Page 19 of My Rockstar Ex's Broken Vows

"Change of plans." Victor's assistant's voice crackles through. "Max sends his apologies for the last-minute change, but he is stuck at Sony. Won't make it until at least five."

I look at my watch and try to hide my irritation. As if none of us have things to do except Max Greene.

Max Greene. The producer Pinnacle insisted on. The one who's supposed to help make my sound more "commercially viable." Shouldn't we be catering to him, not the other way around?

Luke glances at me, eyebrows raised. Mike and Jace hover by the studio entrance, watching this unfold.

"We could push to six," I say before Luke can respond. "Everyone could use a break, anyway. I know I need some air and some caffeine."

"Six?" Luke's tone carries a warning. "She said five."

Five won’t give me enough time to get down to Chinatown and back. I’m already shrugging off the leather jacket - the one Pinnacle's stylist insisted on. "Tell Max six works."

"Callum."

"We all need a break, Luke." I loosen the ridiculous silk scarf they made me wear for the shoot. "We've been at this for days. What’s an extra hour?"

"Six it is," the assistant chirps, oblivious to the tension. The call ends.

This is the first location tag for Emma in real-time. I need to seize the moment. This is a sign.

I've finally got a window and a known location. Fuck it. I check my phone again. She's only been there for twenty-five minutes by now. If I can get to Chinatown quickly, I should be able to catch her. And hopefully whoever her favorite person is….

I'm already pushing through the doors, googling directions to Golden Dragon. I click my Uber app and see no one is right here. March wind whips down 8th Avenue as I flag a taxi instead.

"Chinatown," I tell the driver. "Mott Street."

Some risks are worth taking. Some questions need answers. And Emma Chen might be my only chance at both. If Sienna isn't with her, hopefully at least she will hear me out and help me fill in some gaps.

The taxi winds through narrow Chinatown streets, past fruit vendors and hanging lanterns. Each red light feels eternal. Each block between me and some answers stretches longer than the last.

Emma's post is forty minutes old by now. She could be gone already. Back to oblivion. Back to wherever Sienna is.

The taxi hits another light. Through the window, I see two old men playing chess on a card table outside of a storefront.A woman hangs laundry between buildings. Life happening in slow motion while my pulse races.

My phone buzzes. It’s Ethan.

Got more info about contract precedents. Call when you can.

Another text. Luke.

The label's watching every move. Don't fuck this up, Cal. I'm serious.

The taxi turns onto Mott Street. Red and gold signs flash past, but I'm searching for one in particular. Golden Dragon's been here forty years, according to Emma's posts. It has to be…

There.

The restaurant spans the first floor of a narrow building. Its windows are steamy and the lights on inside are bright against the gray sky. A weathered sign shows a dragon wrapped around the restaurant's name in both English and Chinese characters.

I pay the driver and step onto the sidewalk. Through the window, I see round tables with lazy Susans, red paper lanterns, and a counter with a lucky cat waving its paw.

No Emma.

No Sienna.

But maybe…

The bell over the door chimes again. A server hurries past with steaming plates. The scent of ginger and garlic fills the air. Onthe wall behind the counter, framed photographs span decades—the restaurant's evolution in black and white and fading color.

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