Page 14

Mel

Morning sunlight streamed through my window as I stared at the ceiling, exhausted but unable to sleep. Last night’s mayhem played on repeat in my mind—the blaring alarms, the shouting, getting info to Ethan as he and his team chased down the intruder.

And the image I couldn’t shake: Roger Harrison, Nova’s obsessive superfan, being dragged away in handcuffs, screaming my sister’s name.

I rolled over, checking my phone. Eight thirty-two. After only three hours of fitful sleep, my body ached for rest, but my mind refused to cooperate.

A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts.

“Come in,” I called, sitting up against the headboard.

Nova poked her head in, dressed in yoga pants and a loose tank top, her platinum hair twisted into a messy bun. “You awake? ”

“Unfortunately.”

She padded across the room and flopped onto the foot of my bed. Despite spending the night locked in her suite while security handled the break-in, Nova looked remarkably well-rested. That was my sister—total meltdown if her favorite scented candle wasn’t available before a rehearsal, but completely unruffled by an actual emergency.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, studying her face for signs of distress.

“Fine.” She shrugged, examining her perfectly manicured nails. “I mean, it’s not like I actually saw the guy. Thanks for staying with me last night, though.”

“Of course. That’s what sisters are for.”

Nova stretched, catlike, before settling back against the footboard. “So, the team is saying all rehearsals are canceled today. Something about the authorities needing to finish up?”

I nodded. “They’re still processing evidence. The police want to make sure they’ve covered everything before we resume normal activities.”

“Hmm.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe we could do a live stream later? Since I’m not rehearsing anyway?”

The glint in her eye told me she’d already made up her mind. I stifled a groan. “Nova, maybe we should lie low for a day? Give everything a chance to settle?”

“But that’s exactly why we need to do it!” She sat forward, enthusiasm building. “Show everyone I’m okay, that nothing can keep Nova Rivers down. Plus, Dexter said my skin is absolutely glowing today—something about adrenaline being nature’s best beauty treatment.”

I bit back the urge to point out that Dexter would tell her she looked fabulous if she had the flu and green hair. But arguing would only strengthen her resolve.

“Let me check with Ethan first,” I compromised. “Security’s still tight, and I want to make sure we’re not interfering with their procedures.”

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes, but the smile didn’t fade. “But tell him I’m doing it either way. Now that they’ve caught my stalker, there’s nothing to worry about.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Ethan wasn’t convinced Roger Harrison was behind all the threats. My brief conversation with him after the arrest had made that clear—something didn’t add up. Roger might have been breaking in last night, but the meticulous planning of the previous incidents didn’t match his impulsive behavior.

“I’ll talk to him,” I promised.

Nova bounced off the bed. “Perfect! I’m thinking we’ll start around seven. That gives me time to prepare, and it’s prime viewing hours.” She paused at the door. “Oh, and tell Ethan’s team to stay out of the sitting room after three. I need to set up.”

And she was gone, a whirlwind of energy and plans, leaving me alone with my exhaustion and growing list of concerns.

By early evening, the house had settled into an uneasy calm. The crime scene investigators had finally cleared out, taking their evidence markers and cameras with them. I found myself in the kitchen, brewing a pot of strong coffee to combat my fatigue, when Ethan walked in.

“Need one of these?” I offered, holding up a mug.

He looked as tired as I felt, though he wore it differently—a slight tightness around his eyes, shoulders held with rigid control.

“Thanks.” He accepted the coffee, our fingers brushing in the exchange. The brief contact sent a jolt through me that had nothing to do with caffeine. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Three hours, maybe. You?”

“About the same.” He took a sip, watching me over the rim of his mug. “Nova seems surprisingly unfazed.”

I leaned against the counter, cradling my own coffee. “That’s Nova. Complete disaster over minor inconveniences, rock solid during actual crises.”

His jaw tensed. “She still planning to do the live stream?”

“Yep. She’s determined. At this point, it’s less effort to clean up any fallout than to try to talk her out of it.”

He didn’t like it but didn’t make further arguments. We sipped our coffee.

“You doing okay?” Ethan asked softly, breaking into my thoughts. “Really?”

The unexpected gentleness in his voice caught me off guard. I wasn’t used to being asked that question—I was always the one doing the asking, making sure Nova was okay, the tour was okay, everyone else was okay.

“I’m fine,” I answered automatically, then caught myself. “Actually, that’s not true. I’m exhausted and worried. Nova’s convinced it’s all over.”

“It’s not.”

“I know.” I met his gaze. “That’s what worries me.”

When we entered the sitting room twenty minutes later, it had been transformed into a makeshift studio. Nova had positioned herself on the cream-colored sofa, with strategic lighting that cast her in a warm glow. Dexter hovered nearby, making last-minute adjustments to her hair, while two assistants set up the phone on a professional-grade tripod.

