Page 16

Mel

Everything had turned to shit.

Eight days into the tour, and I wasn’t sure I’d survive the night, much less the fourteen more shows before we got a week break. I stared at the venue schedule on my tablet, blinking hard to focus my tired eyes. Where were we again? Nashville? Memphis? No—Louisville. Tonight was Louisville.

Cities were blending together in an exhausting carousel of identical backstage areas, hotel rooms, and problems to solve. My head throbbed with the steady bass reverberating through the arena walls as the opening act finished their set. The air smelled of hair spray, sweat, and burned coffee from the catering table—a scent cocktail that had become all too familiar.

“Mel! Where’s my throat spray? I can feel myself getting scratchy!” Nova’s voice cut through the backstage activity.

I produced the spray from my bag without missing a beat. “Right here. Already checked with the sound engineer—your mic levels are perfect. ”

She snatched it, spraying liberally while examining her reflection in a nearby mirror. “Are those journalists from Billboard here yet? They were supposed to do a quick preshow interview.”

“They’re waiting in the green room. I’ll bring them in after your vocal warm-up.”

“And what about those special fans? The contest winners?”

“Meet-and-greet is scheduled for after the show. Citadel approved the list.”

Nova nodded, already distracted by a text on her phone. “Oh, and the confetti for the finale looks cheap. Can we get something better for tomorrow’s show? Maybe those shiny metallic ones?”

“I’ll call the vendor tonight.” I made a note on my tablet, which already contained fifty-seven other urgent tasks.

This was my life—constant demands and problems to solve, an endless stream of details that threatened to drown me if I stopped paddling for even a second. Every day blurred together: wake up, wrangle Nova, manage her demands, handle PR nightmares, and keep the tour moving.

“Wardrobe crisis!” a voice called from the doorway.

Dexter rushed in, holding up Nova’s elaborate opening number costume, which now had a visible tear along one side.

“The seam split during final adjustments!” His voice was three octaves higher than usual. “We have fifteen minutes before she needs to be in this!”

I squeezed my eyes shut for a fraction of a second, summoning energy I didn’t have. “Find Marina from wardrobe. Tell her we need an emergency repair. If she can’t fix it, we’ll go with the backup from Atlanta.”

“But that makes her look boxy!”

Damn it, why would Dexter say that within hearing distance of Nova?

“Then Marina better work some magic.” I was already texting the wardrobe master as I spoke .

Nova, predictably, slipped into full meltdown mode. “I can’t go on in the backup! The lighting is all wrong for that fabric!”

“It won’t come to that,” I assured her, though I had no idea if that was true. “Just focus on your warm-up, and everybody get your masks ready for the opening number.”

As Nova’s vocal coach arrived to run her through exercises, I slipped out to check on a dozen other crises brewing throughout the arena. The pyrotechnics team needed approvals for tonight’s show, the lighting director was fighting with the venue’s electrical team about power requirements, and one of the backup dancers had sprained an ankle during the last show.

This tour was supposed to be Nova’s triumphant arrival as a major artist. Instead, it felt like being trapped in a pressure cooker, with the temperature rising every day.

The only bright spot had been Ethan and his team. They handled security with military precision, giving me one less thing to worry about. But even that silver lining had been tarnished two days ago when Jace had pulled me into a private meeting to show me the freaky Barbie dolls that had been sent to Nova.

I’d felt physically ill looking at the first doll with the knife through its head and the note demanding Nova cancel the tour. The second doll—pristine in its pink box with the note “I’m never far”—had somehow been even more disturbing.

Those dolls had dredged up one of the few happy childhood memories I had with Nova. When we were little, before dance lessons and vocal coaches consumed our lives, we’d spent hours playing with our Barbie collection. Nova would create elaborate stories for them, always casting her dolls as the famous singers, while mine were the adoring fans or devoted assistants.

Even then, the pattern was set.

My memories hadn’t done anything to help figure out who had sent the disturbing toys. I’d been no help at all in that department.

I’d agreed with Ethan and his team that telling Nova about the dolls would only make things worse overall. She’d either completely freak out or use the situation for social media content. We didn’t need to borrow that kind of trouble.

I rounded a corner, narrowly avoiding a collision with two crew members carrying equipment. My phone buzzed with a text from Marina:

Fixed the costume. Crisis averted.

One problem down. Fifty-six to go.

I stopped by the security command center where Ty was monitoring the surveillance feeds. “Everything good out there?”

“All clear so far,” he confirmed. “Logan’s running the perimeter check, and Jace is verifying credentials at the VIP entrance.”

“And Ethan?” I tried to sound casual, but Ty’s knowing smile told me I’d failed.

“Boss is doing a walk-through with venue security. Should be back soon.”

“Right. Tell him—” My words were cut short by raised voices coming from the hallway leading to the green room.

“This is complete bullshit, and you know it!” a male voice shouted, loud enough to carry over the preshow music.

I hurried toward the commotion, finding a tense standoff between Nova’s publicist, Vanessa, and a man I recognized as Adam Foster—the ambitious young manager of Brooklyn Reid, one of the opening acts.

“Mr. Foster, I understand your frustration, but as I explained—” Vanessa began in her professional crisis-management voice.

