The Pop Star's Ninth Life

I'm not going. Tell them I'm dead. I hung up on my manager, blowing off the gig.

The next day, the news of my death blew up the entire internet.

A reporter shoved a mic at my ex-boyfriend Gideon during his new movie's press conference. We just received word that Isla has passed away. Any thoughts on this?

Gideon stood up, his face entirely blank. His knuckles turned stark white as he gripped the microphone.

A second later, he flipped the heavy solid wood podium onto the floor with a deafening crash.

In the dead silence of the room, he stormed out of the venue, shattering the glass doors in his wake.

Chapter 1

I was crashed on the couch at home, scratching Milo behind the ears and playing video games.

My manager called. "Isla, there's a Pan-American all-star tour the day after tomorrow. I might need you to make a tiny little comeback for it"

"Not going." I groaned, rubbing my throbbing temples. "Carmen, I'm retired. I left the industry."

Carmen let out a dry, awkward laugh. "The thing is, one of the main sponsors is a huge deal. He just wants to see you perform one more time."

My controller vibrated hard. The screen cut to black.

[GAME OVER.]

My head throbbed. "I really don't want to go. Look, just tell him I died."

It was a permanent fix. I had zero plans to make a comeback anyway. Plus, I was sick of the toxic garbage in this industry. Honestly, it was a miracle someone with my massive social anxiety managed to debut and stand on a stage in the first place.

Carmen stuttered. "AAre you serious?"

I nodded, deadpan. "Yep."

The next day.

Carmen's frantic calls blasted me awake. "We're screwed, we're so screwed. Check the internet right now!"

I rarely doomscrolled anymore. After getting massively cyberbullied last year, the thought of looking at social media made my chest tight. Even though the rumors were cleared up later, it still left a lingering bad taste in my mouth.

The second I opened my app, my name was dominating the entire platform.

[RIPIsla]

[IslaForever]

[GideonBreaksDown]

That last hashtag successfully grabbed my attention. And it was trending straight to the number one spot. Gideon, that son of a bitch, actually losing his cool?

I put Carmen on speaker. "Why did you tell the whole world I was dead? You were just supposed to tell that sponsor If people find out I'm still breathing, this is gonna be that shamelessly dirty."

Carmen shrieked through the phone. "How was I supposed to know the big shot was gonna scream it out loud right then and there? I didn't even get the chance to tell him to keep it a secret."

I clicked into Gideon's trending topic. "What's Gideon's deal?"

I had a dedicated burner phone just for my manager. My personal phone for friends was tossed in a corner, battery dead for ages.

"Just watch it yourself. My phone is blowing up," Carmen said. "Isla, book a flight out of the country for a few days. I'll go online and do damage control."

A spike of guilt hit me. "Carmen"

"If you feel that guilty, why don't you do the tour?"

"Goodbye." I hung up.

Gideon's viral clip was from his new movie's press conference. He was wearing a custom black tailored suit, looking totally relaxed and in his prime. Even with a 4K camera shoved directly in his face, you couldn't spot a single flaw. His skin was still that unfairly perfect.

Gideon never wore makeup. He loathed even a dusting of foundation. He just rode on his top-tier genetics. Even after pulling an all-nighter, the worst he got was a faint shadow under his eyes.

In the video, someone suddenly shoved a microphone through the crowd, practically hitting his chin.

"Gideon, we just received breaking news that Isla has passed away. How are you feeling right now? Do you have any words you'd like to share?"

What a braindead question.

I scoffed at the screen.

It was like asking a guy: Hey, your trainwreck of an ex-girlfriend, the one with the drug rumors and the messy private life, just died. How do you feel?

The answer would obviously be: Oh, no idea, haven't heard. We haven't spoken in a long time. We're just friends. I feel nothing.

Chapter 2

When Gideon heard the news, the slight upward curve of his lips didn't change at all. He even took a slow sip of water.

After swallowing, he suddenly spoke. "Excuse me. What did you just ask? Can you repeat that?"

Gideon was exactly like me. He hated doomscrolling and rarely interacted with fans online. If he spent any time glued to his screen, he would have known about my "death" half an hour ago.

The reporter repeated the question.

Gideon's face remained stoic. He turned his head slightly and asked the person standing next to him, "Is this verified?"

The man gave a cautious nod. "Yes. Isla's manager confirmed it herself."

Gideon lowered his eyes to the microphone in front of him.

