Page 251 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

When my brain finally returns, Gabe is shaking, holding me so hard I think he might snap my ribs, coming inside me until I’m overflowing, until I’m sure it’s leaking down my thighs and soaking the rug, until all the moans and shuddering groans blend together in one unfinished symphony.

One I never want to end.

FORTY-EIGHT

Gabe

By noon, Redemption Falls could be hosting either a music festival or the beginning of societal collapse.

Possibly both.

Black SUVs line the streets around Redemption Square. Camera crews move between clusters of locals pretending not to stare while very obviously staring. Security teams talk into earpieces near the perimeter while production assistants sprint around carrying clipboards and iced coffees because caffeine alone is holding civilization together.

Which, to be fair, is often true in this industry.

I stand near the temporary stage setup in the center of the square, watching everything unfold around me.

Usually, I hate unpredictability. Unmanaged attention. Public situations where too many variables exist outside my control.

But today?

Today, the drama is intentional.

Xander built the narrative shift perfectly.

The headlines started this morning.

THE LAST REBELS REUNITE UNDER REDEMPTION RECORDS.

NEW ALBUM. GLOBAL TOUR.

RETURNING TO THEIR ROOTS IN REDEMPTION FALLS.

The internet practically detonated. Exactly as planned.

It’s almost elegant in its simplicity. The public obsession shifted overnight from scandal to spectacle, from speculation about our personal lives to excitement about music again, which was always the goal.

Give people something bigger to focus on.

And nothing is bigger than a legendary band resurrecting itself from the dead. Especially not this band. Especially not here.

I glance toward the gazebo stage again where technicians finish sound checks while reporters circle nearby trying to gather information from anyone willing to talk.

Nobody important is talking.

Also intentional.

Control the release. Control the narrative. Control the impact.

Simple. Well, simple in theory.

In reality, Julian is currently trying to convince Tommy Bennett to crowd surf during the launch event while Willow laughs hard enough beside them that she nearly spills her coffee.

So, margin of error exists.

My gaze catches on her. It always does.

She’s standing near the fountain in fitted jeans and an oversized cream sweater that slips off one shoulder whenever she laughs. Her dark hair’s loose today, moving softly in the wind while sunlight catches the gold flecks in her hazel eyes.