Page 34 of Duty Unbound

Chapter 11

Mel

I nodded to two guards I didn’t recognize as I made my way up the stairs to my suite. Their faces were expressionless, professional, intimidating. Just like Ethan and his team wanted them to be. How many new people had we added in the last two days? Eight? Ten? I’d lost count.

My temples throbbed. After forty-eight hours of nonstop security upgrades, house modifications, and Nova’s near-constant meltdowns about it all, my head felt ready to explode.

I pushed open the door to my suite and instantly kicked off the black heels that had been torturing me all day. Blessed relief. I carefully placed them beside the closet where I’d need them again after my brief respite. The “all hands” security meeting with Ethan’s team was in a few hours, and Nova expected me in my manager attire.

Nova’s expectations. Always Nova’s expectations.

I unbuttoned my blazer, hanging it precisely on the wooden hanger, smoothing out any wrinkles. Next came the pencil skirtand silk blouse, both arranged neatly for later use. Every movement was meticulous, practiced. I’d become an expert at maintaining Nova’s idea of what her manager should look like.

My phone buzzed again. Of course.

Mel these new guards won’t let Karina in and she has my special protein shakes!!!

OMG they’re doing ANOTHER sweep of my closet. How many times do they need to check???

That scary guy with the computers TOOK MY PHONE and did something to it!!!

I set the phone down without responding. Nova would survive without my immediate reassurance for once. Right now, I needed to breathe.

I slipped into worn jeans and a faded T-shirt, pulling my hair free from its tight bun. My scalp tingled as blood flow returned. Heaven. Pure heaven.

This was me. The real me. Not Nova Rivers’s manager, not the professional in heels and perfectly tailored clothes. Just Mel. And right now, Mel needed something that was just for her.

I wandered into the sitting room adjoining my bedroom. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, casting golden squares across the hardwood floor. My easel stood in the corner, waiting patiently, just as it had since I’d set it up when we first moved in eighteen months ago after Nova’s career exploded.

Nova loved to tease me about my “little artistic endeavors.” Like my painting was a cute hobby, something to be patted on the head for. She had no idea what it really meant to me. To be fair, I wasn’t sure I could explain it even if I tried.

I wasn’t talented—not like Nova. I’d never have a career as an artist, nor did I want one. But when I painted, everything else fell away. The constant demands, the endless texts, the weight ofresponsibility—they all disappeared the moment the brush touched canvas.

I switched my phone to silent and set it facedown on the table. Just for a little while.

My paints were arranged by color, my brushes clean and waiting. I squeezed rich blues onto my palette first—the color of possibility, of sky, of freedom. I mixed in whites to create the perfect shade, applying it to the top of the canvas with broad, confident strokes.

There was no hesitation here. No second-guessing. Just the certainty of color against white.

Next came greens, vibrant and lush, combining to create rolling hills beneath the endless sky. I lost myself in the blending, the feathering of edges where grass met horizon. Eventually, I added a small house in the distance, just a suggestion of structure and safety.

Outside this fictional home, tiny figures took shape—children playing, a dog bounding across the grass. It wasn’t an ambitious scene. In fact, it was nearly identical to paintings I’d done before. But I never tired of creating this particular world.

A world far from tour schedules and security threats. A world where children laughed without bodyguards nearby. A place where a dog could run without hitting a fence. A life without millions of eyes watching, waiting for a mistake.

The sun shifted as I worked, casting different shadows across my canvas. I didn’t notice. My brush moved, colors blended, and time disappeared.

Until I glanced at my watch.

“Shit!”

The meeting with Ethan and his team had started five minutes ago. I was late—me, who was never late for anything. I dropped my brush in the water jar and frantically wiped my hands on a rag.

No time to change. No time to put on my manager armor. Isprinted for the door, my paint-dotted hands a splash of color against the doorknob.

Rushing down the hallway, I felt exposed in my casual clothes and loose hair. The guards I passed did double-takes, clearly barely recognizing the transformed version of the buttoned-up manager they’d seen earlier.

I reached the conference room and paused just outside, taking a deep breath. Then I pushed open the door.

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