Page 1 of Duty Unbound

Chapter 1

Mel Rivers

The scent of lavender and champagne curled through the thick steam rising from the oversized tub, filling the air with something almost suffocating in its decadence. The bathroom—larger than a lot of studio apartments—was immersed in the soft flicker of scented candles, their glow dancing across marble countertops and gold fixtures. Classical music played softly in the background, a stark contrast to the thumping bass that usually accompanied Nova’s every waking moment.

Nova Rivers. Pop star extraordinaire to anyone within hearing distance of a radio in the past year.

To me, younger sister by twenty-two months. And, technically, my boss.

I sat perched on a sleek, uncomfortable chair beside the tub, my tablet resting on my knee, stylus in hand, meticulously writing out every extravagant whim spilling from Nova’s lips. My back ached from thirteen straight hours of work, and the steam had turned my once-crisp blouse into a damp, wrinkled mess.

“Obviously, the set has to be bigger,” Nova said, stretching her arms above her head, bubbles sliding down her bare shoulders. “Like, Beyoncé meets Cirque du Soleil big. I need aerialists, but make them edgy. Sexy, not circus.”

I tapped my screen and managed not to roll my eyes.Bigger set. Cirque. Sexy aerialists. My fingers moved mechanically, recording words that would inevitably lead to disappointment when reality hit. My sister was successful, sure, but she wasn’t selling out Madison Square Garden. The midsized theaters on her tour schedule barely had room for her dancers, let alone trapeze artists swinging from the rafters.

“And write this down,” Nova continued, lifting her champagne flute, as if I hadn’t been writing down everything she said since she got into the tub. “I need an on-call masseuse. The last tour? My shoulders were wrecked. People don’t realize how much tension builds up after a two-hour set.” She took another sip, her lips leaving a glossy stain on the rim of her glass. “And if I’m uncomfortable, the fans suffer. That’s just facts.”

I added it to the list.Masseuse.Because the fans deserve it.

“Got it.” And I did have everything written down. I’d learned that writing it all down—evenCirque, because the fans deserve it—took less effort than explaining why Iwasn’twriting it all down if Nova noticed.

And every once in a while, she did have a really good idea.

She exhaled happily, tipping her head back against the bath pillow. “I swear, Mel, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The words hung between us, meant as a compliment but landing like an anchor around my neck. I didn’t answer. I just kept taking notes, the familiar weight of responsibility settling deeper into my shoulders.

People always said Nova and I looked alike. Same green eyes, same bone structure, the same delicate curve to our jawlines. But that was where the similarities ended.

Where Nova was bold, loud, and fearless, I was quiet,cautious, and invisible in her orbit. She filled every room she walked into, drawing attention like gravity itself bent for her. I existed in the background, making sure nothing fell apart behind the scenes.

And I didn’t mind. Not really.

At least that’s what I told myself as I sat in a bathroom at eleven p.m. on a Friday night, taking notes while my sister soaked in bubbles and dreamed up impossible demands.

I had always known my role in Nova’s world. The responsible one. The problem-solver. The one who made sure things ran smoothly while she shone. It wasn’t a bad job. The salary was excellent. I had my own suite here in her house, my expenses covered. And beyond all of that, Nova—born Nora Emily, a name eventually deemed way too plain—was my sister. I loved her.

But that didn’t mean this life was what I’d wanted for myself.

Pop star, and the wealth and comfort that came with it, had been our mother’s dream long before it had been Nova’s. She had poured every ounce of time, energy, and money into making sure Nova had the best vocal coaches, the best dance instructors, the best shot at becoming a star. She had worked two jobs to fund lessons and studio time, sacrificed sleep to drive Nova to auditions, and lived off ramen noodles so Nova could have the best performance outfits.

Me? I had learned to take care of things. To manage schedules. To be the one keeping it all together. And when Mom died—just before Nova’s career exploded—it had only felt right to stay and continue my role as manager. To make sure everything our mother had sacrificed wasn’t in vain.

But sometimes, in quiet moments like these, when the weight of Nova’s world pressed down on me, I couldn’t help but wonder what my life might have been if I’d chosen differently.

What my life would be like if I had the courage to choose differentlynow.

Nova stretched her arms again, sinking deeper into the bubbles, her skin glowing in the candlelight. “Mellie, you should relax sometime, you know.”

I looked down at myself—still in my stiff work slacks, my heels pinching—both things I’d worn because Nova insisted I always look theofficialpart of business manager. My blouse was completely damp from the steam, and I was pretty sure the mascara I had applied that morning had smudged sometime around hour twelve of dealing with contracts and PR disasters.

I let out a breath, forcing my expression neutral. “Maybe one day,” I murmured, clicking my stylus.

Nova hummed, unaware and unconcerned, swirling the last of her fancy cocktail. Tonight was Nova’s quiet night. She’d dismissed the assistants and housekeepers and sent away her almost-always-present entourage of dancers and friends because she’d wanted a “break from people.” Everyone was gone except the security guard at the front gate.

I would’ve liked a night off too, but we were two weeks before a big US tour. There wouldn’t be any time off for me for a while.

Nova, on the other hand, needed to be as relaxed as possible. That was another thing I’d discovered actually ended up making my life easier.

---