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VIVIAN

I ’m still floating on cloud nine, and I don’t wanna come back down to earth. This feels so much better than what all those romance novels promised. I’m so sorry, Mr. Darcy, Edward Cullen, and Four. I have my own happily ever after now.

Ryder tosses his hoodie over my shoulders, and he grins almost boyishly. God, I take back all those times I said he didn’t look that good. I take it all back.

“You should wear this,” he says, smoothing the fabric over my arms. “You look properly ravished and thoroughly fucked.”

I scoff, laughing as I shove his chest. “Wow. Compliment of the year. From the great Ryder Cross, no less.”

“Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it,” he says with a smirk, eyes dropping to where my shirt is half-untucked. “Messy hair, swollen lips, post-orgasm flush, no underwear?—”

“Which you stole , by the way,” I interrupt, narrowing my eyes. “Hand them over, thief.”

He pats his pocket and beams proudly. “Nope. Souvenir.”

I groan, but I’m still smiling. “You are absolutely ridiculous. Please don’t ever wear it.”

He dramatically rests a palm on his chest, acting offended. “I would never. I’d frame this and add the time and date you came.”

“Oh my God!” I smack his arm. “You’re just lucky I have a thing for sweaty guitar guys.”

“Sweaty? That’s how you’re describing me after I rocked that stage?”

“Well, I was trying to be nice,” I say. “Don’t make me take it back.”

He brushes his lips against mine in a barely-there kiss that sends a new ripple through me. “You wouldn’t dare. Favorite groupies don’t talk back.”

I snort. “Good thing I’m not your groupie, then.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he whispers, eyes dancing with heat and humor.

We stumble out of the supply room like a couple of teenagers caught in the act, laughing under our breaths. My body still tingles in places I shouldn’t name in public. I’m glowing. There’s no other word for it.

Because for the first time, I saw Ryder in his element. Just a man, a guitar, and that raspy, soul-soaked voice. He owned that stage, and the crowd went crazy.

I’m so freaking proud of him.

That pride lasts all of two seconds.

Five women are waiting near the exit, their phones out and pointed in our direction.

They spot Ryder, and in an instant, their attention narrows like lasers.

They don’t see me. Or maybe they do, but I’m not who they came here for.

One of them actually bumps me with her shoulder, and another steps between us like I’m not even there.

Well, excuse me, ladies.

“Ryder, oh my God, sign this for me?”

“Can I get a picture?”

“You were amazing. Please, just one selfie!”

I step back instinctively. It’s like I’ve been shoved out of the frame of his life. I’m ready to run back to our booth, but Ryder doesn’t let it happen. He sees the way I flinch, the way my smile falters, and without hesitation, he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me close.

“She’s with me,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear.

The girls freeze. One of them crosses her arms. “Seriously? This is how you treat your fans? You’re nothing if not for us.”

His jaw clenches. The laughing, grinning Ryder is gone, and I see a side I haven’t seen before.

“Haven’t I given enough of myself?” he says, voice flat. “You got the songs. The shows. The pieces of me I was contractually obligated to hand over.”

“But you wouldn’t even be famous without us,” the girl spits.

“Then maybe I should’ve stayed unknown.” He leads me by the elbow before anyone else can chime in.

We step outside, and it’s like falling into a war zone. The flash of cameras hits me like lightning. I get blinded for a few seconds before I close my eyes and keep my head down. Ryder has his arm around me protectively, and he pulls the hoodie over my head.

A swarm of paparazzi shouts question after question.

“Ryder, why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be in the Bahamas?”

“Did you and Heather Green break up?”

“You weren’t part of the bill. Were you a last-minute addition?”

“Where’s the rest of your band? Is it true they left you after you failed to pay them for the tour?”

“When’s the next album coming?”

I’m not ready for this. I expected it when Ryder said he would go on stage, sure, but the real thing is terrifying. My anxiety bubbles to the surface, and my breathing becomes uneven. I feel like I’m drowning, choking.

One gets too close, his camera practically in my face, and I stumble back. Ryder shoves a hand up, shielding me, guiding me with a protective arm as we try to make our way through the chaos.

And I realize I’ve just scratched the surface of his world. The Ryder I know is a man who loves music and books, can cook, smiles and laughs at the smallest things, cannot keep his hands to himself, and kisses me every chance he gets.

But this? This other part of his life?

It’s loud, invasive, and it’s not what I signed up for.

