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The desert air of Southern California had always been a truth-teller. It was dry, unforgiving, and stripped away pretense. For Layla Jenner, stepping off the private jet in Palm Springs felt like stepping back into a furnace she thought she’d escaped forever. Three years. Three years since she’d fled the set of Dark Horizons , leaving behind a multi-million dollar franchise, a mountain of legal trouble, and the one person who had ever truly understood her: Jules Jordan.
He frowned. “It’s already rolling.”
“You cut your hair,” he finally said.
He pressed the button. The red light glowed like an unblinking eye.
“Do you remember the first scene we ever shot?” he asked.
Layla did the last thing anyone expected. She walked over to the chair—the cursed chair—and sat down. Then she looked up at Jules.