When the security team finally managed to clear the makeshift alleyway behind the venue, Leo and I were shoved into a limousine. Petra was waiting for us. I hadn't even seen her during the show—I hadn't seen anything but Leo singing his ballads at me—so my heart jolted when she greeted us, so calm compared to the wildness we'd experienced outside. Though I wondered how she'd made it from the alley to the car before us.

"It's a hit," she said, waving her phone at us. I couldn't tell what was on the screen, but I believed I saw stars. "It's already a hit. Since the moment you played your last tune on your guitar, reviews from your exclusive guests have been pouring in, and it's a hit."

Leo squeezed my leg. "Really?" I turned to see him grinning, his eyes sparkling. He'd been hoping for this. All the hard work and secrecy—if it had paid off, he'd deserved it. "So, what now?"

Petra snagged something from the floor—a champagne bottle. "We celebrate!" she said, popping the cork, spraying us with bubbly.

Oh, we celebrated. We didn't stop at chugging bubbly in the back of a limo; we were dragged into a high-class, super private nightclub, filled to the brink with Leo's friends, his rich fans, authorized press, and who the fuck knew else. Petra had set it all up, knowing ahead of time that Leo's new album—and the show to introduce it—would be a success.

I wished she'd warned me about this surprise party, because I didn't get the impression that I was dressed appropriately, at first. But upon arriving at the nightclub, she took me aside and handed me a bag. Inside was an outfit she claimed was designed and picked out for me, for tonight.

Belle, of course.

Belle wasn't there, and I never saw her anymore, but she was still around, still behind-the-scenes and doing her job to perfection. Our little NDA-signed threesome clause had worked, and I should have been happy about it. But...I had to admit I sort of missed her broody demeanor, that tight-lipped frown she harbored whenever she was around us. She was discreet before, but now she was even more so, and it was...weird.

I shuffled into a bathroom to change. The outfit was a skimpy red dress—red, naturally, because Belle loved me in red—with sparkles and what I thought might have been real crystals. The thing was heavy as I pulled it on, leaving red shimmers all over the tiled floor. But it worked—it contoured my curves and while it was short, it wasn't distasteful. I looked like Leo's arm-candy, but by now I'd gotten used to that being the image I projected. I donned the accompanying high heels and powdered my nose.

When I escaped the bathroom, I found that Leo had changed, too. He wore a black suit, with a red shirt matching my dress. The shirt was mostly unbuttoned, revealing his smooth, muscular torso and six-pack perfect abs, and a silver chain dangled from his neck. He'd gone from crooner to mafia-looking god in the space of minutes. And here I was, his pretty-in-red girlfriend ready to hang on his arm and pose nicely for the cameras.

Why was I suddenly so bitter? He'd spent the evening singing for me, directing his heart openly in my direction. Some of the lyrics I wished he'd presented to me first, because they were personal, a smidgen too revealing of my life. But for the most part, he'd sang a lullaby straight to my soul. If I hadn't already been in love with him, I might have fallen all over again.

But something about the rush of it all, the secrecy, then the sudden explosion of success—it bothered me. Was I jealous because he could be a hit so quickly, and my article about a huge superstar still hadn't been picked up? Or was I wary of being so exposed, my feelings, our feelings on display in his songs? He'd never sang about me before. Never so blatantly.

Maybe it bugged me more than I thought.

Leo fluttered from person to person, accepting congratulations, hand-shakes, hugs, a few kisses on cheeks. No one noticed me much aside from a quick nod, a few compliments on my dress. The whole place was reserved for him. Every white leather couch, every glass table, every inch of the neon blue bar counter tops, even the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown. It was all his for the night.

He dragged me along while he said his hellos, and half the time, his friends wanted to do shots with him. Some offered me shots, too, which I declined, not feeling up to getting trashed tonight. One of us needed to stay sober, and it was evident after the tenth or so shot that that person wouldn't be Leo.

He staggered around with a big, goofy grin on his face. One shot here, a crafted beer there, a line of coke on a table over there—he was more popular than ever, and I wasn't jealous at all.

I was worried. He'd just gotten past the whole over-drinking thing, and here he was plastered, high on who-knew-what drugs, and rambling on and on about the inspiration for his songs.

Me.

He spoke about me as if I wasn't there, with his arm squeezing mine, keeping me next to him. And those he spoke to—they didn't see me, either. They didn't even seem to care much, eyeing me once or twice with a tight smile before focusing on him. He was the one who wrote the songs, not me. I was only the one he mentioned in them.

I'd never noticed this before. I'd never felt like this before, not with Leo. Normally I paraded on his arm and beamed at the cameras even though I hated them. He'd pay attention to me, comfort me, guide me through this billionaire celebrity world of his. But tonight, it felt off. He felt off. He always soaked in the admiration and glowed, but tonight he was hungry for it. I knew he'd been nervous about this album, about this transition to his solo career, about his switch in style; but maybe he was more anxious than he'd let on. Because he took in these compliments and positive reviews with such thirst that I barely recognized him. He never hung off reviewers' words, never cared too much about what was being said about him (Sfuria's bullshit aside).

