Page 52 of Forbidden Billionaire Rockstar

I want to have more conversations about the future, where we see ourselves in a few years, and what goals we have that could potentially tie together.

I’m a mess.

Yet, I can’t seem to stop.

This version of me - the one who pines, who plans romantic gestures, who can’t stop thinking about one woman - is foreignterritory. But as unfamiliar as it feels, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to go back to who I was before Mallory stormed into my life.

***

Stepping out of my dressing room, I'm engulfed by the whirlwind of pre-show preparations. In one corner, our instruments wait, gleaming under the lights, promising the thrill of the performance to come. It's a familiar scene but tonight, all I can focus on is the flash of blue that is Mallory's dress, a beacon in the pre-show madness.

Mallory is already standing backstage talking to Trevor — it’s the same guy who kept eyeing her up the last time they were talking. He’s doing it again, although he’s being a little more subtle about it, and I let out a low growl from the distance.

Mallory’s laughter carries across the room, a sound that used to be mine. Now it’s directed at Trevor, and jealousy claws at my insides. Each smile she gives him is a reminder of what I’ve lost, what I’m desperate to reclaim.

Just like she’s been doing ever since she walked out of my room, she doesn’t spare me a glance when I walk past the two of them, and I catch a hint of lavender as the air shifts between our bodies. I almost stop, more than content with inhaling the scent, but the sight of Brent standing a few feet away keeps me from doing that.

He’s staring at me, a frown on his face, and nudges his head toward Mallory when I come to a stop next to him. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

I freeze, but try to keep my reaction blank as I look over at him. “What do you mean?”

“She can’t really be interested in that douche, right?”

Oh, he’s talking about Trevor.

“Not sure, man. She’s your sister. Just go ask her.”

He scoffs. “And get an earful about being up her ass and too involved with her life? I’d rather not. I thought you might know something, that’s all.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I’ve noticed you guys are getting along better. Just figured you were finally trying to be friends since we’ll be pretty close a little while longer.” He sighs and shakes his head. “It’s none of my business anyway, as long as he treats her right.”

I almost want to blurt out that the only person who can treat her right is the guy standing next to him, but I manage to keep my mouth shut. He keeps his eyes on Mallory and Trevor for a few more moments, then claps my back and disappears down a long hallway. It would be best if I followed his trail, but I can’t bring myself to stop watching the two of them.

She’s smiling brightly at him, her head thrown back as she laughs at something he says, and I stiffen when he angles his body closer to hers. It’s a small movement; most people wouldn’t take note of it, but I’m so keenly aware of it that I notice it immediately. Mallory seems oblivious, her attention more on his face than any other part of his body, and it makes me want to walk over there and pry him away from her.

Eventually, Sweet Surrender’s manager walks up to them and says something that causes Mallory’s face to fall and Trevor’s body to stiffen.

What could she have said?

When Trevor slowly backs away from Mallory, I can't help but notice the subtle changes in her demeanor. Her shoulders tense, her smile falters, and for a brief moment, I catch a glimpse of vulnerability in her eyes. It's a look I've seen before, in quiet moments when she thought no one was watching - a mix of doubt and determination.

As Hilary walks away, Mallory's fist clenches at her side. Her cheeks flush, and I can almost feel the storm of emotions brewing beneath her composed exterior. Is it anger at being interrupted? Embarrassment at being reprimanded? Or something deeper, a fear of failing at this new life she's trying so hard to build?

The urge to go to her, to offer comfort, is almost overwhelming. But I stay rooted in place, painfully aware that right now, I have no right to be her solace.

***

The rest of the show passes in a blur of lights, music, and adrenaline. I play on autopilot, my fingers finding the right chords even as my mind wanders. Every time I glance towards the wings, I'm searching for a flash of blue, for Mallory's face. But she's nowhere to be seen.

As we take our final bow, the roar of the crowd washing over us, I make a decision. This can't go on. The distance between Mallory and me is a physical ache that no amount of applause can fill.

Back in my hotel room, I pace like a caged animal. The post-show high that usually carries me through the night is absent, replaced by a restless energy I can't shake. My guitar sits untouched in the corner, the strings silent for the first time in years. Instead, my fingers itch to reach for my phone, to call Mallory, to bridge this chasm between us.

I catch my reflection in the mirror - disheveled hair, eyes bright with determination. This isn't the Jace Brooks the world knows. This is a man on the edge, ready to risk it all for a chance at something real.

My control snaps.

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