Page 60 of My Rockstar Ex's Broken Vows

The phone buzzes on the table. It’s Luke. I swipe to answer.

"You saw it," he says, not even bothering with a greeting.

"Yeah," I mutter, pacing to the window. The Mercer’s view of SoHo feels more suffocating than inspiring right now. The city’s energy is buzzing too loud. "What the hell do we do?"

"First, we don’t panic," Luke says, though his tone is tight. "This is a scare tactic. Morrison’s trying to squeeze you, same as always. His direct threat didn't get results, so he is trying another avenue."

"It’s working," I say bitterly. "I don’t have $400,000, Luke. I don’t have anything close to that. And he wants fucking royalties, too?! I'd rather starve and never play another dive bar before I give him a penny of any royalty."

"You don’t need to," he says quickly. "Not yet. Let me talk to Victor and see what kind of counter we can put together. Now that they are involved, they may have some ideas. I'm sure thisisn't a first for them. Call Ethan and let him know what’s going on. He said you haven’t returned any of his calls in a week."

"I’ve been a little busy. And what the hell kind of counter are we supposed to offer him?" My voice rises, the frustration spilling over. "He’s got that damn contract. It’s airtight, right? You said so yourself."

Luke sighs, and I can practically hear him rubbing his temples on the other end. "He’s got leverage, it's true. The best move might be to negotiate some kind of settlement. Something to put this to bed finally."

"Settlement," I repeat, my voice flat. "And where’s that money supposed to come from? Because I’m not touching Pinnacle’s advance for this asshole."

"That’s what we need to figure out," Luke says, his tone sharp now. "But you freaking out isn’t going to solve anything. Let me talk to the suits and Pinnacle and the lawyers. We’ll figure out our next move."

The call ends, but the lump in my throat doesn’t budge. I drop the phone on the counter and lean against the sink, staring down at the stainless steel like it might offer some kind of clarity. Instead, all I feel is the anger simmering in my veins.

Jake fucking Morrison. The man who "discovered" me, who dangled dreams of stardom in front of me like a carrot, only to keep me on a leash the second I signed his bullshit contract. And now, just when I’m finally clawing my way out, he’s trying to take everything down with him.

I hear the knock on the door before I see the email pop up on my laptop. This time, it’s from Pinnacle’s legal team. Morrison’sdemands have officially triggered a response. They want to set up a call tomorrow morning.

It’s all happening too fast. Faster than I can think, faster than I can breathe. And the worst part? I don’t see a way out.

I press my palms to the counter, the metal cold under my hands. My mind spins with every worst-case scenario: losing the album, losing the deal, losing everything I’ve worked for.

I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this together.

"Housekeeping."

Electric Lady Studios

4:52 PM

The riff is wrong.Again.

I rip off the headphones, my jaw tightening as I glance through the glass at Mike, who’s sitting in the booth, holding his guitar like it’s the goddamn problem.

"Let’s take it from the top," the engineer says, his voice flat over the intercom.

"It’s not the top!" I snap, louder than I mean to. Everyone freezes, their eyes flicking to me. Mike raises an eyebrow, his fingers still on the strings.

I press my hands to my temples, exhaling slowly. "Sorry," I mutter, forcing myself to calm down. "It’s just... It’s not landing. Let’s take five."

I shove back from the console before anyone can say anything else and head for the hallway. The hum of equipment fades as the door swings shut behind me, replaced by the distant hum of the heating vents. I find Luke leaning against the wall. He's got his phone in his hand, looking like he’s about to call me out.

"You’re unraveling," he says flatly.

"Thanks for the insight, Dr. Phil," I shoot back, running a hand through my hair.

"I’m serious, Callum," he says, pushing off the wall. "You’re wasting everyone’s time if you’re not ready to record. You need to clear your head or reschedule."

"I can’t clear my head," I snap. "Not with all this shit hanging over me."

"Then reschedule," he says, his tone sharper now. "No one’s going to bail on you for needing to push a session, but if you keep blowing up like this, you’re going to burn out your crew."

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