Page 37 of Collide (The Rhapsody of Heartbeats #1)

Complicated

T he city bustles outside my window, the steady pulse of New York moving without me.

I should be out there—working, networking, preparing for my album launch.

Instead, I’ve spent the last few days laying low, dodging the media frenzy that followed Geek-Fest and the ridiculous speculation about Alex and me.

We agreed—no red carpet, no public confirmations, no feeding into the gossip. For now, at least.

Well…I agreed. Alex didn’t care either way. In the end, I think his PR team convinced him it was smarter to keep things quiet.

It was the smart decision. The right one.

But it hadn’t stopped the headlines. Or the photos. Me at the grocery store. Me on a walk. Me heading into the studio.

I felt like I was always being watched.

And it hadn’t stopped the unease curling in my stomach.

And now, my father wants to talk.

That alone is enough to spike my anxiety.

Montgomery family ‘talks’ are never casual.

The black town car he sent to collect me pulls through the gated driveway of my father’s private limestone townhouse, the kind of Upper East Side estate that screams old money and quiet power.

The home is pristine—marble steps, a wrought-iron balcony, ivy creeping up the facade.

I stayed here a few times when I visited, but it never felt like home to me.

Because it never was.

I step out, tugging my jacket tighter around me, already bracing for whatever this conversation is about. My father doesn’t summon me to chat. If he wants to see me, there’s a reason, and I have a feeling it’s not just about my album.

The butler lets me in without a word, leading me toward the grand sitting room, where I find my father exactly as expected—seated in his favorite leather armchair, a whiskey glass in one hand, skimming through the Financial Times like nothing in the world ever touches him.

And then I see her.

Carole.

Sitting elegantly on the opposite chair, a porcelain teacup in hand, dressed in muted beige cashmere and understated diamonds. She doesn’t belong in this house—or at least, she never should have. But she does now.

My insides tighten. Of course she’s here .

“Elena,” my father greets me, barely glancing up from his paper. “Good of you to come.”

I force a polite nod. “You said it was important.”

Carole sets her teacup down delicately, offering me a warm smile. The kind that’s always been too soft for me to fully trust. “It’s been a while. How are you, dear?”

I hold back the sharp retort burning on my tongue. The woman who broke my mother’s heart—who stood in the wreckage of our family like it was hers to claim—doesn’t get to call me ‘dear.’

But I didn’t come here to fight.

“I’m fine.” The words are clipped, my gaze snapping back to my father. “You wanted to talk?”

He finally sets the paper aside, leveling me with that cool, assessing stare that makes my skin prickle.

Mortimer exhales, tapping the edge of his glass. “Your name is in the press too often and for the wrong reasons.”

I roll my eyes. There it is.

“If you mean the rumors about Alex, then yes, I’m aware.”

Carole tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her voice gentle and concerned. “It’s…a lot of attention all at once. We wanted to check in on how you’re handling it.”

I blink at her, caught slightly off guard.

My father, of course, has no such softness. “You need to get ahead of this before it spirals.”

I exhale sharply. “It’s already under control. That’s what PR people are for.”

Mortimer gives a slight nod of approval, like I’ve finally said something that makes sense to him. “Good. But you need to be intentional about how you’re handling this. Right now, the media is dictating the narrative. If you want to be known for your music, you need to shift the focus.”

Since when did he start caring about my career?

The thought catches me by surprise, stunning me into momentary silence.

“And how do you suggest I do that?” I ask.

He leans back slightly, already prepared. “How about attending and performing at The Montgomery Annual Charity Gala?”

I stiffen. “What?” The words hit me like a stone dropping into my stomach.

The Montgomery Charity Annual Gala. The last time I attended, I spent the entire night being introduced to executives my father wanted me to impress, like I was some well-groomed show pony, not a person.

Now, he wants to use me again, but this time to clean up a PR mess I never even made.

“Controlled. Professional. Something that highlights your philanthropy and career— not your personal life. The moment you take ownership of the narrative and your career, the media will follow.”

My fingers clench in my lap, his sincerity catching me by surprise. He wants to help? I know he’s not wrong. But the idea of dressing up and performing for the sake of my ‘image’ feels manufactured. Like I’m playing a part I never asked to play.

Carole watches me thoughtfully before speaking, her tone softer. “Elena, we’re only suggesting this because we want what’s best for you. Your album deserves the spotlight. It would be a shame if people forgot that in favor of gossip.”

