Aster Amirpour shuffled into the room and took the only chair available to her—the one bolted into the floor. Despite hating every moment of being locked in her cell, she’d come to dread leaving it as well, and for that she had her parents to thank. They meant well, she knew. But every visit from them and her attorneys left her feeling progressively worse, depleted of hope and resenting the freak show her life had become.
It was strange to think how just a few months earlier she’d graduated high school fully convinced she was standing on the precipice of a bright and shiny future, only to end up arrested for an A-list celebrity’s murder.
All her life she’d dreamed of being famous—the face on every magazine cover, the name on everyone’s lips. Never once had she imagined she’d achieve all those things in the absolute worst, most inconceivable way.
She’d been in lockup less than a week and she already missed absolutely everything having to do with her former life. She missed her little brother Javen so much it was like a physical ache. She missed the feel of the hot California sun on her skin and spontaneous trips to the beach with her friends. She missed shopping sprees at Barneys, her large collection of designer handbags and shoes, as well as her weekly salon appointments for manis, pedis, and blowouts. And after the revolting, carb-heavy, jail-issued meals she was forced to gag down, she could honestly say she even missed green juice. Basically every aspect of her daily existence she’d once taken for granted she found herself missing with the kind of intensity most people reserved for loved ones or pets. If she was lucky enough to get out, she swore to express a lot more gratitude for the luxurious life she’d been given.
But for the moment, locked behind bars and clothed in an orange jail-issued jumpsuit, there was little to be grateful for. Her parents refused to let Javen visit, claiming they didn’t want Aster to traumatize him any more than she already had. Just when she was sure she’d reached rock bottom, their comment made her realize there were still several more layers of hell left to explore.
Then there were the shackles her jailers insisted she wear on her ankles and wrists, which were not only humiliating but completely unnecessary. Aster wasn’t violent, and she certainly didn’t pose a threat to anyone, but she’d failed to convince them of that.
It was hardly her fault that within minutes of being locked into the overcrowded holding cell she’d been dragged into a brawl. One moment she was eyeballing the filthy exposed toilet set smack in the center of the cell, wondering how long she could hold out before she’d have no choice but to use it, and the next, some crazy chick was whaling on her with both fists, leaving Aster no choice but to use the moves she’d learned in kickboxing class. Even though she’d acted in self-defense, there was no explaining that to the powers that be.
In the end, the incident had gained her a black eye, a split lip, the distrust of her jailers, and her very own cell, which was meant as a punishment but felt more like a win.
She slumped toward the edge of her seat and waited for her attorneys to enter, hoping they’d finally agreed to post bail. Her parents could’ve handled it days ago, but they wanted to teach Aster a lesson. As though the first-degree murder charge she was facing wasn’t lesson enough.
And yet, as desperate as she was to get out—as much as she hated the food, the filthy mattress, the lack of privacy, the disgusting smells, the hideous orange jumpsuit she was forced to wear, and pretty much everything else—the idea of returning home to live with her parents was its own kind of prison. Sure, the environment was incomparably luxurious, but the house rules were just as stringent. Though at the moment, it was the only option she had.
The door swooshed open behind her and Aster closed her eyes, wanting to savor a few moments to herself before she took in her mother’s impeccab
ly coiffed hair and expertly made-up face, which only seemed to emphasize the judgmental look in her eyes. Though as tough as it was facing her mother, seeing her father was worse. He could barely bring himself to look at her, and when he did, it left Aster wishing he hadn’t bothered. His grief was so profound Aster swore she could see it emanating from him like exhaust from a car. She’d been a daddy’s girl for as long as she could remember, but now that she’d done the unthinkable, now that she’d disappointed him and brought shame on the family, she was sure there was nothing she could ever do to regain his favor.
It was a childish game, refusing to look. She’d done the same thing as a kid whenever she was faced with something she didn’t want to deal with. Of course it never worked, but that didn’t stop her from trying. Still, maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time she’d wake from the nightmare and rewind her life to the day her agent called with news of Ira Redman’s contest. Only this time, armed with the foresight she lacked then, she’d refuse the offer and spend the rest of the summer like any other normal eighteen-year-old—shopping, sunning, flirting with cute boys, and waiting for her first semester of college classes to begin.
“Aster. Aster—you okay?”
The voice was familiar, but it wasn’t the one she’d expected. She blinked her eyes open to find Ira Redman sitting before her, wearing a crisp cotton shirt folded at the cuffs, the better to showcase his sporty Breguet watch. Beside him sat the attorney she’d met with before, back when she was first called in for questioning and had no idea just how much trouble she’d soon be facing.
“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I still represent you.” The lawyer centered his gaze on hers.
Aster nodded and picked at her jail-issued jumpsuit, which drained her complexion and made her look as close to death as she currently felt. It was strange to see the two powerful men sitting before her. It was so opposite of what she’d expected it took a few moments to process.
“I would’ve come sooner, but you forgot to put us on the list.” Ira shot her a pointed look that told her they both knew it wasn’t exactly an oversight.
She squinted between the attorney and Ira. The two men were probably around the same age, but Ira was clearly the one wielding the power. In a place like LA, a bespoke suit and designer silk tie was the uniform of those who answered to a higher authority. Whereas Ira’s dark designer jeans and untucked shirt indicated he answered to no one.
“We want to help you. If you’ll let us, that is.”
Aster stared at the dull green wall just past his shoulder, the shade forever imprinted on her mind as the color of misery, despair, and lost hope. She clenched her hands in her lap, unsure which of the two evils was worse, being in her parents’ debt or Ira Redman’s. God knew she needed help. Her parents’ idea of support was to swap one jail for another by putting her under house arrest. Not that she actually had anywhere to go outside of the family manse. She was the most reviled person in LA. The safest place for her would be tucked away in her family’s massive gated Beverly Hills estate, where no one could reach her.
Yet Aster refused to play it safe. Refused to admit she’d messed up her life so badly she needed her parents’ strictest guidance to get back on track. She was just stubborn enough that she could not, absolutely would not, surrender to their will. But mostly, she’d do whatever was necessary to shield them from the mess and keep their involvement to a minimum. Accepting Ira’s help was a sure way to do that.
She’d made so many stupid mistakes—falling for Ryan Hawthorne was at the top of the list. She’d let her ego take over and fooled herself into believing Ryan when he said he cared about her, that he’d always be there for her. It was all lies, of course.
What had Ira said? Never trust an actor, Aster. They’re always acting; they have no off switch. It was only now that she could see the truth of those words.
All she knew for sure was that she didn’t harm Madison Brooks. She was 100 percent innocent of any wrongdoing—despite the abundance of evidence the state of California was holding against her.
“We’re prepared to post your bail.”
Aster glanced at them between wet, clumpy lashes, unaware she’d been crying. She did that a lot lately.
“And what do you want in return?”
Ira and the attorney exchanged a loaded glance, before Ira switched his focus to her. “Nothing.”
“You know I can never repay you.” She frowned at her chipped nails and ragged cuticles. Her hair was matted and dirty, her skin broken out, and she was probably rocking a major case of unibrow, but she was too depressed to care about any of that. It wasn’t like she was posting selfies from her jail cell.