A few seconds later, he turned around and walked away.

As he stood up, his heavy chair crashed to the floor.

The person next to him reached out to help, but Gideon raised a hand, stopping him cold.

Gideon took long strides toward the exit, his jawline pulled into a rigid, harsh line.

He slammed his fist into the wall right next to a security guard blocking his path.

As he pulled out his phone to make a call, the thick veins on the back of his hand bulged against his skin.

I glanced at my personal phone lying on the coffee table, covered in a thick layer of dust. Even though it was powered off, a massive wave of guilt hit me.

I made a split-second decision. Pack my bags and run.

Gideon already had a notoriously awful temper. When he was pissed, he was an absolute mad dog.

If he found out my death was a giant fake-out he would literally tear me apart with his bare hands.

I couldn't get through to Carmen's line anymore. She just shot me a text saying she was calling an emergency press conference to clear the air. She told me to wait for the heat to die down, fly back to the States, and post a quick update on my socials to explain everything.

After I got to the airport, Carmen texted me again.

[Gideon has lost his damn mind. He called me sixty-eight times and sent over fifty texts.]

[It's all about you.]

I sighed, feeling a sting in my chest.

After Gideon broke up with me, he blocked and deleted me on everything. One night, I got completely wasted and cried my eyes out missing him. I used a burner account to slip into his DMs.

[If I die one day, would you cry at my funeral?]

It took him days to see the message. He replied:

[No.]

[I would only bring you a bouquet of red roses.]

What the hell? I was severely allergic to red roses. That toxic son of a bitch sure knew how to hold a grudge.

Honestly, I just made a mistake a lot of girls make.

At the wrap party after our tour, I drank way too much. A friend of mine invited a massive crowd of hot guys and gorgeous girls into our private VIP room to party. They were all going wild, while I sat alone in the corner, downing my drink.

I hadn't seen Gideon in days, and I missed him like crazy.

In the middle of the crowded room, there was a guy who looked exactly like him. My vision was spinning. I reached out and grabbed the guy's face with both hands, just trying to see if it was Gideon.

The guy misread the situation. He leaned in and kissed me directly on the mouth.

And of course, Gideon rushed over from his movie set to celebrate my successful tour, pushed open the door, and caught that exact moment.

So he hated my guts.

It had been six whole months since the breakup, and he hadn't spoken a single word to me. His pride was massive. I swallowed my dignity and practically begged for his forgiveness for a long time, but he refused to let it go.

I was always thin-skinned anyway. A total extrovert on stage, but a massive introvert off stage. When he shut me out, I had zero moves left to play. We just went cold.

Then, a massive scandal hit. Someone in my band got busted for doing hard drugs.

And they dragged my name right down into the mud with them.

Chapter 3

When my bandmate got busted, I was already depressed enough. Then the rumors started swirling that I was using, too. Pissed off, I just announced my retirement and walked away from the industry.

That was why I hadn't contacted Gideon for so long.

And now, I had no idea how to explain to him that my "death" was just one giant, screwed-up misunderstanding.

Sitting in the airport terminal, Gideon's reaction as he stormed out of the press conference kept replaying in my head. A messy knot tightened in my chest.

Looking at him like that, it was like he was ready to storm straight into my graveyard right that second, dig me up, choke me, and interrogate me: Isla, how dare you die quietly without even saying a word?

A notification popped up from my home security app: Stranger intrusion detected.

I opened the app. On the camera feed inside my house, a figure appeared.

Gideon.

My jaw dropped. How the hell did he get in? How did he know my passcode was set to his birthday? Was I really that painfully obvious?

Gideon paced back and forth across my living room, obviously looking for me. And obviously turning up empty-handed. I watched the screen, completely glued to the feed.

He even spotted my dust-covered personal phone sitting on the table. But that wasn't all. He also dug through my nightstand and found my Diazepam, along with the Paroxetinemy antidepressants.

I switched the camera angle to the one mounted next to the TV.

The second the feed cut over, Gideon's shoulders caved in. His tall frame hunched over on the sofa, his hands clutching his head in a death grip, fingers digging deep into his hair and pulling hard.

In the dead silence of the room, the sound of his suppressed, heavy panting echoed through the audio feed.

Then, a desperate, tearing low growl rolled out from the back of his throat.

Oh crap I really took this too far.

I leaned my face closer to the screen. I practically wanted to crawl through the phone just to get a better look at his expression.

