Page 230 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

I point at the phone accusingly. “They’re making edits again.”

She yawns.

A soft knock sounds at the door before Julian pokes his head into the room. “You good?”

“No.”

“Excellent. Dinner’s ready.”

“I’d rather perish.”

“Unfortunately, Gabe made pasta, and if you reject his carbohydrates, he’ll become unbearable.”

That gets a reluctant snort out of me. “You’ve gotta stop doing that.”

“Being charming?”

“Yes.”

“Impossible.”

He disappears again before I can insult him properly.

I stare at the ceiling for another few seconds before finally dragging myself off the bed, because as much as I want to go home right now…

I know Gabe’s right. The compound is safer.

At least until Caitlyn releases whatever nightmare article she’s clearly preparing.

The thought makes my stomach twist again.

I hate feeling watched all the time. I hate that strangers think they know me. I hate that part of me still wants to hide every time things get loud.

But underneath all of that, I hate the idea of leaving them more.

By the time I head downstairs, the smell of garlic and tomato sauce fills the house.

The kitchen feels warm under hanging lights, music playing softly from one of the speakers while all three men move around the space in different stages of domestic life.

Julian is stealing Parmesan directly from the container. Gabe is plating food with the concentration of a surgeon. And Xander looks up the second I walk in.

My stupid heart does backflips.

“There she is,” Julian says dramatically. “Our persecuted celebrity.”

“I’m going upstairs again.”

“No you’re not,” Gabe says calmly without looking up. “Sit down.”

I do.

Dinner settles, becoming surprisingly normal after that.

Well. Normal for us.

Meaning Julian tells a wildly exaggerated story about getting banned from a casino in Prague. Gabe keeps correcting details. Xander watches all of us like he’s trying to memorize the room.

I mostly eat pasta and try not to think about my public downfall.