Tonight...those compliments were his oxygen.

I wouldn't say anything. It wasn't my business. And me thinking to leech off his success was rude. I'd never do that. Yes, I wished my article would take off. I wished someone would officially review it, put it in their online magazine and hire me as a regular...but my path wouldn't be as easy as his. It'd be much harder.

I remembered halfway through the night about the flowers—those I'd been clutching in the car after we were thrown in. Those Cameron had given me, to give to Leo. Those he'd used as an excuse to plant a kiss on my cheek in front of hundreds of people.

When Petra and I finally got Leo out of the nightclub—nearly dawn—I set the flowers in his lap, though he was so drunk and dazed I wasn't positive if he'd seen or sensed them there. I tried to tell him what they were, who they were from; but Petra shook her head at me, in a don't bother talking now sort of way. I figured she was right, with all Leo had thrust into his system. It was a shock he could even sit up in the backseat as the limo drove us to the townhouse.

Petra helped me get him inside, then the limo took her home. Nicky and some security guard were on hand to lead Leo upstairs, since he couldn't put one foot in front of the other. They suggested I sleep in the spare bedroom, because he'd have a restless night.

"We're used to this," said Nicky, gently nudging me away from my shared room with Leo. "Trust me, you don't want to handle this."

No, I didn't want to witness the aftermath of Leo's hardcore partying; I'd never had to deal with it in the past, but I was his girlfriend. Wasn't it my role?

Nicky seemed to see my hesitation and offered me a shy smile. "Look, he won't want you to see him like this. He'll be hugging the toilet, and that's not the image he wants to project. Not even with his girlfriend."

I let the issue go, at last, and slept in the guest bedroom, but fought to actually sleep. Images of the night kept prying into my mind—Leo's singing, Leo's dancing, Leo's drinking, Leo's drugs. I stayed nearby at all times, but he never needed me unless it was to introduce me to someone I didn't already know. I drank too, but I nursed my beverages, contemplating the situation.

We danced together for a few songs—before he was out of his wits with alcohol—but most of the night I stood on the sidelines or sat on one of the comfy sofas and...waited. For us to leave, for sleep, for answers.

And now that I was in bed, I had nothing.

I eventually fell into a restless slumber, and when I woke up with a start after a nightmare about stages and microphones on fire, I wasn't sure where I was. Disoriented, I reacquainted myself with the room—the guest bedroom where I'd put all my clothes, since Leo's closet already overflowed.

My phone, plugged in and laying beside me on the mattress, lit up from a notification, showing the time as noon. I couldn't remember what time it was when we got home, but I'd slept at least four hours—there was no point wasting the rest of the day away.

I shrugged on some sweats and yawned as I ventured downstairs, without bothering to check on Leo. He'd still be asleep, needing an entire day to erase the effects of everything he'd put into his body last night.

So it came as a surprise when I found him slouched on a barstool in the kitchen, clutching a hot mug between his hands.

"Leo?" I approached with caution, keeping my voice low, not wanting to give him a bigger migraine than the one he likely already had.

He turned to me, eyes narrowed, and patted the stool beside him. A mug was on the counter before it—for me? And between his mug and mine was his phone, with an image displayed on it that I couldn't see from my angle.

"How are you feeling?" I went to the drawer where I knew Nicky kept the aspirin, and popped out a few pills. I myself had a slight migraine, and had the eerie sensation that Leo's mood would worsen it. "Last night went...well, yeah?"

He snickered, and focused his gaze on his coffee. "For the most part. I wish you hadn't let me get so trashed."

I raised my eyebrows. "Let you? Please tell me how I could have stopped you. It's your friends you need to talk to—they offered shots and wouldn't let you refuse."

"Yeah, yeah," he waved at me, grimacing, "but that's not all that you could have stopped." He tapped on his phone's screen. "Want to tell me what this is about?"

Every time he'd shown me his phone lately, it was for something unpleasant and that would start an argument. And last night, with Cameron's appearance...I knew we'd be photographed. I'd slept so badly because I was preparing for this very confrontation.

But I hadn't expected this.

"Jeez, how do they keep finding us like that?" I glowered at the picture—the perfect moment captured on camera: Cameron kissing my cheek. I wasn't smiling or showing any emotion, thankfully. But Cameron was. He looked bashful, excited. His hand rested on my upper arm as if pulling me in closer. I didn't remember that.

I'd anticipated that there'd be a picture of us, but not this. Not from this angle, not exhibiting the one moment I wished Leo couldn't see.

"He kissed only your cheek, I hope?" Leo's voice was gruff, matching his gloomy expression. His face was a mix of fatigue and fury, splotches of red, darkness under his eyes. And those eyes were glossy. As if he were still slightly intoxicated, but fighting it off.

