Page 52 of You Rock My World

DORIAN

The studio set is standard—warm lighting, a polished, wooden dais, two armchairs, and a sleek coffee table between them.

The massive Christmas tree behind Lilo is overkill, blinking at me with blinding white lights, taking my focus from the cameras locked on me, ready to shoot at different angles.

Lilo sits across from me, her striped dress flowing over the chair, making her look both polished and approachable.

Her hair falls in warm waves over her shoulders, framing a face that’s open, engaged, and genuinely interested.

She’s done a thousand interviews with as many other artists, but today, I’m flipping the script.

I clear my throat, shifting in my seat. “This interview is about her.”

Lilo takes my declaration in stride, smiling into the camera. “Well, that certainly sets the stage.” Then she leans forward a fraction, slipping into full interviewer mode. “How long have you and the mystery woman known each other?”

“Since last summer,” I say, blinking against the Christmas lights.

“But before you jump to conclusions, we met once, nothing happened, and we didn’t see each other again for a year.

We only reconnected a few months ago, after my divorce was finalized.

” My jaw tightens. “That kiss on stage? That was our first.”

Lilo chuckles. “Didn’t go according to plan, huh? And I wasn’t going to assume anything, but your ex-wife, Billie Rae, has been making some… not-so-subtle claims on social media. And, well, in her latest hit.”

“I never cheated on my wife,” I declare flatly.

Lilo tilts her head. “But the divorce came from you?”

I nod once, curt.

Fuck, this is excruciating. I hate interviews. I never discuss my personal life with journalists. But if baring my soul to the world is what it takes for me and Josie to have a chance at being together, then I’ll sit here and lay it all out, no matter how much I loathe every second.

Lilo shifts in her chair, adjusting her line of questioning on the fly. Normally, her team would’ve prepped a list of approved questions, but I didn’t give them time to script this episode the usual way. I asked her to do this last minute as a personal favor. So here we are, both winging it.

“Do you think Billie wrote ‘Just See’ because she’s still in love with you?”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t think Billie can love anyone right now. Not before she learns how to love herself again.”

A flicker of discomfort crosses Lilo’s face. “That’s… a pretty dramatic statement. Why do you say that?”

“Our marriage fell apart mainly because Billie refused to face her demons and take the necessary steps to heal.”

“What steps?”

I’m about to drop a bomb, but I don’t see another way at this point.

“Rehab, mostly. I begged, I reasoned, I fought. I tried dragging her myself more times than I can count.” I grip my knee tighter.

“Every time I thought I’d finally gotten through to her, that she’d be different, she’d find a new excuse.

An extra reason she wasn’t ready, why she didn’t need help.

And I swallowed it, let her string me along, convinced that if I held on a little longer, I could fix it, her— us .

But you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.

Billie wouldn’t take the help. And in the end, I had to face the reality that no matter how much I loved her, or how hard I tried, she needed to want to be better first.”

The tension in the studio thrums like a drawn bowstring. Lilo’s expression is unreadable, but she treads carefully. “That’s a serious accusation. Are you saying your ex-wife is an addict?”

Another curt nod. “Yes.”

“And you think revealing this on national television will help her… how?”

My jaw locks. “Because she has to face it. Because it has to stop.”

“Do you feel guilty about leaving your wife when she was in such a fragile state?”

The familiar spear of regret lodges between my ribs, pressing against a wound that’s still tender. “Every day. But it was either leave or lose myself in her wreckage.”

Lilo nods, absorbing it. “Okay. We are sorry about Billie, and if she would like to respond to your revelations of today, of course, we’re always available.” She hesitates. “This isn’t how I saw this interview going. I thought we were here to talk about your new relationship?”

“We are.” I bounce my knees, too agitated to keep still. “But I can’t do that without bringing Billie into this.”

“Why?”

“Because Billie knows who my girlfriend is,” I press on, doing my best to rein in my frustration, “and she’s threatened to expose her and her family.

