Page 81 of The Fake WIfe Playbook

The next quote is worse.

“Kate only married that hockey player to boost her career. She told me herself. This was always about making it big.”

—Darlene Riggs, exclusive toCountry Life Weekly

I stand frozen in the hallway of the tour bus, phone in hand, coffee spilling down the front of my concert tee. Shay snatches the mug before it hits the floor, but I didn’t move.

I couldn’t. My brain short-circuited trying to process what I’d just read—my mother.

Myown mothersold me out for a check and maybe a scratch-off ticket and a carton of menthols. I never told her we started as an agreement, but it’s not difficult to connect the dots, real or not. Anyone cansay anything, and the press will run with it. Anything that gets clicks will be pushed for 24 hours.

Suddenly, I’m tired. I’m tired of Mamma nagging me for money, and I’m tired of her lies. We may have started as strangers, but I love my husband.

Mamma doesn’t care that my career is rising and that fans sing my lyrics back to me under stadium lights. If she’s not getting my paychecks, she’ll lash out.

And today, the woman who gave birth to me has reduced my marriage—and me—to nothing more than a PR stunt as if I’m not talented enough to get here myself, which I did.

Shay’s voice was soft, but it cut through the static. “Kate…”

I blink hard. “Oh.” It’s all I can gasp in the moment.

“I’ll handle it. Ray’s already calling the magazine.”

I shake my head. My stomach drops. “No. I’ll handle her.”

My phone rings. She answers on the second ring—like she’s been waiting for me.

“Well, look who finally decided to pick up,” she says, her voice already dripping with venom. No hello. No how-are-you.

“Mamma, what do you want?” I ask, already exhausted.

She lets out a sharp breath, likeI’mthe burden. “I want to know how long you think this little fairytale of yours is gonna last.”

I roll my eyes and rub my temple. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, Iwillstart,” she snaps. “Because someone needs to tell you the truth, Katie. Men like him? They don’t stick around for girls like us.”

Her words hit like a slap, and I know shewantsthem to hurt. Just because her dreams didn’t come true doesn’t mean mine won’t—but I keep my voice steady. Try to stay detached. Maybe she’s been drinking.

“Mamma—”

“He’s too handsome for you,” she cuts in, her voice like a knife. “Too rich. Too good-looking. You think he’s really gonna stay faithful? Toyou?”

My chest tightens—but not from doubt. It’s rage. White-hot, blinding rage that burns and won’t let go.

She keeps going, her words sharper by the second. “Mark my words, he’ll break your heart. Probably already has. Men like that don’t change. You’re just the girl he’s playing house with until he finds something better.”

I clench my jaw, shaking. But I see this for what it is.

She’s furious I haven’t sent money. She’s bitter that I’ve stopped letting her take advantage of me. And now she’s going after the easiest target—my heart. She always said I wear it on my sleeve. She knows exactly where to strike.

“I know what this is about,” I say, my voice low, shaking but sharp. “You’re mad we haven’t sent a check. Mad that I won’t pay your bills. You want to hurt me because I finally stopped letting you suck me dry.” I pause, cold now. “But you don’t get to drag Finn into it just because you’re pissed at me.”

She sucks in a breath, but I don’t stop.

“Finn isn’t going anywhere,” I snap. “And you don’t get to talk about him. You don’t know him.”

Her voice turns mocking, icy. “Oh, sweetheart. Keep telling yourself that.”