"Yes, and unwillingly," I said, settling onto the stool. The coffee scent reached my nostrils and I sucked it in, begging the steam to steady my racing heart. "He only came to congratulate you, but you were busy. He saw me, and I saw him...and next I knew he kissed my cheek and disappeared into the crowd. It happened so fast, and I never thought we'd..."

"Never thought you'd get caught?" He arched one eyebrow as he twisted to me, straining against his sore muscles. He wore a red hoodie and lounge pants that clung from his toned body, but he sagged, as if his skin were peeling off.

Damn, that liquor and drug mix didn't do him any favors last night.

"I didn't invite him, Leo." I snuck a sip of my java and smacked my lips. "Like I said, he came for you. Seeing me was a coincidence." I tapped a finger against the countertop. "The flowers, remember? Those in your lap in the car? He brought those to you, some kind of ritual, he said. But you were occupied, engulfed by fans. He didn't want to interrupt."

"Flowers?" Leo squinted at me, as if I'd belted out words in a foreign language.

"Yes, I put them—" I blew out a breath and shook my head. "No, you can't remember; you were so far gone by that point, I don't even think you were fully awake."

Nicky had taken the flowers when we disembarked from the car, and I had no clue where he'd put them.

"You're mine," he said, growling. "Why does he keep encroaching my territory?"

I winced. Leo had no idea what Cameron had said to me weeks ago, did he? "He's not. Like I said, it was a coincidence—"

"—then why the fuck did he kiss your cheek?" He slammed a fist to the counter, splashing drops of coffee over our mugs.

I should have moved away, fled from his violence; but he'd never raised a hand on me before and never would. This was jealousy, pure and simple. The same type of anger Cameron had expressed towards him, he now expressed towards Cameron.

These two will never stop, will they?

"How the fuck would I know?" I slid my coffee away from him and his jerky movements. "I didn't ask him to be there, you did. He said he was still in your email chain or whatever."

"Well," he grunted as he got off the stool, "I'm removing him, right now. And I don't want you to talk to him anymore."

I huffed. "You act like we've been talking all this time. We haven't, Leo. The last time I saw him was at the photo-shoot with Sapphire—" I caught myself before blurting out the truth. "We don't text, we don't call each other. Fuck, we don't even like each other's social media posts. You need to chill."

His fists tightened as he glared at me. "Chill?" He seethed, smoke gathering in his mouth, or so I thought. "Tell me, in all sincerity, that I have nothing to worry about. That he's not trying to sneak in and steal you back."

I flinched. Fuck, that was the one facial tick that gave it all away, and I'd done it.

"You have nothing to worry about on my end. I'm not in his head, I don't know what he's doing." I moved my coffee farther from him. "Also, you forget that he works for Sapphire now, and if you're collaborating with her, we kind of do have to talk to him, Leo."

He squared his shoulders. "Then I'll tell Sapphire to keep him away from you. Because if he gets too close, he'll—" he growled again, shrugging a hand down his face. "He'll try to win you back, and he'll succeed, because I know you were initially going to pick him."

I froze, my breaths catching in my throat. Fuck, once more, he hit it right on the nose. But to come clean now and tell him that yes, Cameron was my first choice...this could be a relationship ruiner.

"I wasn't. When you came over, I...I was distraught and super upset, understandably. But in reality...I hadn't chosen anyone yet."

Leo's gaze darkened, his posture stiffening. "He left before you could choose. That's what you told me."

I clasped my hands around my mug, desperate for the warmth. "What does it matter, anyway? I'm with you now, I chose you. And we're happy, aren't we?" I resisted the urge to yell at him; he was, technically, within his right to be a bit jealous right now. But it was Cameron he should have been lashing out at, not me. "It was a kiss on the cheek, for fucks' sake. Plenty of people smooched your cheek last night and I didn't say anything. Shit, we just had a threesome with someone in your staff to shut her up, and that didn't bother you, but this does?"

"Yes," he said, trembling as he shook a fist in front of him. "Because this is Cameron, Emma. Because you loved him, and because he can't stop revolving around you and it's driving me insane. You think I don't notice but I do. I do."

Before I could hop off the stool and—do what? I had no clue what to do. But before I could think of what to do, Leo groaned and whirled around, storming out of the kitchen.

By the time I'd finished my coffee, he showed up at the threshold with a packed bag, changed into jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, the zipper of his hoodie undone.

"I'm staying in TriBeCa for a few days." He gestured at the bag's strap over his shoulder. "Need to clear my head."

I managed to get off the stool this time. "Leo, wait—"

I wasn't fast enough; he stomped off and down to the basement, slamming the door behind him.

Tears clouded my eyes as I sat back down. Was this him breaking up with me, or getting ready to? Was this another fucked-up separation because the two idiots my heart wouldn't stop beating for couldn't quit being jealous of one another?

Dammit.

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