To turn her fans and the press against us.

And I don’t want the woman I’m with to have to choose between me or seeing her loved ones under that kind of negative attention. ”

Lilo’s face softens. “That sounds… awful. Is there anything we can do?”

I swallow, fists clenching and unclenching as I stare at the camera in front of me and make my appeal.

“To Billie’s fans, I ask you to believe me when I say I never wronged her.

The help she needs from you isn’t to make me miserable.

She needs to get better, to take care of herself, and you can help her do that by encouraging her.

I—” I pause, steadying my voice. “The new woman in my life, I’m in love with her.

And even if Billie breaks us apart, I will never get back with her?—”

Lilo taps her earpiece, frowning. “Rian, I’m sorry to interrupt, but Billie Rae is on the phone. She wants to respond to your comments.”

My stomach turns to lead.

A red light blinks on the camera rig, signaling the live patch-in. On the large screen in the background, a stock image of Billie appears—pristine, airbrushed, a curated version of herself she shows the public and a stark contrast to the slurred venom spilling from the speakers.

“You have some fucking nerve.” Billie doesn’t even wait for introductions.

Her voice cuts through the studio, distorted by static and thick with anger—a mockery of the polished persona staring down at us from the screen.

“Sitting there with your holier-than-thou bullshit, acting like I was the problem. You abandoned me, Dorian. Left me to rot while you played the hero. Fuck rehab. You never wanted to help me. You only needed me to be your perfect, manageable, little wife. Well, newsflash, babe—I was never gonna be that. And now? Now you’re crying on national TV because I wrote a song?

Because I called you out? You’re pathetic.

Play the victim all you want, but guess what?

The world knows who the liar is. And I’m coming, sweetheart.

I’m driving right to that fucking studio to look you in the eyes while I say it. So, fuck you, you lying piece of shit.”

Lilo’s smile tenses as she casts an apologetic glance at the camera. “Billie, I understand these are deeply personal matters, and emotions can run high. But we do ask our guests to keep the discussion respectful.”

Billie’s breath hitches before she spits, “Shut up, bitch, I’m not talking to you.”

My ex sounds deranged.

The room goes still. Lilo recoils, blinking, but she’s quick to recover. “Billie, are you driving under the influence right now?”

A dry, humorless laugh crackles through the line. “I told you to shut your trap. I’m handling my shit just?—”

In the background of Billie’s call, we hear a sudden screech of tires. Then a sickening crunch, followed by a loud bang.

Then nothing.

Lilo sits up straighter, pressing her earpiece again. “Billie? Are you okay?”

Silence.

A beat. Then another.

A splintery pressure compresses my rib cage, a warning my body registers before my mind catches up to what’s happening.

A producer in the control booth mutters something unintelligible into a mic, and Lilo’s eyes widen. “I—We’ve received confirmation that Billie Rae crashed her car into the front gates of the studio. We have a crew moving into place right now.”

I grip the arms of the chair, every muscle in my body coiled tight. They’re going to air this. Turn her wreckage into a fucking segment. I should tell them to cut the feed, to have a shred of decency and give her privacy, but?—

But the crew will get to her before I can, and I need to know if Billie is still breathing, if she’s hurt, more than I want to protect her dignity.

The screen behind us flickers to a live feed of the entrance.

Billie’s car is crumpled against the gate, the hood smoking.

Security guards rush to the driver’s side, pulling the door open.

Billie stumbles out, looking dazed, confused, completely out of it.

A guard reaches for her to help, but she shoves him away, screaming, “Fuck off!” She turns in circles, unsteady, her words slurring as she hurls more insults.

An ambulance arrives on the scene. Two paramedics jump out. One approaches Billie to steady her, but she swings at him, missing by a mile.

That’s enough.

I rip out my microphone and stand. “I have to go. And you should cut this—she doesn’t deserve for the world to see her like this.”