Page 97 of Duty Unbound

We drove in silence for a minute before I gathered the courage to ask the question that had been lingering in my mind.

“How long will you and the Citadel team be around? Or, I guess I mean your inner team.”

His expression shifted, becoming more professional. “At least until the end of the tour. Or when the stalker is caught. After that, Nova can transition to a more regular security detail, either through Citadel or another company.”

“Oh.” I tried to keep my voice neutral. “That makes sense.”

“It’s standard procedure.”

No talk of what that meant for us, and I didn’t want to push it. I tried to remind myself I didn’t need a map laid out for our relationship.

We rode the rest of the way in silence. The sprawling gates of Nova’s mansion came into view as we rounded the long driveway. Ethan pulled up to the front entrance and cut the engine.

“I need to check in with the team,” he said, all business now. “Make sure the property is secure and see where everything stands.”

“Right. Of course.”

He hesitated, like he wanted to say something more, then simply nodded and got out of the car. I watched him walk away, his broad shoulders stiff under his tailored suit jacket. Something had changed between us during that conversation, and I wasn’t sure how to fix it—or if I should even try.

We weren’t at the ranch anymore. Weren’t living inside my dream. We were back to reality.

I grabbed my bag and headed inside, my footsteps echoing on the marble floor of the entryway. The house was quieter than usual—no assistants rushing around, no stylists arguing about fabric choices. Just the low hum of the air conditioning and distant music from upstairs. Nova must be working on choreography.

I followed the familiar path to her wing of the house, pausing outside her bedroom door to prepare myself for whatever tornado of demands might be waiting. Deep breath in, slow exhale, shoulders back—the routine I’d perfected over years of being Nova’s personal emotional shock absorber.

I found her in her massive walk-in closet, surrounded by racks of clothing and three tablet screens showing different outfit combinations. Her stylist must have sent over new options for the tour. Nova’s blonde hair was piled messily on top of her head, and she wore her “thinking” outfit—oversized sweater, leggings, and fuzzy socks, a stark contrast to her glamorous stage persona.

“Mel! Thank God you’re back.” She barely looked up from her screens. “I’ve been thinking about the setlist for Phoenix. We need to swap ‘Moonlight Memories’ with ‘Heartbreak Highway.’ The energy flow is all wrong.”

I recognized the manic gleam in her eyes and the rapid-fire way she spoke. Nova was in full diva mode—the zone she entered when she was feeling creative or anxious or both.

“And we need to add another costume change before theencore. Oh, and call Dexter—his choreography for ‘Steel Butterfly’ is too complicated for the backup dancers. They looked like drunk giraffes at the last rehearsal.”

She continued rattling off demands and changes, barely pausing for breath. I pulled out my phone and started taking notes, knowing better than to interrupt when she was like this. Any mention of my quitting would only trigger a Nova-sized explosion.

“The lighting cues for ‘Dangerous’ were completely off in Memphis. Tell Marcus to fix it or we’re finding a new lighting director.” She paused, finally looking at me directly. “You’re taking notes, right? This is important, Mel.”

“I’ve got it all.” I forced a smile. “Everything will be perfect for Phoenix when the tour starts again.”

Nova’s phone chimed, and she grabbed it, immediately distracted by whatever was on the screen. I watched her, this sister I’d spent my entire adult life supporting. Her life was a constant whirlwind of activity, decisions, drama—everything at maximum volume. I loved her fiercely, but I definitely couldn’t continue to live in her hurricane forever.

While Nova was distracted with her FaceTime call, her voice rising with each sentence, I checked my own messages. Another text from an unknown number—one of those spam messages I’d been getting for weeks.

This one showed a coupon for a local coffee shop:

FLASH SALE—$1 OFF ANY DRINK. TODAY ONLY!

I glanced at Nova, who was now gesturing wildly at whoever was on her screen. The conversation about my future would have to wait. Maybe coffee would help ease the tension. It certainly couldn’t hurt. Hand her a drink then see about broaching the news.

“Hey,” I said when she ended her call. “I’m going to grab coffee. Want your usual?”

Nova’s face lit up. “God, yes. Double shot, extra foam, three pumps vanilla, one pump caramel, light ice.”

“And a lemon poppy seed muffin?”

“You’re a lifesaver.” She blew me a kiss and turned back to her tablets. “Don’t be too long. We need to finalize these setlist changes today.”

“I’ll be quick,” I promised, slipping out of the room.

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