“Give this more coverage,” I order, my eyes lingering on the articles about Raven’s couture brand.

I didn’t realize it last night, but one of the brands featured on the runway was hers. From what I can tell, her latest collection has been received incredibly well, and it deserves far more attention than it’s getting.

What’s the point of owning several gossip and fashion magazines if I can’t use them to promote my friend’s work?

I hope her company grows to the point where she has no choice but to quit modeling because she simply won’t have the time for it anymore.

I hate the way she’s become the object of men’s desires.

They can’t see beyond her beauty to the funny, kind-hearted woman underneath.

I know how toxic this industry is, and I don’t want that life for her.

I want her safely behind the flashing lights instead of standing in front of them.

Raven hasn’t been herself lately, and I’m worried about her.

I’m worried everything is becoming too much.

The endless dieting. The insane demands photographers make. The brutal shooting environments.

I’ve never understood why she does it at all.

She’s breathtakingly beautiful, but somehow, this career just doesn’t suit her.

Her fashion brand, on the other hand?

That’s perfect for her.

It allows her creativity to shine while still keeping her in the industry she grew up in, without exposing her to the ugliest parts of fame.

“Bradford Manson called,” my secretary, Dom, tells me. “He wanted to ask about the script he sent in. Based on your notes, it looks like we’re ready to approve funding for his project. Should I move forward with it?”

I grit my teeth and look up sharply.

“No,” I snap, my thoughts drifting back to the way he spoke to Raven last night. “He’s a piece of shit who isn’t even worthy of being stuck to the bottom of her fucking shoe.”

“What?” Dom asks, confused.

I wave a hand dismissively.

“Forget it. I never want to hear that fucker’s name again. We are never working with him again, and make it clear that any actor or actress who works with him will never work with Windsor Media either. Same goes for anyone who funds him.”

Dom’s eyes widen.

“What did the poor bastard do for you to give him the Kiss of Death? He’ll never work again.”

I smirk at his stunned expression.

Being blacklisted by the Windsors has been nicknamed the Kiss of Death because it acts like a slow poison. Most people don’t even realize it’s happening until it’s too late — until they find themselves staring at the ruins of their careers.

I shake my head.

“I don’t give a fuck if he never works again. He should’ve thought about that before he let his mouth run wild. Let’s see where he’s going to get money from now. Fucking asshole.”

My secretary nods, shock still written all over his face.

Most of the time, I’m beyond reasonable — you have to be in an industry overflowing with inflated egos.

But this fucker?

He’s about to find out exactly what happens when I lose my patience.

“Come to think of it,” I say, tapping a finger against my desk. “There’s a store manager named Andy working at our flagship mall. He’s at one of the jewelry stores. I forgot which one. Whatever Hannah’s favorite brand is.”

Dom clears his throat awkwardly.

“If it’s one of the malls, then that falls under real estate, which means it’s Sierra’s jurisdiction. You know she hates it when we interfere with her business.”

I lean back in my chair and stare at my secretary.

He’s six-three and constantly mistaken for my bodyguard, yet the mere thought of my sister has him looking nervous.

Honestly, I can’t blame him.

My little sister is somewhat unhinged.

“Call Sierra and tell her Andy spent the entire time leering at Raven while I was there with her, and that I want him fired. Doesn’t she want her best friend to be able to walk through one of her malls without being objectified?”

Dom’s eyes widen, anger flashing across his face.

“He offended Raven?”

He grits his teeth and nods resolutely.

“I’m on it.”

I watch him march out of the office and suppress a smile.

It isn’t just my family and me who love Raven.

It’s everyone who comes into contact with her.

She’s so easy to love, and somehow, the entire world sees it except for her.

I glance out the window, hesitating for a moment.

I genuinely hate the idea of her walking around unprotected.

What would’ve happened if I hadn’t been there last night?

What if Brad hadn’t taken no for an answer?

I grab my phone and stare down at it, swallowing my pride as I call the one man I absolutely fucking despise.

He might be an asshole, but he’s the best at what he does.

“Silas Sinclair,” he answers.

I grit my teeth, irritated by the mere sound of his voice.

“This is Ares Windsor.”

“I know. I have caller ID. Most phones do nowadays.”

I fucking hate this man.

“I need two additional bodyguards. I want the best you’ve got, but there’s one condition.”

“A condition?” he asks, intrigued.

I clench my jaw as memories of Raven on his arm flash through my mind.

For years, the two of them were seen together on and off, dating occasionally.

I wish there were someone else better suited for the favor I need, but this asshole truly is the best in the business.

“I want them to stay out of sight. They’re to protect someone without her knowing about it. I want every possible threat eliminated before it even has the chance to reach her. That includes men who harass her or refuse to take no for an answer. I don’t care how it’s handled, but the second she looks remotely uncomfortable, I need someone stepping in.”

He lets out a dark chuckle, the sound unbelievably irritating.

“And who exactly requires that level of protection? Your fiancée? I thought we already assigned someone to her.”

I look up at the ceiling, an inexplicable sense of tension crawling down my spine.

“Raven Du Pont.”

Silence fills the line for a moment.

“You would go to those lengths to protect her in secret?”

I close my eyes and inhale deeply.

“I would.”

“It’ll cost you.”

“I’m sure it will.”

“One favor. To be collected whenever I please, and you don’t get to refuse.”

I hesitate.

Silas fucking Sinclair.

He knows exactly how valuable a favor from a Windsor is.

“Anything but that.”

“Then I suppose you’ll have to find someone else, Windsor.”

Fuck.

This fucking asshole.

“Did you ever even give a fuck about her?” I snap.

He laughs, the sound grating against my nerves.

“I did, and I still do. My wife and I both love Raven like family, and we always will.”

“Yet you’re demanding such a ridiculous price for protecting her?”

“I don’t mix business with my personal life.”

“That’s bullshit. You built your entire company just to find your wife.”

He laughs again, and I’ve never been more tempted to punch someone in the face.

“Yes,” he admits. “Alanna is my only exception.”

“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “One favor. As long as it doesn’t harm anyone or go against my personal values.”

“Done,” he says. “Raven will never realize that some of the most skilled and ruthless men I employ are protecting her around the clock.”

Then that fucker laughs again.

“By the way, you should probably know Raven has unknowingly had my protection for years — for free. You just paid one hell of a premium simply to keep men’s advances away from her, something I never bothered interfering with. You should probably ask yourself why.”

Then he hangs up on me, leaving me absolutely fucking furious.

Fucking piece of shit.