Of course, at that exact second, the plane was cleared for takeoff. My thumb brushed against the glass of the screen, as if I could somehow feel his body heat through the pixels.

I powered down the phone. The plane took off.

Twelve hours later, I landed in London.

After settling into my hotel, I turned my phone back on. I debated whether I should call Gideon and explain everything. When Carmen's line didn't connect, I opened my browser to check the news first.

Another jaw-dropping headline had clawed its way to the number two trending spot, right beneath my [RIPIsla] tag.

[GideonQuitsTheIndustry]

Crap. My stomach dropped. This was blowing up way out of control.

I kept dialing Carmen. She finally picked up on the second try.

I was losing my mind. "Didn't you say you were clearing up my death rumors immediately?"

"Isla," Carmen said, her voice tight. "The executives had a meeting, and they're split. Half want to clear it up, but Vance vetoed it."

"He said since you're already retired, you should be grateful the company isn't suing you for breach of contract. Delaying the clarification by a few days to milk some internet traffic money out of it is totally fine."

That son of a bitch Vance.

He was actually going to milk this? Was he seriously going to cash in on a fake death? If they overplayed this PR stunt, the public backlash would be nuclear.

And at the end of the day, I would be the one left holding the bag.

My blood boiled, and I gripped the phone so hard my knuckles popped. "So the company lines their pockets, and I take the fall when the internet turns on us? Vance really doesn't see me as a human being, does he?"

"Screw this. I'll go online and clear it up myself."

Carmen let out a heavy sigh over the line. "Isla, Vance said if you dare to post anything without authorization right now the company will immediately demand the two hundred million penalty for breach of contract."

Chapter 4

When I snapped under the cyberbullying and suddenly quit the industry, I was hit with a two-hundred-million-dollar breach of contract penalty.

Luckily, Russell, another senior executive at the label, had my back. He was the one who personally recruited me in the first place.

I spent whatever I earned, blowing my own money to get the highest production quality for my albums.

I literally couldn't afford a two-hundred-million-dollar fine.

Russell never planned on collecting it anyway, but right now, he was on vacation overseas.

That left Vance in charge of the company's decisions.

Vance hated my music style. He preferred throwing the label's money at manufactured reality show pop groups. He used to constantly force me to write tracks for those pop princesses.

"Isla, you're already retired," Carmen tried to talk me down. "Just lay low for a few days, take the heat online, and it'll pass. We're talking about two hundred million dollars here"

A cold block of ice settled heavy in my stomach. She must have heard my silence over the line. "Isla, I know this is totally messed up. I just don't want you crushed by massive debt."

"But it's not fair to the fans who actually care about me." The image of Gideon sitting in my dark living room flashed in my mind. "They're hurting right now."

"This started as a joke, but now it's a massive screw-up. I have to fix it."

Carmen stopped pushing. "If your mind is made up, I'll notify the label right now."

After I hung up.

A formal legal warning from the company hit my inbox every ten minutes. It was a blatant threat. Two hundred million dollars. For someone with zero income right now, it was a terrifying number.

I opened my home security app again.

Gideon was still leaning against my couch. He lay flat on his back. One arm was thrown over his eyes, covering his face.

At first, I thought he was asleep, until his fingers twitched. He hadn't rested all day. He hadn't eaten a single bite.

I never expected Gideon to have such a violent reaction to my "death."

After all, we hadn't spoken a single word in over six months.

We bumped into each other backstage at events and shows plenty of times. I would try to say hi, and he would just barely lift his eyelids, his gaze sliding right past my face without a single ripple of emotion. Like I was a complete stranger.

But we dated for almost three years. Three years of dating. One year of living together. For a whole year, we dodged countless flashing cameras and paparazzi ambushes together.

The only reason I ever considered quitting the industry back then was to marry him.

Gideon was the only thing in this world worth holding onto.

No matter how perfectly I performed on stage, the second I stepped off, my social anxiety would choke me. Faced with reporters and screaming fans, my throat would close up and I couldn't even form a straight sentence.

Gideon was different. On and off the stage.

He was born for the spotlight. Always calm, always in total control.

I loved kissing him. His lips were incredibly soft. But his words could be pure poison.

Even now, I remember exactly what he said when he dumped me over the phone.

"Are you done crying? Because if you're done, I'm hanging up."