Her voice is so genuine that I almost feel guilty for assuming the worst when I walked in.

Almost.

Still, something about all of this makes me uneasy.

I inhale, forcing my voice to stay even. “I’ll think about it.”

Mortimer nods, satisfied. “Good.”

The butler arrives with refreshments, and for a while, the conversation shifts—Philippa’s wedding, my album, the new apartment.

For a moment, it almost feels normal.

Then, as I stand to leave, Carole reaches out, gently touching my arm.

“And Elena?”

I pause, glancing back at her.

She smiles softly. “Just…be careful. The press loves a love story, but they love a scandal more.”

The words stick with me long after I walk out the door.

The moment I step out of my father’s townhouse, I feel like I can breathe again.

But the tension doesn’t ease, her words tightening around me like a vice.

I shouldn’t be surprised—typical Mortimer. Calculated. Strategic. Turning a conversation about my career into a chess move for optics.

And Carole…she was kind. She always is. But that last comment?

“The press loves a love story, but they love a scandal more.”

The way she said it, like she knew something I didn’t—it hasn’t stopped replaying in my head.

By the time I get back to my apartment, I’m already gripping my phone, texting Riley.

Elena

Home. Bring wine. It’s a crisis.

Riley

Be there in 10. Do I need to grab ice cream too?

Elena

Probably.

Riley

I knew it.

Fifteen minutes later, Riley bursts in like she’s making a life-saving rescue, a bottle of rosé in one hand and a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice-cream in the other.

She takes one look at my face and sighs. “Yikes. You’ve got the I’ve been Monty’d look.”

I groan, flopping onto the couch. “You have no idea.”

She uncorks the wine with frank efficiency, pouring two very full glasses before plopping down next to me.

“Okay, spill. What did Daddy Dearest say this time?”

I take a deep sip before answering. “He wants me to perform at the Montgomery Annual Charity Gala.”

Riley’s brows shoot up. “Wait, seriously?”

I nod.

She whistles, leaning back. “Huh. Okay, I gotta admit—that’s not the worst idea. You’re launching an album. It puts the focus on your music and not your… extracurriculars .”

I give her a look. “Did you call my dating life ‘extracurriculars’?”

She shrugs. “I’m trying to be classy about it.”

Before I can answer, my phone buzzes.

Kylie.

I sigh. “Perfect timing.”

Riley leans in. “Put her on speaker.”

I do.

“Kylie, let me guess—you’re calling about the gala?”

Her sigh is sharp. “Oh, good. You already know. That saves me time.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Let me guess, you think it’s a good idea, too?”

“Of course I do,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s the perfect opportunity to shift the narrative away from Alexander. It lets the press focus on your music while also making you look like the poised, philanthropic artist you are. Win-win.”

I groan, rubbing my temples. “God, not you too.”

Riley smirks. “That’s two votes in favor, babe. I think you’re outnumbered.”

“Okay, I’ll coordinate your diary with Mark. The Montgomery PR team will already have selected media presence there, so that’s covered, Kylie out,” and the call ends.

I stare at the ceiling, feeling utterly betrayed, like I’ve somehow lost all autonomy over my own life.

Riley shifts beside me, her tone uncharacteristically measured. “Babe, you knew this would come with the territory. Even if you weren’t dating Alex, with your insane talent, your career was always going to put you under a spotlight. This speeds things up.”

I exhale sharply, rubbing my temples. “It’s not just that. It’s him using it to ‘control the narrative.’ It’s the idea of playing a part for the press instead of letting my career speak for itself.”

Riley tilts her head, eyes filled with equal parts amusement and brutal honesty. “Elena, I love you, but you knew this was part of the deal. The moment you got serious about music—the second you started dating a literal walking Calvin Klein ad—your life became public domain.”

I groan. “Don’t remind me.”

I hesitate.

Because I’d been avoiding him since the story broke.

Riley watches me carefully, the teasing edge in her expression softening into something more thoughtful, steady.

“Stop hiding,” she says gently. “You should talk to him.”

Her voice is maddeningly matter-of-fact, as though this isn’t something I’ve been agonizing over for days.

Oh, Riley. I could never survive this insane, unpredictable life without her.

I exhale, pushing away my pride, my nerves, and pick up my phone. My fingers hover for a moment before I type out the message.

Elena

Hey, settled back in NYC. Come over for dinner and a movie?

The second I hit send, anxiety coils in my stomach. I don’t have to wait long for a response. My phone vibrates almost instantly.