Page 18 of Duty Unbound

I had no reason to feel hurt that Ethan wouldn’t take Nova on as a client. It was just business.

But a business decision that left us vulnerable to whoever had broken in and left those flowers. And put a lot more back on my already overflowing plate.

My gaze drifted to the easel set up in the sitting area of my suite. A half-finished landscape waited patiently on the canvas. The peaceful valley surrounded by mountains had called to me.

I wanted to paint more than anything, to lose myself in the strokes and colors, to let everything else fade away for just a little while. But I hadn’t touched it in weeks. There was never enough time with tour preparations, Nova’s demands, and now this stalker situation.

My stomach growled, reminding me I’d skipped dinner. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember eating since the lunch I’d wolfed down between meetings. I glanced at the clock—nearly ten p.m.

I padded barefoot down the hallway toward the kitchen, enjoying the plush carpet beneath my sore feet. The house wasquiet now, most of the staff and Nova’s ever-present entourage gone for the night.

When I reached the kitchen, I found a covered plate in the refrigerator with a sticky note that read: “For Mel—heat 2 minutes. –Rosa.” Bless our cook’s heart. She was always looking out for me.

I popped the plate in the microwave—roasted chicken, vegetables, and rice—and the aroma when I removed the cover made my mouth water. I took the plate to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair, then froze.

This was where the dead roses had been left. The image of them flashed in my mind—wilted petals, black ribbon, those chilling notes.

I picked up my plate and moved to the breakfast bar instead, but the feeling of being watched crawled up my spine. I glanced around the darkened windows, seeing only my own reflection staring back at me. The kitchen suddenly felt too open, too exposed.

“Get a grip, Mel,” I muttered, forcing a bite of food into my mouth despite my appetite vanishing. I needed to eat to function, even if I didn’t feel like it.

That was when I realized my phone hadn’t buzzed in several minutes. Nova never went this long without texting, especially not this early in the evening. There was no way she’d gone to bed already.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Nova appeared in the kitchen doorway. She was wearing plain black leggings and an old T-shirt, her face scrubbed clean of makeup. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail.

This wasn’t Nova Rivers, pop sensation. This was my sister, Nora.

Though I’d never call her that anymore. Those days were long gone. Mom had changed her name when she was fourteen, convinced “Nova” had star quality that “Nora” lacked. Novahad embraced it so completely that sometimes I wondered if she even remembered being Nora.

“Hey,” she said softly, padding into the kitchen. “Everyone’s gone.”

“I noticed,” I replied. “You okay?”

She shrugged, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “Couldn’t even think about sleeping.”

This wasn’t a good sign. Whenever Nova sent everyone home and couldn’t sleep, it meant her anxiety had reached peak levels. I set down my fork, giving her my full attention.

“What’s on your mind?”

She leaned against the counter, twisting the cap off her water bottle. “The tour starts in two weeks.”

“I know.”

“I keep thinking about Mom,” she said, her voice small, vulnerable in a way she never allowed when others were around. “She wanted this so badly for me. For us. She should be here to see it.”

A knot formed in my throat. “I know. I think about that every day.”

“Do you think she’d be proud?” Nova asked, and the uncertainty in her voice broke my heart. For all her bravado and diva behavior, this was the core of my sister—the part that desperately needed to know our sacrifices had been worth it.

“Are you kidding? She’d be over the moon,” I said. “Her daughter, selling out shows across the country? She’d be in the front row of every performance, wearing a T-shirt with your face on it.”

Nova laughed softly, but her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I miss her.”

“Me too.”

She took a sip of water. “The tour’s going to be amazing, right? Everything’s going to be okay?”

“Of course it is,” I assured her, though my own doubtsloomed large in the back of my mind. “The venues are perfect, the setlist is incredible, and your performances are going to blow people away.”

---