Listening to the dead dial tone, my fingers trembled holding the phone. I didn't know how to coax a guy. I failed to win him back.

After we broke up, my life fell apart.

There was no one waiting for me offstage anymore. No one gripping my hand, tucking me into his side and shielding me from the crowds like his priority as we walked down the red carpet. And no one left to teach me how to dodge the reporters' dirty trap questions.

Chapter 5

The streets of London.

I walked out of a convenience store, cracking open a can of Coke. No one knew me here. I didn't have to bury myself under a mask and sunglasses, and the freedom felt amazing.

After taking a huge gulp, I dialed Gideon's number. I was going to explain everything to him first before posting a statement online.

The first time, he hung up on me. I dialed again. He hung up again.

Right as I was about to dial a third time, my screen lit up with his incoming call.

"Hello. Speak."

The second his deep, raspy voice came through the receiver, a hot tear rolled down my cheek. A massive wave of grievance clogged my throat. "Gid Gideon, I didn't"

An out-of-control pickup truck barreled toward me with an ear-piercing screech of brakes.

The massive impact threw my entire body into the air. My phone smashed against the asphalt.

After a brief wave of dizziness, I pushed myself off the ground. Strangely, I didn't feel any pain. Just some scraped skin on my palms. The screen was totally shattered, but thank god the call hadn't dropped.

But when I picked it back up, the line was dead silent.

A sudden, suffocating panic gripped my chest. I shoved my way through the gathering crowd and sprinted back toward my hotel.

I had to go home. I needed to see Gideon. I wanted to apologize to his face and ask him if there was any way we could still fix us.

Two international flights in two days. I had been awake for almost forty-eight hours straight.

After landing back in the States, my phone completely glitched out. I couldn't make calls, and my texts wouldn't send.

I didn't dare ask a stranger to borrow their phone. The second I tried to open my mouth, my throat locked up like a vault. My heart pounded wildly against my ribs.

It was so messed up. On stage, I could let go and own the crowd. But the second I stepped off, it was like a curse sealed me shut.

There was a time my social anxiety was so bad I kept my phone on permanent silent. The sudden sound of a ringtone or a FaceTime call would physically make me jump.

Even during the first few days I moved in with Gideon. We had already slept together, but I was still too terrified to yell out and ask him to bring me toilet paper. I actually texted him from the bathroom.

It was 4:00 AM by the time I walked out of the terminal.

The massive airport was dead and freezing, with only a few staff members wandering around. At the taxi stand outside, there were only two or three cabs waiting.

I slipped into the first one in line. I slammed the door a little too hard, startling the driver awake.

He punched the meter. "Where to?"

"Starlight Records."

The driver was a total chatterbox. "Whoa, working the graveyard shift at the office, kid? You young people gotta take care of your health. Don't wait until you're old to regret it."

"Honestly, you kids should be out dating, traveling, relaxing. Life isn't just about grinding for a paycheck. Take a good look at the people around you, and you'll real"

Right as I was actually getting into his lecture, he abruptly cut himself off. He didn't say another word until we pulled up to the destination.

The second I scanned the QR code on the seatback to pay, he slammed the gas and peeled out, leaving me in the dust.

The payment didn't even go through. My phone still had zero bars.

Carmen was probably still pulling an all-nighter at the office.

I took the elevator straight up from the underground parking garage. I pushed open the door to my private lounge.

The person inside was Harper.

She was sitting right in front of my vanity mirror, using my makeup. A bizarre, twisted smile was plastered on her face. Honestly, the whole scene made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Chapter 6

Harper was the keyboardist for my band. Back when our drummer got busted for drugs, the entire internet tried to pin it on me, too.

My bassist stood up for me. Carmen defended me.

But Harper? She stood in front of the cameras, playing dumb and stuttering through vague non-answers. Her little act successfully sparked a whole new wave of rumors that I was actually using.

I was the one who dragged Harper into the band, fighting off the objections of every other member.

Back then, I just thought she had a great personality. She stuck to me like glue, trailing behind me all day, calling me her mentor. I was a sucker for that kind of enthusiasm. I practically treated her like a little sister.

After that trainwreck of an interview, I cornered her at the label, my fingernails digging hard into my palms. "Why couldn't you just tell them the truth?"

She put on this pathetic, wounded face. "Isla, I just panicked! I didn't know what to say, the reporters were firing so many questions at me And if I outright denied it, they might have started suspecting me instead. Plus, you already said you wanted to quit the industry anyway. Why not just use this as an excuse to retire? It'll give you some peace and quiet"

Retire right then?

