Chapter 24
Ipress my back to the tree bark and peer around just enough to see them.
Victoria’s lips move rapidly, but I can’t make out her words. I bite on my fingernail, wishing I could read lips. Her fingers curl like talons around Logan’s forearm. His body remains angled toward her, not retreating an inch.
Never in my life have I wanted so badly to be a fly on the wall, or . . . on a tree. Just look at me. I’m turning into a busybody, like my mother.
My focus returns to them. The moonlight paints them in silver, two beautiful people having a private moment in a forest clearing that feels like a movie scene I’ve stumbled onto. A movie where I’m not the lead—just the expendable side character about to be axed.
What are they saying? I strain to hear, but the rustling of the trees in the night breeze muffles their words.
Victoria leans closer, her mouth nearly brushing his ear, her body arched toward him like a cat stretching into a caress.
And Logan—the man who kissed me so passionately, who raced practically naked to my car for a blanket, who looked at me on a Ferris wheel like I was the only one that mattered—just stands there, his eyes flying wide.
Was I right all along? It feels like a tight band of pressure constricts my chest. The possibility that’s been haunting me since her arrival crystalizes into a hard, cold truth. Something lingers between them, something beyond business. Something between ex-lovers.
Her fingers slide down his arm in a gesture so intimate I have to look away. Seeing them like this hurts worse than I care to admit—even more so than walking in on Andy and Lindsey, which I thought nothing could ever top.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I blink back hot tears that blur the shadows of the trees around me.
No way am I crying over another man who wasn’t worth the emotional investment.
No more dating amnesia where I forget the lessons carved into my heart.
No more falling for someone whose version of loyalty comes with corporate sponsors and fine print.
My legs wobble as I turn back toward the cabin. One step. Then another. All I need to do is make it inside, pack my things, and—
A twig snaps beneath my sneaker, the sound like a gunshot in the midnight stillness.
“Maisie?” Logan’s voice reaches me from behind.
Can this night get any worse? My spine stiffens automatically as I pivot back.
Victoria turns, too, a sanctimonious smile plastered on her face like she’d hoped I would follow them into the woods.
She doesn’t even pretend to be embarrassed about being caught.
Instead, she makes a point of extending her touch, sliding her hand down the entire length of Logan’s arm in one deliberate stroke.
“Think about what I said,” she murmurs, loud enough for me to hear this time, then glides past me on her way back to the cabin.
She doesn’t even glance in my direction as she passes, treating me like I’m invisible. The dismissal stings.
The moment she vanishes beyond the trees, Logan steps forward, his face contoured in panic. “Maisie, it’s not what you—”
I raise my palm like a crossing guard halting traffic. “Oh, isn’t it?” Steel enters my voice as my arms fold protectively across my chest. My fingers dig into my biceps. “Go on, then. Prove me wrong.”
“We were talking about work, that’s all.” His voice rushes out, tripping over itself.
“And her hand on your arm?” A mirthless laugh escapes me as I tilt my head. “Was that part of the business meeting too? Did she need to establish proper skin contact for optimal synergy?”
Logan drags his hands down his face and seemingly exhales in frustration. “She caught me off guard. I didn’t even realize—”
“Logan, come on.” My voice shatters on his name, and I swipe furiously at the stupid, persistent tear that escapes down my cheek. “Do you even hear yourself? Because it sounds like every other excuse you’ve given me.”
“I swear—”
“No.” The word explodes from me, sharpened by all the hurt I’ve been trying to contain.
“Don’t talk to me like I’m some fan you’re placating.
I saw the way she touched you. And you just stood there, accepting it.
“ Each word rises in volume, carrying farther into the night. “Just admit it. You’re still with her—or you’re about to be for the sake of your collaboration or whatever it is you’re planning behind my back. ”
He advances a few steps as I retreat, matching his forward for my backward. “Maisie, please. You’ve got this all wrong. If you just let me explain—”
“Don’t.” My hands extend outward like I’m summoning an invisible barrier. “Don’t come any closer.”
His feet root to the forest floor, face stricken in the moonlight. He looks genuinely hurt, and for one faltering second, I wonder if I’m reading this wrong.
But I’ve been wrong before. So very wrong. And the price I paid ripped me to shreds.
