Chapter 1

On the tenth day of the zombie siege, I leave the last protein bar for my husband and walk out of the safe house alone.

A horde of zombies tackles me. Teeth and hands tear into my flesh. The pain is so intense I think it might kill me.

Then I hear the snap of a clapperboard. "Cut! Good take. Extras, take five!"

The zombies scatter in an instant.

The safe house door swings open behind me. My husband, Damien Blackwell, steps out.

Selene Hart, Hollywood's newest It girl, comes laughing from behind a half-collapsed fake storefront.

"Damien, you're a genius!" she laughs. "You faked the apocalypse, and she actually bought it."

Damien sneers. "She tried to sabotage your audition behind our backs. I wanted her to feel desperate for once. Maybe now she'll learn."

I lie on the ground and watch the extras pull off their zombie masks.

Tears slide into the blood at my lips.

What they don't know is that I hate pain more than anything. So before I walked out of the safe house, I drank paraquat.

I drank paraquat, a restricted-use herbicide with no antidote. Once it’s in your system, your lungs scar over until you suffocate.

When I finally regain consciousness, I feel weightless. I hover in the air.

I look down.

The unmasked "zombies" drip with sweat. They pass around bottled water and joke around.

"Holy shit, I'm roasting in this suit. But Mr. Blackwell pays well—way better than working as an extra on a real set!"

"No kidding. Mr. Blackwell rented out the entire backlot just to cheer Miss Hart up!"

I see it now: there is no outbreak, no apocalypse, just ten staged days of fear and starvation.

Staged by my husband for his college sweetheart. He rented an abandoned LA studio lot and hired a hundred extras.

I look down at the "me" on the ground.

White foam has dried around my mouth. My eyes bulge from the pain. My fingernails claw bloody lines into the concrete.

Damien walks over with an iced Americano. He nudges my leg with his expensive loafer.

"That’s enough, Aria. We’re done here. Get up."

I don't move. I can't.

Selene loops her arm through his and lowers her voice into something soft and practiced.

"Damien, Mrs. Blackwell is quite the actress. She's probably too embarrassed to face us."

"When she gave you her last protein bar and walked out to die, I almost shed a tear."

Damien scoffs. Pure disgust flashes in his eyes.

"Everything with her is a performance. She just wants my attention."

"She crossed a line when she tried to ruin your audition!"

"Aria only hears you when it hurts."

Selene covers her mouth and giggles. "Oh, come on. I'm not even that mad anymore."

Damien doesn't even spare me a glance. He pulls Selene toward the exit.

"Let her rot on the ground and think about what she did. Leave two guards. Once she apologizes, haul her back to the Malibu estate."

The heavy iron gates of the backlot slam shut. The lock clicks.

I want to scream. I want to ask him what the hell is wrong with him.

But I am already a ghost.

An unseen force yanks me back. Like a heavy chain strapped to my chest. It drags me straight into the backseat of Damien's Rolls-Royce Ghost.

He sits in the driver's seat. One hand rests on the steering wheel.

Selene sits shotgun. She touches up her lipstick in the vanity mirror.

"Damien, I start shooting tomorrow. The director says we need a new location..."

"Take whatever you need. Any property owned by the company."

Selene leans over and pecks his cheek. "Damien, you're so good to me. Everything with Aria has to become an ordeal."

Damien tugs at his silk tie and says nothing. But something strange flickers in his eyes—gone before I can even name it.

"We just left Aria out there alone. What if something happens?" Selene applies another layer of lip gloss, her voice soft and sugary.

Damien snorts. "There are guards everywhere. What could possibly happen? She's been spoiled rotten—she can't handle even the smallest setback."

"But... she threw up so much blood."

"Fake blood, obviously. You know she's a drama queen. She'd do anything for attention." Damien slams on the gas.

"Forget her. Let her starve for a day. That will shut her up."

"Give her a day or two. She always comes back and apologizes."

I float in the backseat, staring at the back of his head.

Damien Blackwell has no idea that behind that locked gate, my body is already lying there. He will never hear my voice again.