The meeting dissolved in awkward silence, and I didn’t move until the last body slipped out. That’s when Harper crept toward me with her tablet in hand, her heels clicking softly across the polished floor. She was my age, efficient, and too sharp to mistake pity for professionalism, but it was there anyway, flickering across her face before she buried it.
Harper cleared her throat. “I’ve confirmed with Madison Carter’s team. She’ll be at Ms. Alexandre’s doorstep by eight in the morning to perform the ballad.” She scrolled down her notes, brisk. “The florist delivered six dozen blush tulips this morning. And tomorrow, she can decide between the Harry Winston necklace or earrings.”
Her words landed like blows. The ballad, the roses, the jewelry? All gestures that would’ve melted anyone else. Grand and cinematic. The kind of moves I’d built a reputation on.
But Elise wasn’t “anyone else.”
I dragged a hand over my face, my throat burning. “And she didn’t respond?”
Harper hesitated. “No, sir.”
Of course she didn’t. Because Elise didn’t want to be won with theatrics. She wanted honesty. Trust. A man who wouldn’t manipulate her world to bend to his will.
“Dismissed,” I rasped.
She nodded with tight lips and slipped out the room. I sat alone in the silence, surrounded by power I couldn’t touch, control I couldn’t wield. All my influence, all my empire, rendered useless. Because the only person I wanted to reach had shut me out.
And the worst part? She was right to. I needed to get back to normal. That’s what everyone expected. That’s what I told myself. But normal had been Elise. Her smile brightening these rooms, her kisses every morning and night, her fire lighting up the cold, sterile world I’d built.
And without her, Edge Records wasn’t just silent.
It was dead.
And so was I.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
ELISE
ALESSIA ARRIVED LIKEclockwork. It wasthe same way she had every night since the breakup, stepping into my home as if she lived there. She didn’t bother knocking anymore—just walked in, placed whatever food she brought on the counter, and gave me a once-over like she was assessing how close I was to completely unraveling.
Kelsey wasn’t far behind, kicking off her shoes and tossing her purse onto the couch after she would come home from an interview or photoshoot or whatever it is she had scheduled for the day, before she plopped down next to me, settling in for the night until I found the strength to go to my bedroom. The both of them made it their personal mission to keep me from drowning in my own misery, though I wasn’t sure how well they were succeeding.
“Delivery for you,” Alessia announced, holding up a to-go cup. I already knew where it was from before I even saw thefamiliar Bakery Bliss logo.White Mocha Latte with Extra cold foam.
The same order I’d gotten every chance I got for the past three years. Except I hadn’t set foot inside the café since the breakup, and I certainly hadn’t ordered this one.
But I knew who did.
Alessia stood in the entry of the living room, her expression cautious, as if she wasn’t sure whether I’d accept it or toss it across the room. A tense beat passed before she crossed the space and gently placed the cup in front of me on the coffee table.
“He’s still trying,” she said.
I didn’t need to look at the cup to know there was a message scrawled across it in Nathan’s messy, slanted handwriting. My fingers curled against my thighs, nails biting into the fabric of my leggings as I tried to ignore the way my heart lurched—how weak it still was when it came to him.
But curiosity was a cruel thing.
I picked up the cup.
Please, cupcake. Just talk to me. Just once. I miss you.
I exhaled sharply, my chest tightening as I stared at the words.
Cupcake. The stupid nickname he’d given me after winning me that stuffed one at the summer festival over two months ago.
I’d slept with it every night since he gave it to me, but now it sat at the bottom of a box near the front door, buried beneath every other gift he’d ever given me.
Every morning after I sent him away from the hotel, a new Edge Records artist showed up outside my door, crooning one of my favorite love ballads. It got to the point where I kept a water bottle waiting for them because if they were being forced to sing me their entire discography, the least I could do was keep themhydrated. Each performance chipped away at my resolve, but I held strong.
