Page 9

Mel

Relief washed over me like a cool wave as I drove back to Nova’s estate. Ethan Cross had agreed to take us on as clients. Finally, one weight lifted from my perpetually burdened shoulders.

The massive iron gates swung open as I approached, Ron waving me through with a friendly salute. I’d have to tell him his job was about to change significantly once Ethan’s team moved in. I hoped he wouldn’t take it personally.

I made my way past three production vans parked haphazardly in the circular driveway. Inside, the house hummed with its usual controlled chaos—dancers stretching in the foyer, sound engineers running cables through the hallway, Nova’s stylist arguing with someone on the phone while gesturing wildly at a rack of costumes.

“Mel!” A production assistant jogged toward me, clipboard in hand. “Thank God you’re back. The lighting director needs to know if Nova approved the new stage schematics, and the caterer called about tomorrow’s menu—apparently Nova told them she’s gone vegan but just for Tuesdays?”

I took a deep breath. “Give me fifteen minutes. I’ll handle it.”

Fifteen minutes turned into forty-five as I navigated the maze of crises that always seemed to multiply in my absence. When I finally made it to the rehearsal studio, I leaned against the doorframe, letting myself have one quiet moment to watch.

Six dancers moved in perfect synchronization across the polished floor, their bodies creating fluid lines as they executed a complex sequence. The music—Nova’s latest single—filled the room with pulsing beats and soaring vocals.

In the corner, Nova sat cross-legged on a chair, her platinum hair twisted into a messy bun. Beside her, Dexter gestured animatedly, his hands punctuating whatever critique he was sharing. Nova nodded, her focus absolute as she studied the dancers.

This was the Nova few people got to see—the professional, the artist who took her craft seriously despite her diva persona. In moments like these, I could almost forget the endless stream of texts, the tantrums, the impulsive decisions that made my job a daily exercise in damage control.

The music faded out. Dexter clapped his hands. “Fantastic, darlings! Much better than yesterday. Shannon, watch your timing on the bridge. Marco, I need more extension on that final pose.”

Nova jumped up, beaming. “You guys are killing it! This is going to be epic.”

The dancers gathered around, everyone talking at once—excited, breathless, riding the high of a successful rehearsal. Hugs were exchanged, compliments shared. Within minutes, the room cleared except for Nova, Dexter, and me.

I pushed away from the doorframe and crossed the room. “The choreography’s looking great. ”

Dexter flashed a satisfied smile. “It should. I’ve been working these poor children to the bone.” He collapsed dramatically into a chair. “Nova, your sister is a saint for putting up with all this madness.”

Nova grinned. “Mel was born organized. Mom used to say she came out of the womb with a color-coded schedule.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “I have news. I met with Ethan Cross today, and Citadel Solutions will be implementing security protocols starting tomorrow.”

Nova’s smile faltered. “Oh. About that…”

The warning bells in my head started clanging immediately.

“I’ve been thinking,” she continued, examining her perfectly manicured nails, “and I’m not sure we need Citadel after all.”

I blinked, certain I’d misheard. “What?”

Dexter stretched languidly. “I was telling Nova that all this security nonsense is going to totally kill her creative vibe. How can any artist thrive with muscle-bound commandos lurking around every corner?”

“It’s been a week since those roses showed up,” Nova added, waving her hand dismissively. “If something was really going to happen, it would have by now, right?”

I felt my blood pressure climbing. “Nova, we talked about this. You agreed?—”

“I know, I know.” She sighed dramatically. “But that was before Dexter pointed out how it might affect the tour. I can’t risk anything disrupting my process right now, Mel. You know how delicate the balance is, especially with opening night so close.”

I shot Dexter a look that could have frozen hell. He had the good sense to appear slightly uncomfortable.

“Maybe I should let you two discuss this.” He gathered his things, planting a kiss on Nova’s cheek. “Don’t forget to stretch before bed, darling. Your hamstrings were tight today.”

“Text me later!” Nova called after him .

The moment the door closed, I turned to my sister. “Nova, please tell me you’re joking.”

I could not go back to Ethan Cross and tell him Nova had changed her mind. I just could not possibly do it.

“Don’t start, Mel. The creative process has to be protected at all costs. You know that.”

“You know what else needs to be protected? Your life.” I fought to keep my voice level. Showing frustration would only make Nova dig her heels in deeper. “Someone broke in to our home. Left dead roses and threatening notes. Made the power go out. This isn’t a joke.”

Nova rolled her eyes. “It was probably just an overzealous fan. Besides, all that security stuff sounds so restrictive. Dexter says?—”

“I don’t care what Dexter says.” The words came out sharper than I intended. “He’s not responsible for your safety. I am.”

Nova straightened, her expression hardening. “Look, I need to change clothes, then we’ll talk. Meet me in the kitchen in fifteen.”

