Page 27 of Duty Unbound

Nova’s smile faltered. “Oh. About that…”

The warning bells in my head started clanging immediately.

“I’ve been thinking,” she continued, examining her perfectly manicured nails, “and I’m not sure we need Citadel after all.”

I blinked, certain I’d misheard. “What?”

Dexter stretched languidly. “I was telling Nova that all this security nonsense is going to totally kill her creative vibe. How can any artist thrive with muscle-bound commandos lurking around every corner?”

“It’s been a week since those roses showed up,” Nova added, waving her hand dismissively. “If something was really going to happen, it would have by now, right?”

I felt my blood pressure climbing. “Nova, we talked about this. You agreed?—”

“I know, I know.” She sighed dramatically. “But that was before Dexter pointed out how it might affect the tour. I can’t risk anything disrupting my process right now, Mel. You know how delicate the balance is, especially with opening night so close.”

I shot Dexter a look that could have frozen hell. He had the good sense to appear slightly uncomfortable.

“Maybe I should let you two discuss this.” He gathered his things, planting a kiss on Nova’s cheek. “Don’t forget to stretch before bed, darling. Your hamstrings were tight today.”

“Text me later!” Nova called after him.

The moment the door closed, I turned to my sister. “Nova, please tell me you’re joking.”

I could not go back to Ethan Cross and tell him Nova had changed her mind. I just could not possibly do it.

“Don’t start, Mel. The creative process has to be protected at all costs. You know that.”

“You know what else needs to be protected? Your life.” I fought to keep my voice level. Showing frustration would only make Nova dig her heels in deeper. “Someone broke in to our home. Left dead roses and threatening notes. Made the power go out. This isn’t a joke.”

Nova rolled her eyes. “It was probably just an overzealous fan. Besides, all that security stuff sounds so restrictive. Dexter says?—”

“I don’t care what Dexter says.” The words came out sharper than I intended. “He’s not responsible for your safety. I am.”

Nova straightened, her expression hardening. “Look, I need to change clothes, then we’ll talk. Meet me in the kitchen in fifteen.”

Before I could respond, she was gone, leaving me alone in the cavernous studio.

I exhaled slowly, counting backward from ten—a technique I’d been using since childhood to manage my frustration with Nova. It rarely worked, but the familiar ritual brought a semblance of calm.

In the kitchen, I pulled a covered plate from the refrigerator. Rosa had left me dinner again—roast chicken, potatoes, green beans. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten a meal that hadn’t been reheated or grabbed on the go.

I sat at the breakfast bar, checking my phone while I ate. Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty. Then thirty.

Nova wasn’t coming.

With a sigh, I set my half-eaten dinner aside and headed forher bedroom. The double doors were partially open, light spilling into the hallway. I knocked lightly before pushing them wider.

Nova’s bedroom was a study in controlled disorder—designer clothes strewn across every surface, shoes scattered like modern art installations, jewelry and makeup covering the vanity. My sister lay sprawled on her chaise longue, scrolling through her phone, now dressed in silk pajamas.

“I thought we were meeting in the kitchen,” I said, moving a pile of discarded outfits so I could sit on the edge of her bed.

“Sorry,” she replied, not looking up. “Got distracted.”

I took another deep breath. “Nova, we need to talk about security. For real this time.”

She sighed dramatically, letting her phone drop to her chest. “Fine. But you’re overreacting. One creepy fan incident doesn’t mean we need to turn this place into Fort Knox.”

“It’s not just one incident,” I countered. “It’s the texts, the emails, the letters?—”

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