Page 6

Mel

I kicked off my heels the second I made it through the door of my suite, wincing at the relief that washed over me. My toes practically sang with gratitude. These stupid heels were killing me, but Nova insisted.

“You’re the manager,” she’d told me a thousand times. “You have to look like you’re in charge.”

I rubbed my aching feet as I changed into soft cotton shorts and an oversized T-shirt. The logic made sense—Nova got to be the fun, creative one while I was the serious one who kept everything running smoothly. It had been our dynamic since childhood, only now with bigger stakes and fancier clothes.

But God, I missed jeans and sweaters. Something comfortable. Something that felt like me.

My phone vibrated on the dresser for what felt like the hundredth time. I picked it up, scrolling through Nova’s stream-of-consciousness texts.

Mel what if the venue in Chicago isn’t big enough

Do u think the lighting will be ok

I heard the acoustics suck there

What if nobody shows up

What if EVERYBODY shows up and it’s a mob scene

WHAT IF my voice cracks during the high note in Midnight Dreams

I need new in-ear monitors

I should change the setlist

I should fire the stylist

Wait no I like her

But what if the outfits are wrong

What if I fall onstage

I typed out a quick response:

Everything is going to be fine. We have everything under control. Don’t worry.

This was Nova’s pattern before every big event—a constant barrage of texts voicing every anxiety that crossed her mind. If I didn’t respond every five or ten messages, she’d work herself into a state, convinced everything was falling apart.

It meant I was perpetually tethered to my phone, making an already impossible job that much harder.

My phone buzzed again immediately.

But what if it’s NOT fine???? ?

I sighed and set the phone down, massaging my temples. I had bigger problems to solve right now than Nova’s pre-tour anxiety spiral. Like figuring out what the hell we were going to do now that Ethan Cross had decided he was too good to provide security for us.

That wasn’t fair, and I knew it. Nova had been particularly diva-like today. Even I had wanted to strangle her a few times, and I was used to her antics. But there was something about the way Ethan had dismissed me along with her that stung. Like he’d looked at us both and decided we weren’t worth his time.

“Inappropriate footwear,” I muttered, mimicking his deep voice. “Only half paying attention.”

Did he think I enjoyed being constantly glued to my phone? Did he think I had a choice?

I had no reason to feel hurt that Ethan wouldn’t take Nova on as a client. It was just business.

But a business decision that left us vulnerable to whoever had broken in and left those flowers. And put a lot more back on my already overflowing plate.

My gaze drifted to the easel set up in the sitting area of my suite. A half-finished landscape waited patiently on the canvas. The peaceful valley surrounded by mountains had called to me.

I wanted to paint more than anything, to lose myself in the strokes and colors, to let everything else fade away for just a little while. But I hadn’t touched it in weeks. There was never enough time with tour preparations, Nova’s demands, and now this stalker situation.

My stomach growled, reminding me I’d skipped dinner. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember eating since the lunch I’d wolfed down between meetings. I glanced at the clock—nearly ten p.m.

I padded barefoot down the hallway toward the kitchen, enjoying the plush carpet beneath my sore feet. The house was quiet now, most of the staff and Nova’s ever-present entourage gone for the night.

When I reached the kitchen, I found a covered plate in the refrigerator with a sticky note that read: “For Mel—heat 2 minutes. –Rosa.” Bless our cook’s heart. She was always looking out for me.

I popped the plate in the microwave—roasted chicken, vegetables, and rice—and the aroma when I removed the cover made my mouth water. I took the plate to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair, then froze.

This was where the dead roses had been left. The image of them flashed in my mind—wilted petals, black ribbon, those chilling notes.

I picked up my plate and moved to the breakfast bar instead, but the feeling of being watched crawled up my spine. I glanced around the darkened windows, seeing only my own reflection staring back at me. The kitchen suddenly felt too open, too exposed.

“Get a grip, Mel,” I muttered, forcing a bite of food into my mouth despite my appetite vanishing. I needed to eat to function, even if I didn’t feel like it.

That was when I realized my phone hadn’t buzzed in several minutes. Nova never went this long without texting, especially not this early in the evening. There was no way she’d gone to bed already.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Nova appeared in the kitchen doorway. She was wearing plain black leggings and an old T-shirt, her face scrubbed clean of makeup. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail.

This wasn’t Nova Rivers, pop sensation. This was my sister, Nora.

Though I’d never call her that anymore. Those days were long gone. Mom had changed her name when she was fourteen, convinced “Nova” had star quality that “Nora” lacked. Nova had embraced it so completely that sometimes I wondered if she even remembered being Nora.

“Hey,” she said softly, padding into the kitchen. “Everyone’s gone.”

“I noticed,” I replied. “You okay?”

She shrugged, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “Couldn’t even think about sleeping.”

This wasn’t a good sign. Whenever Nova sent everyone home and couldn’t sleep, it meant her anxiety had reached peak levels. I set down my fork, giving her my full attention.

“What’s on your mind?”

She leaned against the counter, twisting the cap off her water bottle. “The tour starts in two weeks.”

“I know.”

“I keep thinking about Mom,” she said, her voice small, vulnerable in a way she never allowed when others were around. “She wanted this so badly for me. For us. She should be here to see it.”

A knot formed in my throat. “I know. I think about that every day.”

