my chest.
“Damn it,” I muttered. It almost sounded like a prayer.
I bit my lip, refusing the burn behind my eyes. No. I wasn’t going to cry. Not here. Not over this.
I took a steadying breath and walked back to my car. Once inside, I leaned my head against the seat, letting the silence swallow me for a moment before reaching for my phone on the dashboard.
The screen lit up.
Notifications flooded in like a tidal wave.
Disgusting. That nobody actress has no shame.
Thought she had talent. Turns out she’s just a homewrecker.
Feel bad for the wife. Years of loyalty, ruined by this woman.
Hollywood should blacklist her.
That lead role should’ve gone to Lyla Emerson. She doesn’t deserve it.
I closed my eyes, gripping the phone hard enough to hurt.
I’m human. And humans get hurt too. But who cared about that?
I hadn’t been in this industry long—but long enough to know how brutal it could be, especially to newcomers with no real protection.
My name had only just started to surface. Not on red carpets. Not at award shows. Just in small articles calling me “a promising new face.”
Now it was everywhere—for something that wasn’t even my fault.
A scandal. Cheap rumors.
My fingers tightened around the phone. I could ignore it. Pretend I didn’t care. But watching my name get dragged through the mud, watching how easily people believed it... it still hurt.
I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.
Enough.
I pressed the gas and headed back toward Los Angeles.
Two hours later, city lights swallowed me whole—bright and loud, the complete opposite of my thoughts.
Traffic blurred past as background noise. None of it felt real.
I pulled into North Hollywood, where my small apartment sat wedged between louder, brighter lives. Not glamorous. Thin walls. Neighbors you could hear breathe sometimes.
But it was the only place that felt like home now.
Inside, I sat for a moment, then went to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water.
Before I could take a sip, my phone rang.
Beth.
My manager’s name lit up the screen.
I inhaled, then answered.
“Jesus, Angela,” she said immediately. “Where the hell are you?”