Page 213 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

The ache in my chest deepens.

Because I do.

I miss moving around behind the counter. I miss complaining with Lara in the kitchen. I miss Bill pretending he hates everyone while secretly bringing me vegetables from his garden.

I miss being Willow.

Not Willow Jameson: mysterious diner girl dating three former rockstars.

Just Willow.

My phone buzzes again.

Lara: But this whole thing has made the diner busier than it’s been in years. Tourists. Music people. Fans. And your rich tattooed boyfriend paid enough for us to get plenty of staff in during this peak season.

Heat crawls into my cheeks.

Xander.

Of course he did.

Without telling me, obviously. Because apparently communication is optional when you’re repressed and built like a motorcycle gang fantasy.

Willow: He isn’t my boyfriend.

Lara: Which one?

I stare at the screen in horror.

Then I burst out laughing despite myself.

Willow: You’re fired.

Lara: You don’t work here anymore, remember?

Ouch. The laugh fades a little after that.

Because that’s the problem. I don’t know where I work anymore.

Or where I belong. Or what my life even looks like now.

Everything changed so fast I still feel like I’m catching up to it. The internet exploded. The podcast exploded. The Lonely Ones exploded.

And somehow, I’m trapped in the middle of all of it trying not to lose my damn mind.

I lock my phone and sink deeper into the couch with a sigh.

Across the massive living room, floor-to-ceiling windows spill afternoon sunlight over polished wood floors and expensive furniture that still doesn’t fully feel real to me.

Somewhere deeper in the compound, music drifts faintly through the halls. Always music, now. The house breathes with it.

Daisy lifts her head.

A second later, footsteps sound in the hallway.

Julian appears carrying two coffees and looking too attractive for a man wearing sweatpants. “Morning, Trouble.”

“It’s two in the afternoon.”