He barks out a low laugh. “Nope. The entire world’s about to get a glimpse of everything I’m giving you tonight.”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. None.

I just bite my lip and turn toward the door with my heart racing, thighs clenched, and suddenly very ready for the night to end.

The drive to the awards show is quiet at first. The heat from the lake house dissipates the more I think about hitting the red carpet and having questions thrown at me from all sides.

The city lights flicker as we pass in a blur of gold and silver. My fingers twist together in my lap, and my knee bounces to a distracting rhythm.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” The lie falls so fast I barely recognize my own voice.

But I do talk. “I wanted the truth to come out,” I admit, staring out the window, voice tight. “I just didn’t think about what comes next.”

Vic doesn’t interrupt. He just listens.

“They’re going to know, Vic,” I whisper. “People are going to know the truth about me. And I don’t think I’m ready. I don’t want to be a victim. I don’t want to be seen as weak. I don’t want to be forced to relive my pain, but I know I’ll have to say something before Cory does first.”

I feel his intense gaze. Then, his hand finds mine, strong and reassuring as his thumb brushes against my skin.

“Kerry,” he says, his voice deep, steady. “How you want to handle this is your choice. But don’t ever think for a second that I think that you’re weak.”

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“I know you,” he continues, lifting my hand to his lips and kissing my knuckles. “And you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”

Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away and prepare for the night.

The second we step out of the car, we’re engulfed in flashing lights and reporters calling our names.

Vic and I own it. Like dozens of appearances before, we smile, we pose, we laugh, we fall into a natural rhythm with one another, except this time, it’s real. He keeps his hand firmly on my waist as we pose for pictures, all confidence, all power. I love his steady touch, and the press eats us up.

They call us the it couple. They ask about the show and his nominations and congratulate him on the season 2 renewal.

All is well, until an eager reporter steps forward. “Kerry,” he calls, his voice cutting through the noise. “When did the abuse begin?”

“Who started abusing who first?” The reporter asks.

Vic tenses beside me, his entire frame going rigid. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

“Kerry, care to comment on this?” Another reporter steps up, holding up a phone.