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“You know it! Now, let’s produce the best album of all time, shall we?”
“Let’s.”
* * *
I changed inside the studio, making Jack laugh. Over the six years I’ve known him, he’s become like a brother to me, thank God, so he’s used to my shenanigans, but as I’m leaving, he calls my name—my real name. He’s the only person I have ever given it to since that dark night ten years ago.
“Give them hell,” he says.
“Oh, I plan to.” I can’t help but laugh. Wearing my red, eight-inch stilettos, laced-up leather pants, and a bustier, I walk out to the waiting cameras, ready to play the part.
Gone is the soft, innocent girl.
Gone is the up-and-coming rocker.
Gone is the worldwide crush.
Gone is the heartbroken girl.
In her place is a woman on a mission, with music in her veins and purpose in her step. I slide into my brand-new Bugatti La Voiture Noire with personalized plates.
I laugh as I wind around the traffic in the city, heading out to the hills above and the mansion where the party is being hosted. At the opened gates, I wave at the security guards and park outside, tossing my keys to a drooling attendant before stepping inside to a different world.
I am crashing the rock and roll party of the week.
I have no doubt my ex and all my old friends are here.
Taking a flute of champagne off a passing server’s tray, I down it and put it back as she grins at me. I wink then run my eyes down her body and she blushes. I take another and toast her before plunging back into the life I walked away from.
The music is loud as I wander through the mansion, noticing the looks and whispers and ignoring them. Outside, the pool is filled with partygoers, as are the areas around it, with people fucking, drinking, or doing drugs. There are no cameras here, or so they think, but everyone here has sold someone else out for fame. Nothing is ever truly safe or a secret in Hollywood, and it comes out eventually.
“Reign.” The dark, sensual timbre used to bring me to my knees. The first time I met Tucker, I was starstruck. He was famous and one of the sexiest men in the world, and he wanted me, craved me. He made me feel like I was his everything. He blew me away with dates in Paris and dinners in Italy. He gushed about me, displayed me proudly on his arm, and worshiped me, or so I thought.
Once, that voice would have been enough to rip apart my defenses, but now, I feel nothing.
Turning, I sip my champagne as I look him over. He looks good, as good as always, wearing nothing but low-slung black jeans and boots, which are no doubt more expensive than this whole party. Every inch of his skin is covered in tattoos, and his black hair is shaved on one side to show more. His bright blue eyes are still showstoppers, and he still has a ring pierced through his lip. His hands are decorated with his usual rings, but it’s the one on the chain around his neck that almost makes me falter.
Almost.
It’s my ring.
“Reign, it is you.” He steps closer, and I see others bring out their phones as they text and send pictures around the world. They want gossip.
I simply smile. “Tucker, nice to see you again.” I sip my champagne like I have no care in the world, even though I almost choke on the bubbles under all the scrutiny. “You look good.”
“You look incredible. God, babe, where have you been?” he asks, almost sounding contrite and wounded. I swallow my snort. He’s a good actor. I’ll give him that.
“I know I do,” I reply, “and I had some shit to do, but I’m back now.”
“I heard you were back, but I almost didn’t believe it. I didn’t hear a word from you for four months. God, I was so worried, babe.” When he used to call me that, it made my knees weak and my pussy flutter, but now? Nothing. I almost pity him.
Almost.
“Why?” I cock my head.
His jaw hangs open before it snaps shut. “Because I love you. I was planning our lives together.”
I can’t resist. I know everyone is listening, but I don’t care. He doesn’t get to act like the heartbroken, abandoned lover. Not after what he did. He isn’t an innocent victim, even though he wants to paint me as the villain.
