Page 68 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

About the fact that I understand why.

The final note hits, and the room holds it for a breath before everything breaks.

Applause rolls through the bar, loud and immediate, people shifting, talking, reacting all at once now that they’re allowed to again. Phones come up higher. Voices rise. The whole place comes back to life in a rush.

Willow turns toward me, a little breathless in a way she probably hasn’t noticed yet.

“Okay,” she says, “that was very good.”

I almost smile. “They’ll be devastated to hear it.”

Her eyes flick to mine, and the noise around us feels distant again.

That’s enough.

I step back, creating space before I stop myself from doing something I shouldn’t.

“It’s a bit hot. A bit much,” I say, more to give myself a reason than anything else. “I need some air.”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Okay.”

And then she comes with me. Still holding my hand.

I don’t comment on it. I don’t even acknowledge it. I just guide us through the crowd, out past the bar and into the night, the noise dulling behind us as the door swings shut.

Outside is cool enough to clear my head.

Or it should be.

She finally lets go of my fingers a second later, as if she’s only just realized we were still touching. There’s a flicker in her expression when she does, before she smooths it over.

“You seem worried,” she says. “What’s going on?”

I lean against the railing, forcing my thoughts back to structured ones I can control.

“The phones, the cameras,” I say. “We’re not ready for that kind of attention.”

Willow leans back against the railing, watching me more closely now. “You’re saying that like it’s a disaster. Cameras are good, right? The label will want attention?”

“Not if it happens too early.”

She tilts her head. “Too early for what?”

“For any of it,” I say, stepping closer without really registering that I’m doing it. “The label, the rollout, the artists we’re bringing in, none of it’s ready to handle that kind of exposure yet.”

She frowns a little. “Exposure to what? People seeing them play?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It kind of is,” she says. “People filmed a band playing in a bar. That’s not exactly a scandal.”

“No,” I agree. “But it becomes one if the narrative gets away from us.”

Her brows pull together. “Narrative?”

“Yes. Timing matters. Control matters. If something like that goes online now, it doesn’t stay contained. It turns into speculation, attention spikes, people start digging, and we’re reacting instead of directing…”

“Directing what?” she cuts in.