That would just hand the media exactly what they wanted. It would make me look guilty as hell, like I was running away because I had something to hide.

Looking at Harper now, a bitter taste flooded the back of my throat.

Three years ago, when she joined as our assistant, she was so clumsy everyone else hated her. I shielded her. When our keyboardist got sick and she begged to fill in, the guys laughed in her face. I went to bat for her. Back then, she looked as harmless as a blank sheet of paper.

Or maybe, I was just completely blind from the start.

"IIsla!?" The lipstick snapped out of her hand and clattered against the vanity. She stared at me, the blood draining from her face, like she was looking straight at a ghost.

"What, dropping the sweet act already?" I dropped my bags and sank into the leather sofa, the exhaustion sinking deep into my bones.

Harper's voice shook. "I Isla, didn't something happen to you?"

Was she talking about the massive fake-death PR nightmare?

"Sorry to disappoint. I'm still breathing." I glanced at the clock on the wall. "Where's Carmen?"

Harper's face twisted into a bizarre knot. "She didn't she fly to London to find you?"

What?

Damn it, why the hell would she suddenly fly to London?

It hit memy phone had been dead for hours. She probably panicked when she couldn't reach me and hopped on a flight.

"Text her for me. Tell her I'm back in the States," I ordered. "And let me borrow your phone. I need to make a call."

I held my hand out. She hesitated, then handed it over.

I punched in Gideon's number. As the digits populated on the screen, a saved contact popped up. I stopped cold.

"How do you have his number?"

Not only did she have his number, but her call log showed multiple conversations between them over the past few days.

My eyebrows snapped together. "Why are you calling him?"

Suddenly, Harper stopped shaking. She straightened her posture, lifting her chin. "Isla you guys broke up, right? So whatever I talk about with Gideon is my private business."

Technically, she wasn't wrong. But a sour, ugly feeling still clawed at my chest.

I hit dial, but it went straight to voicemail. His phone was off.

I typed out a quick text from her number:

[It's Isla. I'm alive. I'm coming to your place tomorrow to explain everything. Wait for me.]

I tossed the phone back onto the vanity, grabbed my bags, and walked out of the label.

I headed straight back to my own apartment. Before I left, the place was an absolute wreck. Now, it was spotless. The stuffed animals Gideon had won for me at the arcade were lined up in a perfect, rigid row across my headboard.

Chapter 7

When we lived together, I was a total slob, and he was a borderline neat freak.

He picked up my shoes and socks scattered around the house every single day. He constantly ran his mouth, saying no one would ever want a lazy woman like me. But he never missed washing a single pair of my socks.

Right after I finished producing an album once, I was that broke. I actually thought about selling my socks online. The listing title was going to be: "Hand-washed by Best Actor Gideon."

He dragged me into the bedroom by the collar and gave me a severe talking-to. After the lecture, his black card magically appeared in my pocket.

I figured spending his money before we even got married was a bad move. I tried to hand the card back.

But he just crossed his arms. "That's my wife fund. If my wife doesn't spend it, who will?"

The sky was barely turning gray when I rushed straight to Gideon's house.

Gideon was a notoriously heavy sleeper with a massive morning temper. He absolutely refused to drag himself out of bed before eight o'clock.

With half an hour left until eight, I squatted on the cold marble steps right outside his front door.

The morning joggers were already out in full force. Two Border Collies passing by suddenly lunged and barked at me. Their owner had to yank hard on the leashes to drag them away.

Maybe the barking was just that loud. It woke Gideon up.

The heavy door behind my back clicked, pulling open with a soft groan.

I stood up and walked inside. Gideon stood in the doorway, fully dressed in dark clothes, looking like he was heading out.

Except, his gaze slid right past my face and landed on the empty space behind me. It was like I was literally made of air.

Was he really still that pissed off? I reached out and carefully pinched the corner of his tailored shirt. "Gideon, I screwed up. Please stop being mad at me?"

Gideon's tall frame instantly locked up, his breathing coming to a dead halt.

He grabbed my wrist, his grip so vicious it practically crushed my bones. He yanked me roughly inside and pinned my back hard against the freezing wall. "You still dare to torture me with your death?" he gritted out, his voice terrifyingly hoarse.

I shook my head hard.

