Page 87 of My Rockstar Ex's Broken Vows

"Yeah," she says bitterly. "Me too. And he was one hundred percent trying to take control. It seemed like he’d planned the whole thing. Callum, he already applied Ollie without telling me. When I called him out on it, right in front of the headmaster, he just gave me the 'awe, shucks' defense."

My hands curl into fists, the anger simmering just below the surface. "How did he know about the meeting? Did you tell your attorney?"

"No," she says, her voice trembling. "I have no idea. I felt ambushed, blindsided, and I just... I lost it. I stormed out and told them I’d be in touch, but I could barely hold it together."

"You had every right to be mad," I say in a low voice. I’m using every bit of control to stay calm, although everything inside wants to rage. "That’s not on you, Sienna. That’s on him. He shouldn't have done that."

She exhales sharply, shaking her head. "The headmaster seemed genuinely surprised that Marcus showed up, too, which makes me wonder... how did Marcus even know I would be there to meet with the school?"

That question hangs in the air between us, heavy and unspoken. I lean back slightly, running a hand through my hair as a familiar thought creeps into my mind.

"Sienna," I start slowly, "there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I was waiting for a chance for us to sit down."

She looks at me, her brow furrowing. "What is it?"

I take a deep breath, letting the words settle before I speak. "I’ve been doing some digging. About the number mix-up in your phone. About why none of our messages ever got through to each other."

Her eyes widen slightly, and she leans forward. "What did you find?"

"I reached out to Ian," I say, watching her reaction. "Do you remember him? From Charleston? Ian Keller. I think he was a year ahead of us at the college."

She blinks, recognition flickering in her eyes, and then I see it click. "Ian... the tech guy? He was friends with Marcus, right?"

"Yeah, him," I say. "We stayed in touch after college. He built a website for me when I was in Nashville, so I figured he’d be a good person to ask about this kind of thing."

Her gaze sharpens. "And what did he say?"

I hesitate, my chest tightening.

"He said Marcus asked him a lot of questions back then. About how to block numbers, intercept messages, and even hack someone’s email. He didn’t think much of it at the time, but when I told him about what happened with us... he said it all started to make sense. He's certain Marcus manipulated our attempts to communicate after I left through hacking apps."

Her face pales and her hands grip the edge of the couch. "Callum... are you saying Marcus?—"

"I don’t know for sure," I cut in, my voice steady. "But it’s starting to feel like more than a coincidence. The timing, the way none of our messages got through, the number mix-up. And now this, he somehow knew when you were going in to meet with the school. It seems like he could still be doing it.”

She shakes her head, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. "I can’t believe this. Oh, Jesus Christ. He would totally do that. I think you're right. I think that is exactly what happened."

I reach out, covering her hand with mine. "Hey," I say softly. "We don’t have proof yet. But if he did this, then it makes a lot of this make sense."

"Yes, it's classic him. He blocked you from reaching me and then he was there to pick up the pieces. Mother fucker!"

Saturday,April 5

The Mercer Hotel

9:42 AM

The knockon my hotel room door comes just as I’m scrolling through the endless list of emails Luke’s been forwarding me about our packed PR schedule over the next four weeks. I groan, tossing my phone onto the nightstand, and rub the back of my neck.

"I'm good," I yell through the closed door, wondering why housekeeping is here so early, on a Saturday, no less.

"I want to fluff your pillow," an altered but familiar voice responds from the other side. I smile to myself when I realize it’s Sienna and nearly jump out of bed to let her in.

When I jerk open the door, she’s standing there, holding two coffee cups in one hand and a white pastry bag in the other. Her hair’s loose, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, and her lips curve into a smile when she sees me.

"Want me to fluff your pillow?"

She’s wearing jeans and a simple gray sweater that dips low enough to show just a hint of collarbone, but somehow, she looks more beautiful than I think I’ve ever seen her.

---