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Damnit. What does that mean? Was that not the right answer?

When she looks back up, her expression is more neutral. “All right, now that that’s cleared up…why don’t you tell me a little about yourself? Who is Kira Blakely? And what lights her soul on fire?”

I stare at her, blinking, unsure of how to answer. “Well, I’m twenty-five, and I’ve been acting now for most of my life. I’ve been married to Augustus Wilde since I was twenty-two…” Realizing she wants me to keep going, I swallow a gulp. “I’m known for my roles as dark feminine figures and got my start at fourteen when I was cast as⁠—”

Marguerite holds up a hand to stop me. “I don’t care about your resumé. I asked about you.”

“Right.” I purse my lips, trying to think of what she wants from me. “I have an older sister… This is her house I’m staying at, actually. And I recently adopted a dog…”

“Let’s try something different.” She cuts me off. Folding her hands in front of her, she leans forward. “Tell me, Kira… Are you happy?”

My response comes out in a shocked snort. “Is anyone?”

“I’d like to think most people are at least in pursuit of happiness. Otherwise, what’s the point of living?”

I ponder her rhetorical question for a moment, my mind spinning like she’s just asked me to solve a complicated mathematical equation.

“I don’t know. I guess I haven’t really given it much thought,” I finally say.

“That’s good. Now we’re getting somewhere.” She nods. “And what about your career or your relationship? What feelings come up for you there?”

I shake my head and shrug. “I don’t know. Work is work. I don’t think it’s supposed to be enjoyable…”

“And what about your relationship?” she presses.

The warning bells in my mind go off. I know she’s probably technically bound by privacy laws, but I don’t know this woman. I’m already in the predicament I’m in because someone witnessed our argument. Professional or not, I can’t let her get a whiff of anything that could be used against me. People have started far worse rumors about me with far less.

As terrifying as it may be, this woman holds the power over my future. Whether I pass or fail this program comes down to her judgment call. So I need to do whatever it takes to convince her I’m taking this seriously—even if I think the whole thing is a gigantic waste of my time.

“We’ve had a few speed bumps, but I imagine that’s just the pressure that comes with fame.” I flash my most convincing smile. “Augustus and I are very happy. The whole incident was a misunderstanding.”

Marguerite closes her notebook and repositions herself. “I have no doubt,” she says with a smile, but I notice it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

The uncomfortable silence is almost unbearable, and I can feel the panic bubbling up inside me. I force myself not to fidget. She’s probably holding out for me to crack. But I won’t break. I just need to maintain my composure and hold my ground.

“You know what your problem is?” Her raspy voice slices through the silence, making me jump in surprise. She doesn’t wait for me to respond before continuing, “Of course, you don’t know who you are…you’re disconnected from your feminine power,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And do you know where your feminine power comes from?”

I shake my head.

“Your yoni.”

“My what?”

She widens her eyes. “You know, the magical portal between your legs that brings life into this world...”

“Okay…” I drag out.

Is this supposed to be some kind of mushroom thing? Because I don’t do well with drugs. I get too paranoid.

“Being disconnected from the divine feminine inside you will only lead you down a path of misery and destruction.” She shakes her head, like she’s disappointed but not surprised. “Lucky for you, I can give you the exact steps to fix it.” She holds up her book, and now I’m the one fighting not to roll my eyes.

“Right,” I say, trying not to appear too annoyed.

You look terrible in orange, I remind myself. Just play nice and try to seem like you’re receptive.

“I believe rage can be a powerful thing if harnessed correctly. Which is why I’ve created the thirteen rules for embracing your feminine rage.” She points at the book title, as if emphasizing her point. “Trust me when I tell you, this is some powerful work we’ll be doing. It won’t always be easy, but as long as you are honest—not just with me, but with yourself—you will rediscover your power and open yourself to a whole new way of life.” She looks down her nose, peering over the top of her glasses, and she adds, “And, of course, if you don’t want to go to jail…then I suggest you take this seriously.”

Understanding falls over me, and I nod my head. I guess that clears up any thoughts I had that I could bullshit my way out of this. Marguerite isn’t here to play games.