Gideon's breathing grew heavy. He extended his hand in the space between us. "Take my hand. Lead me in."

A spark of relief hit me. I coaxed him out of it that fast? I grabbed his hand and led him further into the living room.

But the second we reached the couch, he dropped my hand and sat down.

"I lost my vision." He stated it that casually, like he was talking about someone else.

Panic seized my chest. I threw myself forward, grabbing his face with both hands to examine him. The whites of his eyes were spider-webbed with thick, angry red veins. He clearly hadn't slept a wink.

"What happened? Did you see a doctor? Let's go to the hospital, we have to go right now." Absolute panic gripped me. Did my fake death stunt wreck him that badly over the last two days?

Gideon swatted my hands away. "Stop overthinking. My eyes have been acting up for a while now. I quit the industry because my vision was failing."

"Can it be fixed? Did a specialist look at it?" I pressed.

"I saw someone," Gideon replied flatly. "It just needs rest. It'll slowly come back."

"Are you sure?"

He let out a low scoff. "When have I ever lied to you?"

Gideon relied on his instincts to lower his head, his hot breath brushing against my neck. "You owe me. Isla."

His massive hand locked onto the back of my head, his tone carrying an unquestionable, absolute authority. "From today on, you stay in my line of sight. You are not going anywhere."

Huh? Pulling the domineering alpha routine on me? I was totally into it.

Chapter 8

I suddenly remembered the massive fake-death PR nightmare still hanging over my head. I held my hand out, asking to borrow Gideon's phone.

"Carmen already cleared it up. Drop it." Gideon leaned back against the leather sofa, crossing his long legs with the arrogant ease of a billionaire heir. "Figuring out how to make this up to me is the only thing you should be worrying right now."

Make it up to him? Didn't I just do that?

I dropped into a crouch between his knees, tilting my head back to look at his face, my eyebrows pulling together. "I've already apologized a million times for that" I mumbled.

"I was wasted. I only grabbed that guy's face because my vision was spinning and I thought he was you. I had no idea he was going to lunge in and kiss"

The temperature in the room instantly dropped. Gideon's jaw locked tight.

"Shut up." His voice was low and lethal. "Who taught you that bringing up another guy's mouth is a good way to apologize?"

I stared up at him, blinking with shameless innocence. "Then teach me."

Gideon's head suddenly dipped. His face stopped a razor-thin millimeter from mine. I could see the faint shadow of his eyelashes and feel the searing heat radiating off his skin. The clean, crisp scent of cedar wood and mint hijacked my lungs.

"You look like you're expecting something," he murmured, the arrogant, gravelly vibration of his voice sinking straight into my chest.

We might have lived together for a year, but we had been severed for six months. Having him suddenly invade my personal space with that kind of lethal, high-voltage tension sent a massive wave of heat rushing straight from my earlobes down to my collarbone. Of course I was expecting something. Let's be realwith Gideon's god-tier bone structure shoved right in my face, any girl with a pulse would be losing her mind.

Gideon and I belonged to the same label. Even though we bumped into each other around the building all the time back in the day, my crippling social anxiety meant I spent my entire first year at the company treating him like he was radioactive. I never dared to breathe a single word to him.

A few times, we ended up trapped in the exact same elevator. I literally shoved my earbuds in, glued my face to the back corner of the steel box, and presented him with a perfect view of my back for the entire ride.

One time, I was absolutely positive he had already stepped out of the elevator. Out of nowhere, a long finger tapped my shoulder. My heart practically exploded against my ribs, leaving a ringing sound in my ears.

"Your headphones aren't connected," Gideon said, a low, lazy smirk hidden in his tone.

Panic spiked in my throat. I practically snapped my neck looking down at my phone. The Bluetooth icon was literally glowing blue. They were definitely connected.

By the time I whipped my head back up, Gideon had already closed the distance. His towering frame backed me straight into the steel corner. He reached past me, hitting the button for the penthouse floor. The elevator shot up, the sudden acceleration making the world spin.

He leaned down, his warm breath grazing the shell of my ear as his fingers effortlessly plucked the earbud from my right ear. "Isla," he murmured. "Want to try being my girlfriend?"

That nuclear bomb of a sentence short-circuited my brain.

Prior to that exact second, we hadn't even exchanged a full paragraph of dialogue. Sure, he always showed up as a guest performer at my concertsthough I never knew if the label forced him to do itbut that was literally the extent of our relationship