Page 59 of My Rockstar Ex's Broken Vows

"What?" Brooke asks, frowning.

"Marcus," I say, shoving the phone into my purse before I can let him completely hijack my night. "He wants me to call him."

Her brow furrows. "Do you think something’s wrong?"

"I don’t know," I admit, my chest tightening. "And I don’t care. I’ll deal with it later."

Brooke studies me for a second before nodding. "I like this side of you. He's a capable parent and you're a grown ass woman."

I force a smile, and we say our goodbyes, heading in opposite directions. But as I walk, my steps quickening against thepavement, my mind races. What could he want? Something about Ollie? The custody schedule? Private school?

He always pulls this shit when he has Ollie. I've learned his habits by now. This is nothing. Right?

My heart pounds as I clutch my purse tighter, my fingers brushing against the phone inside. I tell myself I’ll deal with it later, but the truth is, I’m far from letting it go. Marcus always finds a way to creep in, to twist the knife just when things start to feel okay.

By the time I reach the subway, my chest feels like it’s wrapped in barbed wire. I’m mad—at him, at myself, at the way he still has this power over me. Whatever it is, I know it’s going to stick with me until I face it.

Goddammit.

My fingers shake as I type the message, my resolve flickering but holding.

If Ollie isn’t in danger and is okay, I’ll call you back when I’m able.

I hit send before I could second-guess myself, and the message delivers almost instantly.

A response comes seconds later. He’s not used to me making him wait.

He is, but we need to talk NOW.

I stare at the screen, anger and relief colliding in my chest. Typical Marcus. The vague, ominous wording is textbook manipulation, designed to keep me off balance.

But not this time.

I shove the phone back into my purse and board the subway, my resolve hardening. Ollie’s fine and Marcus can wait. Tonight, for once, he doesn’t get to dictate the terms.

TWENTY

Callum

I’d find you then, my legend

Wednesday, March 19

12:12 PM

The email hitsmy inbox just after noon, and for a second, I almost delete without reading it. I don’t recognize the sender—some legal name that sounds like it belongs on a brass plaque in a high-rise office.

But the subject line stops me cold:

Regarding Your Agreement with Jake Morrison

I open it, my chest tightening with every word.

Jake Morrison didn’t just threaten to go to Pinnacle. He fucking did it. He’s claiming breach of contract and demanding$400,000—half of what Pinnacle signed me for—plus royalties. He’s copied Pinnacle’s legal team and my manager, Luke, on the email. It’s a warning shot, but the kind that aims straight for the heart.

My stomach churns as I stare at the screen. The bastard actually did it.

I push back from the kitchen table, running a hand through my hair. My smoothie sits untouched, melted by now, and the toast I ordered from room service is still sitting on the plate. I haven’t been able to eat much lately—too much shit hanging over my head. And now this.

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