“You’re not explaining anything! You’re just making excuses!” Adam’s face was flushed with anger. His expensive suit and slicked-back hair couldn’t hide the rage bubbling beneath his polished surface. He jabbed a finger toward Vanessa. “Your client is deliberately sabotaging mine! ”

I stepped between them. “What’s going on here?”

Adam’s furious gaze locked on me. “Oh look, if it isn’t Nova’s puppet master. Maybe you can explain why Brooklyn’s meet-and-greet was canceled, while Nova’s getting the full VIP treatment.”

“The meet-and-greet wasn’t canceled,” I said calmly. “It was rescheduled due to security concerns.”

“Security concerns,” he scoffed. “Convenient excuse to push Brooklyn out of the spotlight. First, you cut her set time in Atlanta, then you bump her interview in Nashville, and now this. We see the pattern.”

My composure, already hanging by a thread after eight days of nonstop stress, finally snapped.

“There is no pattern, Adam. There’s just you, creating problems where none exist. Brooklyn’s set time was cut because she arrived late. The interview was rescheduled at the journalist’s request, not ours. And the meet-and-greet was moved because our security team flagged concerns. That’s it.”

“Right.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Tell me something, Mel. Does it make you feel important, clinging to your sister’s fame? Because from where I’m standing, you’re just riding Nova’s coattails while trying to squash anyone who might threaten her throne.”

I tried to swallow my anger. “That’s completely out of line.”

“Is it? Everyone knows Nova’s a manufactured pop princess. Great at dancing, mediocre at singing, excellent at creating drama. But her time in the spotlight is limited. Stars like Brooklyn—with actual talent—are the future.”

“You need to leave. Now.” My voice shook with barely contained fury.

Adam’s mouth curved into an unpleasant smile. “Truth hurts, doesn’t it? Tell Nova to watch her back. Not everyone’s willing to be stepped on so she can climb higher.”

“Is there a problem here? ”

Ethan’s voice, calm but carrying unmistakable authority, cut through the tension. He moved to stand beside me, his presence solid and reassuring.

Adam’s demeanor shifted instantly, the aggression replaced by false casualness. “No problem. Just having a chat about tour logistics.”

“Sounded like more than logistics to me,” Ethan said.

“Well, emotions run high before shows.” Adam straightened his jacket. “I should check on Brooklyn.” He turned to leave, then paused, looking back at me. “Remember what I said, Mel. Some people won’t take it as graciously as we have.”

After he walked away, I realized we’d attracted a small audience—including two journalists who were doing a “life backstage” story. They walked away too, heads together, scribbling stuff on their notebooks.

Damn it. “Great,” I muttered. “That’ll be online before Nova even takes the stage.”

Vanessa was already going after them, damage-control mode activated. “We’ll have to push the interview till after the show,” she told me.

I nodded, exhaustion washing over me in a powerful wave. This was the last thing we needed—more drama, more fires to put out.

“You okay?” Ethan asked quietly.

“Fine.” The automatic response came out before I could stop it. I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Actually, no. I’m not okay. I feel like nothing is okay.”

He glanced around at the busy hallway. “Let’s find somewhere quieter.”

I followed him to a small production office that was currently empty. Once the door closed behind us, the cacophony of the backstage area dulled to a distant roar.

“What was that about with that other manager guy?” Ethan asked .

I leaned against a table, scrubbing a hand down my face. “Adam Foster. Manager for Brooklyn Reid, our opening act. He’s convinced Nova is trying to sabotage Brooklyn’s career.”

“Is there any truth to that?”

“No. We’ve bent over backward to accommodate them. But Adam sees conspiracies everywhere.” I rubbed my temples, trying to ease the pressure building behind my eyes. “He’s ambitious and aggressive. Wants Brooklyn to be the next big thing, which is fine, but he thinks taking shots at Nova will somehow fast-track that plan.”

Ethan studied me carefully. “Have there been other incidents with him?”

“Small stuff. Passive-aggressive comments, complaints about scheduling. Nothing like this.” I frowned, remembering his parting words. “What he said at the end, though—about some people not taking it as graciously—that felt almost threatening.”

“Sure as hell did.” Ethan’s expression hardened. “I’ll have Jace look into him. Could be nothing, but threats, even veiled ones, are something we take seriously.”

“You think he could be behind the dolls?” The thought hadn’t occurred to me until I said it aloud.

“It’s possible. The timing lines up—Adam would have known about the tour schedule well in advance. And he clearly has issues with Nova. He’s connected enough to get close, but not so significant that our teams would flag him as a threat.”

I nodded slowly. “It would make sense.”

“We’ll investigate.” Ethan stepped closer, his gaze softening. “But that’s not what’s really bothering you, is it?”

The quiet perception in his voice caught me off guard. It was unsettling how easily he could see through my professional disguise.

“I’m just tired.” I tried to smile, but it felt weak even to me. “This tour is…a lot.”

“When was the last time you took a break? A real one? ”

I laughed without humor. “Break? What’s that?”

“Mel.” My name on his lips was gentle but insistent. “You can’t keep going like this.”

“I don’t have a choice. Nova needs?—”

“What do you need?”

The question was so unexpected that I didn’t have a prepared answer. What did I need? When was the last time I’d even asked myself that?

“I need…” I began, then stopped, surprising myself with the truth that nearly spilled out: I need a different life .

But that wasn’t going to happen, was it?