Ethan and I watched from the far side of the room, just out of camera range. I had pulled up the live stream on my own phone, curious to see what Nova’s followers would see.

“This is not ideal,” Ethan muttered beside me.

“Welcome to life with Nova,” I whispered back. “At least we’re here to monitor. You can always do a flying tackle if she starts to reveal security secrets.”

A small smile tilted his lips at that, although I wasn’t sure if it was from my statement or the thought of tackling Nova.

The assistants gave a thumbs-up, and Nova straightened, arranging her features into her trademark radiant smile. Dexter slipped behind the camera, ready to play interviewer.

“We’re live in three…two…one…”

Nova’s face lit up with practiced perfection. “Hey, everyone! Nova here, coming to you live from my home with a little update after last night’s drama since everyone already has heard about it.”

Comments immediately began flooding in, hearts and shocked emojis filling the screen. The viewer count ticked upward at an alarming rate.

Dexter moved into frame, settling beside Nova. “So, doll, everyone’s dying to know—how are you feeling after such a terrifying ordeal?”

Nova pressed a hand to her chest, her expression shifting to one of serene bravery. “You know, I’m just so grateful for my amazing security team. They handled everything with such professionalism.” She gestured vaguely in our direction, though careful not to draw the camera’s attention to where Ethan and I stood.

Ethan tensed beside me. I’d been joking about the tackling, but if Nova started talking about specific security protocols, I had no doubt Ethan would find a way to stop this live stream.

“Tell us what happened,” Dexter prompted, leaning forward eagerly.

“Well, I was getting my beauty sleep when the alarms went off.” Nova fluttered her eyelashes dramatically. “Next thing I know, my security team had apprehended this obsessed fan who has been stalking me.”

“How frightening!” Dexter gasped, playing his part perfectly.

“I mean, of course my stalker was obsessed with me,” Nova gushed, scanning the rapidly scrolling comments. “But now he’s behind bars, and we can all move on.”

Nova leaned closer to the camera. “And listen, I know there have been rumors that I was going to postpone or cancel my tour because of all this drama.”

I suppressed a sigh. Those rumors had been swirling for days, causing headaches with venues and sponsors. I’d spent hours on the phone reassuring everyone the tour was still on track.

“But I’m here to tell you all that is absolutely not happening,” she continued, voice firm. “The show must go on! We start in Atlanta next week, and I cannot wait to see all your beautiful faces.”

I glanced over at Dexter, who was nodding encouragingly at Nova’s declaration. Something about his expression—a flash of self-satisfaction, quickly hidden—caught my attention. The pieces suddenly clicked.

“It was him,” I whispered to Ethan. “I think Dexter was the one who leaked the cancelation rumor.”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?”

“Look at him,” I murmured, keeping my voice low. “He’s practically glowing. It would be just like him to leak the rumor so Nova could publicly deny it—create a comeback moment.”

Understanding dawned on Ethan’s face. “A crisis that never existed, so she can triumphantly overcome it.”

“Exactly.” I checked my phone, scrolling through the responses to Nova’s broadcast. “And it’s working. Look at these comments. ‘Queen!’ ‘Nothing can stop you!’ ‘Already bought my tickets!’”

Sure enough, a notification popped up from our publicist a few minutes later: Ticket sales surging. 15% spike in last ten minutes.

Nova was in her element now, promising fans the “most incredible show you’ve ever seen,” dropping hints about surprise elements and special effects. The viewer count had nearly doubled since she started .

“I see why she keeps him around,” Ethan muttered. “His plan worked like a charm.”

The live stream continued for another twenty minutes, with Nova skillfully building excitement for the tour while portraying herself as the brave survivor of a stalker’s obsession. By the time she signed off with her signature air kiss, the viewer count had reached a record high.

“That was amazing!” Dexter squealed the moment the camera stopped recording. “Darling, you were absolutely luminous!”

Nova bounced up from the sofa, clapping her hands in excitement. “Did you see how many people were watching? That was double my previous record!”

“And ticket sales are already responding,” I added, holding up my phone to show her the update from the publicist.

Nova squealed, throwing her arms around me in an exuberant hug. “See? I told you this was the perfect opportunity!”

Over her shoulder, I caught Ethan’s expression—a mixture of resignation and concern. He understood the game now, but that didn’t mean he liked it.

Nova released me, practically vibrating with energy. “I feel so alive! I need to rehearse. Right now.” She spun toward the assistants who were packing up the equipment. “Call everyone in. I want a full run-through tonight.”

“Nova, it’s already well past seven—” I started.

“So, we’ll go late! I’m feeling inspired!” She grabbed Dexter’s hand. “Let’s do the new choreography for ‘Midnight Dream.’ I have ideas.”

