Page 31 of My Rockstar Ex's Broken Vows

"You don't look like you're doing too bad to me. Sounds like you have a big album coming out. I saw you on the big screen at Times Square."

"Yeah, well let's just say that is in no part thanks to him. He convinced me to pack up my life and move to Nashville. Told me he’d get me in rooms with the right people and make me a star. Turns out, all he wanted was to bleed me dry."

Her lips part slightly, but she doesn’t interrupt. She just watches me, her gaze steady, like she’s pulling the words out of me without even trying.

"I was green," I continue. "Didn’t know shit about contracts or the industry. He tied me up in deals that only benefited him, took a cut of everything I made, and when I didn't make it big, he dropped me. Like I was nothing."

Her jaw tightens, and she mutters, "Asshole."

"You’re not wrong," I say, smirking despite myself. "But I didn’t let him win. I was pissed, sure, but I wasn’t gonna crawl back to Charleston with my tail between my legs. Luke, my producer, someone I met while scraping by, helped me out. Found me gigs and got me through the worst of it. Eventually, he introduced me to someone at Pinnacle Records."

"And now you’re signed?" she asks, her voice softening again.

"Yeah," I say, leaning back against the bench. "Two years of jumping through hoops and selling my soul to the devil, and it finally happened. The day of the gala, actually."

Her brows lift. "Seriously? That's the day you signed?"

"Yep. Met with the big guy that afternoon. My label wanted me to show up at the gala as part of their ‘welcome to the family’ thing." I glance at her, a grin tugging at my lips. "Guess it worked out, huh?"

She laughs. It’s a genuine, warm sound that makes the cold air feel less biting. "I’d say so."

For a moment, we just look at each other, and it’s easy—like we’re slipping back into something familiar without even trying. But then her gaze falters, and I can see the wheels turning in her head.

"What?" I ask, nudging her arm lightly.

"Nothing," she says quickly, then hesitates. "It’s just… you’ve been through a lot."

I shrug. "So have you. Bet you’ve got some stories, too."

She exhales, her breath visible in the cool night air. "Yeah. I do."

I want to ask. I want to know everything—how she ended up with Marcus, what brought her to New York, what the hell her life has been like since I left. But I hold back. It doesn’t feel like the right time, and I don’t want to push her.

Instead, I nudge her again, trying to lighten the mood. "What about you? You’re living in Brooklyn now, huh? It’s a long way from Charleston, SC, and Savannah, GA. How’s the artsy city life treating you?"

With a snort and a shake of her head, she tosses her dark mane of hair. "It’s not as glamorous as it sounds. But... I like it. It’s good for my son, and I’ve found my rhythm here. It’s home."

There’s something in the way she says it—simple but proud—that makes me smile. "Good," I say. "You deserve that."

She glances at me, her expression softening. "Thanks."

Her words settle in my chest, warm and solid, and for a second, I can’t look away. She notices, of course. She always notices.

"What?" she asks, her voice dipping just enough to make my pulse pick up.

"Nothing," I say, though it’s not nothing. It’s everything. It’s her standing here with me, looking at me like she still knows me, even after all this time.

She looks away first, her cheeks coloring faintly in the cool night air. "You’re staring," she says, a touch of that dry humor slipping back into her tone.

"Can you blame me?" I reply, a grin tugging at my lips. "I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you’re here. That we’re here, together."

She stops walking, turning to face me fully. "Feels weird, doesn’t it? Like... after everything, we’re just supposed to pick up where we left off?"

"No," I say, stepping closer, careful but deliberate. "Not pick up where we left off. Just... start something new."

Her breath catches slightly, just enough for me to notice, and I take another step, closing the space between us. My hands stay in my pockets—I’m not pushing this too far, not risking the ground we’ve gained—but I can’t stop the pull I feel toward her.

"Sienna," I say softly, my voice dipping lower. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

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