Page 183 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

Christ.

My chest caves inward a little.

She looks wrecked. I know devastation when I see it.

Her eyes are swollen. She’s either been crying or trying very hard not to. Her posture’s tighter, too, folded inward in a way I’ve never seen from her before.

She’s trying to make herself smaller.

The sight of it makes an ugly protectiveness snap tight inside of me.

“Hey,” I say softly.

She stares at me for a long second before laughing once under her breath. Not humor. Disbelief.

“Well,” she says, “this is horrifying.”

I almost smile despite everything because even destroyed, she’s still Willow.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she says.

“Probably not.”

“People might be following your car.”

“I know how to avoid the paps.”

I’ve been through it all. Too many years of photographers hiding in bushes. Too many girlfriends chased through parking lots because they happened to stand beside me once in public. Too many moments where fame stopped feeling glamorous and started feeling predatory.

I step closer carefully. “Come back to the compound.”

Her head snaps up. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s secure.”

“It’s also where all of you are.”

“Yes.”

“That’s not helping your argument.”

I ignore that. “There’s security at every entrance. Private gates. No press access. Nobody gets near you there unless we allow it.”

Her arms tighten around herself. “I don’t need protecting.”

“Bullshit.” The word comes out harsher than I mean it to. I exhale and force my voice lower. “Willow.”

She still won’t look directly at me now. “I saw the comments,” she says.

Rage flashes through me so hot it almost whites out my vision.

“You shouldn’t have read those.”

“Well, I did.” Her laugh cracks this time. “Looks like the world decided I’m a gold-digging groupie with bad jeans and a fat ass.”

“Stop.”

“I’m serious, Xander.”