It ended with me heartbroken and humiliated, while he strutted around, soaking up the attention, and moved on without a second thought. Our breakup wasn’t just personal, it was public. Headlines for days, my pain turned into entertainment for the world to dissect.
It was a lesson I swore I’dneverforget.
I promised myself I’d never let another musician—hell, another man—drag me through that kind of public humiliation again. I know all too well that charm and good looks can be nothing more than a mask for betrayal.
And yet, here I am.
Feeling that pull.
Nate is far too young for me. In his mid twenties, while I’m edging closer to forty. The gap between us isn’t just numbers—it’s experience, it’s battle scars, it’s the weight of knowing exactly how these stories end.
I used to believe in happy endings.
Now? I’m not so sure.
And yet, there’s a whisper in the back of my mind.Dating someone younger could make me relevant.
No.That’s not who I am.
I have to remember what happened with Kade—the humiliation, the way he walked away because commitment wasn’t convenient. Because I wasn’tenoughto make him stay.
So why am I even entertaining the idea of risking it all again?
My fingers brush the necklace at my throat as my gaze drifts to the framed picture of my father sitting on the buffet. His eyes would light up with every book, every lesson. How he taught me to read, to love words, to believe in the stories that shaped the world.
I miss him.
God, I miss him.
Thinking about my father stirs something in me, a desire to pay it forward. My broody artist comes to mind. I may put up a tough front, but I genuinely love helping people when I can. And if guiding him through learning how to read and write will make him feel more confident, more at home in his own skin, then I’m all in.
Taking a deep breath while my heart beats a little faster, I turn, heading for the stairs, and make my way up to my bedroom. It’s been a long week. I’ve just finished filming another epic, multi-million dollar movie that’s sure to be a blockbuster. But right now, I am wiped, and over Hollywood for a while.
Other than this music video I’ve signed up for with Recoil, my schedule is clear for a long stretch. I need some downtime. I’ve been working too damn hard. But in this industry, if you don’t consistently work hard, you lose your relevance. And if you lose your status, then you’re last week’s news. Well, that’s what Patrick, my stepfather and one of the world’s biggest movie producers, says anyway.
And what Patrick says is gospel!
Chapter Three
NATE
Matt continues to grin at me as we stand in our burgundy kitchen. It’s annoying because he hasn’t stopped since we left the office.
“What?” I ask, and he chuckles.
“Well, you werequitecozy with our little A-lister, weren’t you,Nathaniel?”
I furrow my brows and frown. “Fuck off! Just ’cause you weren’t the center of attention for once, you can leave me the hell alone.”
“Okay, Snappy Stan, cheer the fuck up. Did she reject you already or something?”
Annoyed, he automatically assumes she’d reject me, I roll my eyes. “No, she didn’t reject me. In fact, I got her number. So go annoy someone else.”
“Oooh, Nate’s gonna get into an Oscar winner’s panties.”
I groan. “Jesus, Matt, is that all you think about? She’s a person, you know. Not just some fucking pussy to throw around.” After my little outburst, I storm past him toward the staircase that juts out into the open-plan living room. Grabbing hold of the wooden banister, my feet pound heavily on the wooden steps, which look like they’re floating up to the mezzanine level.
“Nate, c’mon… I was only kidding,” Matt calls out as I head past the pool table and toward my bedroom.