“Do you think she’d be proud?” Nova asked, and the uncertainty in her voice broke my heart. For all her bravado and diva behavior, this was the core of my sister—the part that desperately needed to know our sacrifices had been worth it.

“Are you kidding? She’d be over the moon,” I said. “Her daughter, selling out shows across the country? She’d be in the front row of every performance, wearing a T-shirt with your face on it.”

Nova laughed softly, but her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I miss her.”

“Me too.”

She took a sip of water. “The tour’s going to be amazing, right? Everything’s going to be okay?”

“Of course it is,” I assured her, though my own doubts loomed large in the back of my mind. “The venues are perfect, the setlist is incredible, and your performances are going to blow people away.”

Nova nodded, seeming to gather strength from my confidence. “When does the new security team start? The Citadel guys?”

I froze, my fork halfway to my mouth. Here was the conversation I’d been dreading.

“Actually,” I said carefully, “they’ve decided not to take us on as clients.”

Nova’s head snapped up. “What? Why not?”

“They, uh…didn’t think we were serious enough about security.”

I regretted the words the instant they left my mouth. Nova’s expression shifted from confusion to indignation, then to stubborn determination. I knew that look all too well.

“Not serious enough?” she repeated. “That’s ridiculous. We’re completely serious.”

“Nova, you literally asked him for the ‘sexy parts’ of security. Like it was an action movie.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “That’s just how I talk. He should know that.”

“He doesn’t know you. He just met you today, and you weren’t exactly making a great first impression.”

Nova began pacing the kitchen. “No, this won’t do. This won’t do at all. If they won’t take us, who will? Did you see that guy? He looked like he eats danger for breakfast. That’s exactly what we need.”

“There are other security companies?—”

“No,” she cut me off. “It has to be them. It has to be Citadel Solutions.”

I sighed. “Why? Because they said no?”

“Because they’re the best, and I only work with the best. That detective guy said so, remember?” Her eyes lit up with sudden inspiration. “You need to go convince him to take us on.”

“Me? How am I supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know. Work your Mel magic. Tell him I’ll behave. Tell him I’ll follow all the rules.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Will you?”

“Yes!” she said, with such earnestness I almost believed her. “I promise. No more social media live streams about the stalker. No more complaining about security protocols. I’ll be a perfect client.”

I studied her face, searching for signs of insincerity, but found none. This was Nova when she truly wanted something—single-minded and utterly convinced she could make it happen.

“Please, Mel,” she pleaded. “I’m scared, okay? I won’t admit that to anyone else, but I am. Those flowers, those notes…” She shuddered. “I’ve been playing it off like it’s no big deal, but it freaked me out. I need to know we have the best security possible, and that detective said these Citadel guys are the best.”

And there it was—the truth behind the bravado. Nova was terrified, and she’d been masking it with nonchalance and attitude. And she didn’t even know that I’d sheltered her from a lot of the worst of it.

“Okay,” I finally relented. “I’ll try to convince him. But I can’t promise anything.”

Relief washed over her face. “Thank you.” She came over and gave me a tight hug. “You always fix everything.”

I patted her back, not reminding her that if she would break less, there would be less for me to fix.

Nova pulled back, already looking more cheerful. “So, what’s the plan? How are you going to convince Mr. Tall, Dark, and Lethal to take us on?”

I groaned. “I have no idea. He doesn’t strike me as a man who changes directions after he’s made up his mind.”

“But you’ll figure it out. You always do.” She gave me another quick hug. “I’m going to try to sleep now. Big day tomorrow—the costume designer is coming at nine.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving me with my cooling dinner and the impossible task of changing Ethan Cross’s mind.

I pushed my plate away, appetite gone. How was I supposed to convince a man like Ethan to take us on? A man who seemed to have written us off completely. A man who made my pulse quicken in a way that was entirely unhelpful.

Because there was something about Ethan Cross that got under my skin. The intensity in his blue-gray eyes. The commanding presence that filled every room. The way he assessed everything with military precision.

And yes, fine, the broad shoulders and strong jawline didn’t hurt either.

But my inappropriate attraction to the man wasn’t going to help convince him to provide security for Nova. If anything, it would just cloud my judgment and make me more nervous around him.

I cleaned up my barely touched dinner and headed back to my suite, my mind racing with potential arguments I could make. I could appeal to his professionalism. I could promise Nova’s cooperation. I could emphasize the severity of the threat.

But something told me Ethan had heard all those arguments before, from clients far more cooperative than Nova.

As I passed my easel on the way to bed, I paused, looking at the half-finished painting of the mountains. Something about the stark landscape reminded me of the unreadable expression I’d glimpsed on Ethan’s face when I’d mentioned the break-in.

For just a moment, his professional mask had slipped, revealing something that looked almost like concern. Not just for our security situation, but for us. For me.

Maybe that was my angle. Maybe beneath that hardened exterior was a man who genuinely cared about protecting people. Not just as a job, but as a calling .

I climbed into bed, setting my phone on the nightstand as it buzzed with another text from Nova.

What if the Citadel guys still say no?

They won’t. I’ll make sure of it.

For Nova, and for our safety, I’d find a way to convince Ethan Cross to take us on. Even if that meant swallowing my pride and admitting he’d been right about everything.

Because the alternative—waiting for whoever left those flowers to make their next move—wasn’t an option I was willing to consider.