Page 184 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

“I know you are.” I take another step closer. “That’s why I’m telling you to stop.”

Her throat moves hard when she swallows.

Behind her, Nina watches both of us carefully before speaking quietly. “She’s been spiraling for hours.”

Willow shoots her a betrayed look. “Nina.”

“What?” her sister says flatly. “You have.”

Willow presses her hands against her face briefly before dropping them again. “I don’t even recognize my life right now.”

“This is my world,” I say. “I know how ugly it gets. Which means I also know how to protect you from it.”

I can see her exhaustion. Because fighting this is exhausting. Feeling exposed all the time is exhausting.

Finally, she asks softly, “And what happens when the reporters show up at the compound, too?”

I hold her gaze. “Then they deal with me instead of you.”

Willow looks at me for so long my chest starts tightening painfully beneath it. Then finally, “Okay,” she whispers.

Relief hits so hard it almost feels dangerous.

Nina points at me. “If she cries again, I’m blaming you completely.”

“Noted.”

“And if anyone hurts her⁠—”

“They won’t.”

The certainty in my own voice surprises even me. But I mean it. Completely.

Because the second Willow steps into my car twenty minutes later with Daisy curled nervously in her lap, something inside me settles into brutal clarity.

This isn’t temporary anymore. It isn’t casual. And whatever nightmare just started outside those compound gates, I’m going to tear it apart before it destroys her.

THIRTY-THREE

Willow

It turns out emotional breakdowns are just as unglamorous in mansions.

Who knew.

I stand barefoot in one of the giant guest bathrooms at Hawthorne House at two in the morning staring at my reflection like she is a stranger.

I look awful.

My hair is a mess, my eyes are swollen, and I’m wearing one of Xander’s shirts because somewhere between the panic attack in the kitchen and Daisy refusing to settle down unless she sat directly on top of me, I lost ownership of my own clothing.

The shirt smells like him, too. Which feels manipulative at this point.

I splash cold water over my face and regret looking at my phone again.

I do it anyway.

Obviously. Like a complete idiot.