Page 95 of Rockstar Next Door Neighbor

“Don’t.” Her voice is steady, but her hands are still shaking. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Lila—“

“Is it always like that?”

I wish I could lie. “Sometimes. It’s not always that bad, but yeah. It happens.” Glancing down at her, I try to gauge her reaction. “Mostly when I’m out or during performances. That’s why the duplex’s location is kept private.”

She nods slowly.

“I love the music and performing. But it’s this—the personal intrusion. The fans who think they know you because they know your music, the reporters who build entire careers off twisting the truth—that’s hard to take.” I admit in a low voice, watching her.

She takes a deep breath, straightening her shoulders. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, I understand now. I understand why you needed me to see this side of things.” She meets my eyes. “They don’t see you as a person, do they? They only see your fame.”

The elevator opens to our floor, and I pull her into my arms the moment we’re in our suite. She clings to me, and I can feel her heart racing.

“I meant what I said,” she whispers against my chest. “This doesn’t change anything. But... I’m glad we have the cabin.”

I press my lips to her hair, relief flooding through me. Because she gets it now—really gets it. Not just the glamour and the music but the cost that comes with it. And she’s still here.

“Always,” I promise. “Whenever you need it. Whenever this becomes too much.”

She pulls back just enough to look at me, and despite everything that just happened, she smiles. “You’re worth it, you know. Worth all of it.”

And at that moment, with the echoes of chaos still ringing in our ears and tomorrow’s tabloid headlines already being written, I realize something: she’s stronger than any of them. Stronger than the fans who grab, the photographers who stalk, the rumors thatswirl.

She’s stronger than all of it.

And this is just the beginning. The first of countless nights like this, the start of our own stories to tell.

And I can’t wait for every single moment.

Thirty-One

Lila

Steam billows around me as I step out of the shower, my mind already racing with pre-show jitters. The Music Awards—which I’ll be attending. Just thinking about it makes my stomach flip.

Luckily, the media frenzy has died down somewhat, and the paparazzi have moved on to their next celebrity scandal. For a while, it felt like every single article was about Luke and Crystal’s breakup—except they weren’t just about that. No, the gossip rags made sure to drag me into the mess, spinning the narrative that I was the reason Luke ended things—conveniently ignoring Marcus’s arrest as if it were nothing.

And, of course, they didn’t stop at speculating about our relationship.

They picked apart my appearance, too.

Too plain.Too curvy.Too fat.Not his type!A girl like her with a guy like him?Impossible.

At first, I tried ignoring it. But then I made the mistake of doomscrolling, letting the words sink in until they felt like truth instead of the ridiculous, baseless nonsense they were.

At least now, I’ve learned to stop scanning the comments sections. Refusing to read the cruel remarks about my size and the speculation about what Luke Sterling sees in a “full-figured chef,”... but I’ve still deleted most of my social media apps.

Luke likes my curves. I have to remind myself of that.

And more importantly—I like my curves. I made peace with my figure long ago. I’m a chef, for goodness sake. I cook, I eat, and I enjoy every damn delicious bite.

I refuse to let a bunch of faceless internet trolls make me feel unworthy of the man who’s made it crystal clear that he likes me exactly as I am. And dear God, the way he looks at me. The way his hands trace my voluptuous curves like they’re mapping treasure. The way he steals bites of whatever I’m cooking andtells me life’s too short not to enjoy great food. He makes me feel beautiful, even when the tabloids suggest otherwise.

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