Before I could respond, she was gone, leaving me alone in the cavernous studio.

I exhaled slowly, counting backward from ten—a technique I’d been using since childhood to manage my frustration with Nova. It rarely worked, but the familiar ritual brought a semblance of calm.

In the kitchen, I pulled a covered plate from the refrigerator. Rosa had left me dinner again—roast chicken, potatoes, green beans. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten a meal that hadn’t been reheated or grabbed on the go.

I sat at the breakfast bar, checking my phone while I ate. Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty. Then thirty.

Nova wasn’t coming.

With a sigh, I set my half-eaten dinner aside and headed for her bedroom. The double doors were partially open, light spilling into the hallway. I knocked lightly before pushing them wider.

Nova’s bedroom was a study in controlled disorder—designer clothes strewn across every surface, shoes scattered like modern art installations, jewelry and makeup covering the vanity. My sister lay sprawled on her chaise longue, scrolling through her phone, now dressed in silk pajamas.

“I thought we were meeting in the kitchen,” I said, moving a pile of discarded outfits so I could sit on the edge of her bed.

“Sorry,” she replied, not looking up. “Got distracted.”

I took another deep breath. “Nova, we need to talk about security. For real this time.”

She sighed dramatically, letting her phone drop to her chest. “Fine. But you’re overreacting. One creepy fan incident doesn’t mean we need to turn this place into Fort Knox.”

“It’s not just one incident,” I countered. “It’s the texts, the emails, the letters?—”

“Wait, what letters?” Nova sat up straighter.

I hesitated. If it got her to take things seriously… “There have been some concerning messages. That’s why I reached out to Citadel Solutions in the first place.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Hurt flashed across her face.

“I was trying to protect you,” I said softly. “You had enough to worry about with the tour.”

Nova opened her mouth to respond when her phone chimed with a message. She glanced down, then froze.

“Oh my God.” Her voice was barely audible.

“What is it?”

She didn’t answer, just stared at her phone, her face draining of color.

“Nova?” I moved closer.

“Someone just posted a video of me.” She turned the screen toward me. “Look. ”

I leaned forward, my stomach dropping as I processed what I was seeing. The video showed Nova in her bedroom— this bedroom—changing clothes. The footage was clearly taken from outside, through the French doors that led to her private patio. The angle was perfect for capturing every moment as she stripped off her rehearsal outfit and slipped into the exact silk pajamas she was wearing right now.

Nova jabbed at the screen frantically. “Can you believe this? The lighting is awful! And this angle? My abs look nonexistent!”

I barely heard her, my mind racing with a much more terrifying realization. The video ended just as Nova turned toward her bedroom door— just as I came in for our conversation .

Holy shit. This footage had been taken only minutes ago. Whoever filmed this had been right outside, mere feet away from us, moments before I walked into this room.

“Nova,” I whispered, “these are the clothes you’re wearing now.”

She blinked, not comprehending. “Yeah, so?”

“So whoever took this video was just outside your French doors. Like two minutes ago.” I stood up so quickly my head spun. “They might have come into the house.”

Understanding finally dawned on her face. “Oh shit.”

My heart hammered against my ribs as I crossed to the French doors, checking that they were locked. The garden beyond was dark, shadows stretching across the patio. Anyone could be hiding out there, watching us.

“We need to call the guardhouse,” I said, fumbling for my phone. My fingers trembled as I tried to dial, but panic made me clumsy.

He answered on the second ring. “Mel? Everything okay?”

“Ron?” I said, confused by the deep voice that definitely wasn’t our elderly security guard. “Wait—Ethan?”

Instead of Ron’s number, I’d accidentally called the last person I’d spoken with .

“Yes, it’s Ethan. What’s wrong?” His tone sharpened immediately.

“Someone’s here.” My voice sounded strange to my own ears, high and breathless. “At the house. They filmed Nova changing clothes a couple of minutes ago through her bedroom windows and already posted it. They could be inside.”

“Are you both in the same room?” His voice was calm, steady—the opposite of how I felt.

“Yes, Nova’s bedroom.”

“Is there a bathroom attached with a solid door?”

“Yes.”

“Take Nova and go in there now. Lock the door. Push something heavy against it if you can.” I heard rustling on his end, keys jingling. “I’m on my way. ETA twenty minutes.”

I grabbed Nova’s arm, pulling her toward the en suite bathroom. “We need to go in here.”

“My phone!” she protested, reaching back for it.

“Bring it,” I urged, keeping Ethan on the line with my other hand.

Once inside the bathroom, I locked the door. “We’re in.”

“Do you have any weapons in the house?” Ethan asked.

“No,” I replied, scanning the spacious marble bathroom for anything useful.