And just like that, they were off, sweeping through the house like a glitter tornado, leaving Ethan and me standing in their wake.

“Is she always like this?” Ethan asked, bewildered.

“When she’s happy? Yes.” I couldn’t help smiling. Despite everything, Nova’s joy was infectious. “The next couple of days will be a happiness bender. Just as exhausting as her anxiety spirals, but much more productive.”

“And you’ll be running alongside her the whole time?”

“Actually, no.” I turned to him, unable to keep the relief from my voice. “The best part about Nova’s happiness benders is that she forgets I exist. She won’t need me hovering or answering texts. She’ll have Dexter and the dancers and enough adrenaline to power a small city.”

Ethan’s eyebrows rose. “So you get a break?”

“Something like that.” I checked my watch. “I have a mountain of tour details to finalize while she’s distracted. Venue contracts, transportation schedules, press arrangements…”

“All work, no play? How about painting?”

“The work never stops,” I admitted. “But yeah, I think I’ll be getting in as much painting as I can.”

Three hours later, I balanced a tray of snacks as I headed to my suite. I’d managed to finalize the remaining venue contracts and confirm the transportation schedules while Nova held her impromptu rehearsal. My back ached from hunching over spreadsheets, but I’d accomplished more in those few hours than I typically could in days.

As I rounded the corner, the tray wobbled precariously. A hand appeared, steadying it before anything could spill.

“Need help?” Ethan’s low voice sent a ripple of awareness through me.

“Thanks.” I relinquished half the items to him. “Just grabbing a little bit to eat before turning in. I got a lot done tonight.”

He fell into step beside me. “Even this late?”

“Best time to work. No interruptions.”

“Lead the way. I’ll carry this. ”

We reached my suite, and I hesitated at the door. The memory of our interrupted moment in the security room last night hung between us, unspoken but undeniable.

“You can come in,” I offered, gesturing with my elbow since my hands were full. “Unless you need to get back.”

“The team has the night covered,” he said, following me inside. “I’ve got a little time.”

I led him through to the sitting area, and he set down the snack tray on the coffee table. I’d forgotten about my easel still standing in the corner, the landscape I’d been working on exposed for anyone to see.

Ethan noticed it immediately and moved toward the canvas, studying it with unexpected intensity.

Heat crept up my neck. “It’s not very good, I know. Just something I do to unwind.”

He didn’t respond, his gaze moving from the painting to several others stacked against the wall—all variations on the same theme: a house nestled in mountains, children playing outside, a dog running across vast green space.

“These are all similar,” he observed, his voice strangely thoughtful.

I busied myself arranging the snacks, too embarrassed to look at him. “Yeah. Honestly, I’m not very creative. I tend to paint the same things over and over.”

When he still didn’t respond, I glanced up. He was staring at the paintings, brows drawn together, a curious expression crossing his features as he tilted his head slightly.

“What is it?” I asked, moving to stand beside him.

“Nothing, just…” He hesitated. “Never mind.”

I wanted to push but decided not to.

“They’re good, Mel. Really good.”

“You don’t have to flatter me,” I laughed, relief washing over me that he hadn’t pressed further about the subject matter. These paintings were far too personal, windows into dreams I’d never shared with anyone.

“Not flattery.” He turned to me, his expression softening. “You have talent.”

“It’s just a hobby.” I shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. “Something to do when I need to escape for a while.”

He took a step closer, his eyes searching mine. “Everyone needs an escape sometimes.”

The air between us suddenly felt charged with possibility. We stood close enough that I could catch the faint scent of his aftershave, feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“Ethan,” I whispered, not sure what I was asking for.

He answered anyway, lowering his head until his lips found mine. The kiss started gentle, almost questioning, but quickly deepened as I responded. He curled his hand around the nape of my neck, drawing me closer as I wound my arms around his shoulders.

It was everything our almost-moment in the security room had promised—heat and connection and a feeling of being anchored in the present moment rather than lost in worry about the future. I melted against him, allowing myself this moment of pure want without guilt or responsibility.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Ethan rested his forehead against mine. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the first day.”

“Even though I was wearing inappropriate footwear?” I teased, my heart still racing.

He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Even then.”

He traced my cheekbone with his thumb, his expression growing more serious. “You should get some rest,” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. “It’s been a long couple of days.”

Part of me wanted to protest, to ask him to stay, but exhaustion was already pulling at my limbs, making my thoughts fuzzy around the edges.

“Okay,” I agreed reluctantly.

He stepped back, creating distance between us, though his eyes remained warm. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

And then he was gone, closing the door softly behind him, leaving me standing in my sitting room with the ghost of his lips still tingling on mine and the unspoken dreams captured in my paintings watching silently from the corner.