At the height of her powers, Heather Locklear was the kind of television star that only comes along once in a generation — commanding the screen as the calculating, impossibly glamorous Amanda Woodward on Melrose Place after already making herself indispensable to Dynasty, holding two primetime shows simultaneously in a feat that left network executives openly marveling and audiences completely captivated.

Hollywood had built her into something close to untouchable, a symbol of a particular brand of polished, razor-sharp feminine power that defined an entire era of American television — and then, when the weight of that constructed image, the relentless pressure, the broken relationships, and the private battles she had never been allowed to show began to crack her from the inside, the very industry that had profited so handsomely from her brilliance averted its eyes, the cameras that had once followed her everywhere suddenly found other stories, and Heather Locklear was left to fight the hardest chapter of her life almost entirely alone, in full view of a public that had loved her image but never truly been allowed to know the woman behind it.