Nova paced behind me, still focused on her phone. “This is a disaster! It’s already got thirty thousand views!”

“Look around,” Ethan continued, his voice steady in my ear. “Hair spray can be used as a weapon—aim for the eyes. Heavy objects, perfume bottles, anything you can throw.”

I spotted a heavy crystal candle on the counter and grabbed it. “Got it.”

“Is there something you can barricade the door with? A chair? Hamper?”

I dragged Nova’s makeup chair over, wedging it under the doorknob. “Done. ”

“Hey,” he said gently. “You’re doing great. I’ve got Ty calling the police. They should be there soon.”

I put the phone on speaker and set it on the counter. “You’re on speaker now.”

“Nova?” Ethan’s voice filled the bathroom. “I need you to focus. Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay!” she snapped, waving her phone. “Some creep just posted a video of me changing clothes, and the lighting is god-awful! My publicist is going to have a meltdown!”

“I understand this is upsetting,” Ethan replied, his patience surprising me. “But right now, I need you to help Mel. If someone tries to get into that bathroom, you two need to work together.”

“But—”

“Nova.” His tone remained firm but gentle. “The video can be addressed later. Right now, your safety is what matters. Stand on the opposite side of the bathroom from Mel. If anyone tries to break through that door, you’ll have a better chance if you’re not both in the same spot.”

To my shock, Nova actually listened, moving to the far end of the bathroom. “Okay.”

“Now, I want both of you to find something you can use to defend yourselves. Anything heavy or sharp.”

I heard the sound of a car engine roaring to life on Ethan’s end. “I’m driving to you now. Stay on the line.”

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours. Nova paced her end of the bathroom, alternating between checking her phone and glancing nervously at the door. I remained frozen in place, candle clutched in my white-knuckled grip, listening for any sound from the bedroom beyond.

“Talk to me, Mel,” Ethan said after several minutes of silence. “What are you hearing?”

“Nothing,” I whispered. “The house is quiet.”

“That’s good. Hopefully the guy ran off. The police should be arriving any minute. When they do, don’t open the door until I verify it’s really them.”

As if on cue, the distant wail of sirens reached us, growing steadily louder until they cut off abruptly. Car doors slammed. Heavy footsteps moved through the house.

A sharp knock rattled the bathroom door. “Police! Is anyone in there?”

I jumped, nearly dropping the candle. “Ethan?”

“I’ll check and make sure it’s them,” he said. “Hang on.”

The line went silent as he hung up. Nova shot me a panicked look. “Should we open it?”

“Not until Ethan calls back,” I insisted.

My phone rang less than a minute later. “It’s the real police,” Ethan confirmed. “Two officers, Ramirez and Wilson. You can let them in.”

Relief flooded through me as I moved the chair and unlocked the door. Two uniformed officers stood in Nova’s bedroom, their expressions shifting from professional concern to barely concealed excitement as they recognized her.

“Ms. Rivers,” the taller one said, his eyes widening. “Are you all right?”

Nova immediately shifted into celebrity mode. “It’s been so traumatic,” she said, patting her hair into place.

While Nova recounted her version of events to the increasingly starstruck officers, I slipped out to the hallway where more police were arriving. The scene felt eerily familiar to the night with the roses—too many strangers in our house, all talking at once, most of them more interested in Nova than in doing their jobs.

My phone buzzed with a text from Ethan:

I’m outside. Police have the perimeter secured.

I’ll tell them to let you in .

Five minutes later, Ethan strode through the front door, his presence immediately commanding attention. He shook hands with a couple of officers he clearly knew, their expressions shifting from starstruck to professional in his presence.

Our eyes met across the foyer. “Are you okay?” he mouthed silently.

I nodded, though “okay” felt like a distant concept at the moment.

Nova spotted him from the top of the stairs where she was speaking with a detective. “Ethan!” she called out, her voice carrying through the house. “Everyone, this is Ethan Cross, my head of security. Please direct all questions to him.”

I watched as Ethan’s eyebrows rose slightly before his expression settled into professional neutrality. Nova flounced down the stairs, linking her arm through his.

“I’m so glad we hired you,” she announced loudly. “Clearly, we need Citadel Solutions more than ever.”

The irony wasn’t lost on me. An hour ago, she’d been ready to dismiss the idea entirely. Now, with cameras rolling and police filling our house, Ethan Cross had been elevated from unwanted intrusion to essential protector.

But as I watched him take charge—directing officers, asking pointed questions, answering other questions about weak points in security—I couldn’t find it in myself to be annoyed by Nova’s about-face.

All that mattered was that Ethan was here. He’d walked us through those terrifying minutes in the bathroom with calm authority. And he had taken over this chaos now.

Ethan Cross was on the job, and it was easy to see why he was considered to be the best. Whatever came next, I wouldn’t face it alone.