We get into his car, and Ryder doesn’t wait. He throws the car into drive and peels out of the back lot before anyone can think to follow. The tires screech, the headlights slice through the dark, and my heart thuds from more than what we just did in the supply room.

Neither of us speaks as I fire off a text to Valerie, apologizing and telling her I’ll make up for it.

Ryder checks the rearview mirror again and again, scanning for tail lights. When none appear, he finally slows and pulls over to the side of the road, engine idling softly.

He rests a heavy palm on mine. “Are you okay?”

The question is simple. My answer isn’t. I try to nod. I want to nod. But instead, I whisper, “No. Not really.”

Ryder unbuckles his seatbelt and turns in his seat to face me fully, brows knitting together. “Vivian?—”

“I’m not built for this,” I cut in, one hand gripping the other, trying to hold myself together with pressure. “The rabid fans, the press.”

He turns my palm up and laces his fingers through mine. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, thumb brushing over my knuckles. “I should’ve known?—”

“No.” I shake my head. “I should be the one apologizing. I might’ve just messed things up for you. Your career, your public image—all of it.”

His grip on my hand tightens. “You’re more important than my career.”

The words punch the air out of me. “Why would you say that?” My voice cracks. “You just met me yesterday.”

Ryder doesn’t flinch or look away. “Sometimes you just know. Didn’t you feel it?”

I don’t answer right away. My throat is tight.

The tears I’ve been holding back spill over.

“I don’t know what to feel, Ryder. Everything happened so fast. I don’t even know where we’re going.

I’m just a lowly bookstore owner. The only ones who know my name are my family, friends, my regular buyers, and the old couple who own the flower shop next door.

You’re a household name. We belong in different worlds. ”

I don’t want to say it.

Every part of me wants to go back in time—back to his little cabin in the woods, where the actual world seems so far away. But I know better now.

“I can’t do it,” I whisper. “Ryder, I just can’t.”

He’s quiet, and it makes it harder. Because if he fought me, if he got angry, if he told me I was overreacting, maybe I could walk away more easily. But he doesn’t. He just looks at me with so much sadness it rips me apart.

“From the second we left that supply room, it’s just been … flashes and screaming and people shoving and looking at me with disgust or hatred. And I know that sounds dramatic. I know it’s just one day. But if this is what forever looks like with you, I don’t think I’ll survive it.”

He swallows hard and scrubs a hand across his face. “I would never force you into that. If it’s too much, I get it. I really do. Not everyone’s cut out for this life.”

“But it’s not just about me , ” I say, chest heaving. “You were up there on that stage, Ryder. God, you were magic. You belong in this world. You made me feel so many things with your music.”

“Vi, I told you. You’re more important than any spotlight. I’ve been here for more than ten years. I’ve lived it all, and I will throw it all away for you.”

It hurts to look at him because I believe him. That’s the worst part. I believe he means it.

But I don’t know how to carry this. I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to be the reason he leaves the industry because, in a few years, he’ll end up resenting me.

“I should go,” I say, hating every word.

“I’ll drive you.”

I shake my head, already pulling out my phone and sending a quick message. “Valerie’s on her way.”

He doesn't argue. That silence is worse than anything he could’ve said.

I glance out the window as we wait. Every minute feels like an hour. My fingers shake, and I clutch them together in my lap to still them, but nothing steadies the ache that’s taken root in my chest. The silence in the car is suffocating, thick with everything we’re not saying.

And then we see the headlights.

Valerie pulls up, and I fumble with the door handle, heart hammering. I want to stay. God, I want to stay and take him up on his offer. Wouldn’t it be nice to be in our own little world and not care about anyone else?

But that’s a fantasy I can’t entertain right now.

I get out. My feet feel heavy, like I’m wading through thick sludge.

The dome light is on, and I see my sister. Her eyes flick to Ryder, then to me, and something in her face softens. She knows. She always knows.

I walk to the car, but before I climb in, I glance back.

He’s still in the driver’s seat, window down, still watching me, but his face is unreadable now, locked down. I yearn to see his smile, the careless laugh, but I can’t have everything.

I offer him a smile that’s more of an apology than a goodbye.

“Goodbye, Ryder.”

And then I slip inside, shut the door, and let Valerie drive me away.

The tears fall again, silent this time because I know, deep down, leaving him may have been the right choice, but God, that doesn’t make it any less painful.