“This was a mistake.” The truth I’ve been fighting escapes in a quiver. “We should’ve stuck to the contract we wrote. Rule one. That’s on me.”
I whirl around and walk away. How could I be so foolish? Logan may say all the right things, may look at me like I’m something precious, but when Victoria enters the scene, the story reverts to its original casting.
Mom warned me from the start this wouldn’t end well. I should have listened.
The cabin comes into view, its windows glowing warm against the night. I dash upstairs to my room and slam the door, my back collapsing against it. My knees buckle as I slide down to the floor, hugging them close to my chest.
What fantasy world was I living in? A first-grade teacher with song lyrics scribbled in notebooks and strawberry-shaped pancake skills isn’t exactly headline material for someone like Logan Humphries.
He lives in spotlights and penthouse suites, in recording studios and VIP sections.
Victoria belongs there with him. I don’t.
As much as I hate admitting it, she was right all along—I’m a chapter, not the story. And some chapters are short.
Sleep evades me all night, my body rolling restlessly as my thoughts give no respite. When dawn’s first light filters through the curtains, I surrender to wakefulness. My bare feet connect with the cool wooden floor as I pad to the window, desperate for fresh air.
Outside, morning fog drifts over the lake’s surface like a ghostly dancer while the sun crests the tree line, painting the sky with watercolor washes of orange and rose gold. It’s breathtakingly beautiful. Peaceful.
Everything my heart currently is not.
The knot in my stomach tightens like a fist. I hate this limbo—this not-knowing whether his heart lies with me or follows the well-worn path back to her. I need a firm answer from him. I can’t live in maybes and what-ifs.
With sudden resolve, I pull on jeans and a soft sweater, twist my messy hair into a low bun, and inhale deeply. I can do this. I can have one honest conversation without breaking apart.
My fingers reach for the doorknob just as a sharp knock sounds from the other side.
Logan?
I swing the door wide open and freeze mid-breath. Standing before me is my least favorite person in the entire world, arms crossed over her designer top, eyes gleaming with something sinister.
“Hope I’m not interrupting,” Victoria says, forcing her way inside with a shoulder bump.
She’s here to gloat. I can feel it in my bones.
Victoria’s laser-focused gaze lingers on my half-packed suitcase for exactly one heartbeat before sliding over my floral sundresses, canvas sandals, and the solitary cardigan I brought.
Her inspection makes me want to throw a bedsheet over everything before she starts criticizing.
Instead, I instinctively hug myself, some primal defense mechanism against the judgment radiating off her in waves.
She looks like she just stepped off a fashion shoot.
Those white pants hugging her hips scream designer labels and three-digit price tags, while her gauzy floral blouse probably costs more than my entire wardrobe back home.
The nude high heels look like they could pierce the floorboards, and her hair falls in perfect cascades, not a single strand daring to rebel. The difference between us is jarring.
Should I feel intimidated? Because I do. A little. Maybe a lot.
“Where’s Logan?” I ask, not wanting to have a conversation with her.
Victoria’s lips curl into something between a smirk and a sneer. “Outside. Cleaning the grill.”
Great. No witnesses for whatever character assassination she’s about to perform.
My fingers fidget with the hem of my sweater as I search for courage. Why hadn’t I just stayed home? Or better yet, why hadn’t I pushed harder to make Logan send her packing the moment she showed up uninvited?
I square my shoulders, trying to appear unphased. “What do you want?”
Her heels click against the floor as she circles my bed like a shark sensing blood in the water. One immaculately manicured finger drags along the edge of my luggage. “I don’t know what his obsession is with you.”
My brows knit together so tightly they might permanently fuse. “Excuse me?”
“You’re so . . .” Her eyes travel up and down my body in a deliberate appraisal. “Plain.”
Surprisingly, the word doesn’t land like the slap in the face I usually feel when she offends me. On the contrary, I’m rather proud to be so plain. She can’t stand the thought of being overlooked for someone like me, and it’s glorious.
“And yet here you are,” I say, “uninvited, doing your absolute best to ruin our weekend.”
Her laugh rings hollow—sharp-edged and empty as a prop on a soundstage. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re a small-town nobody. Logan is destined for the world stage, and you’re holding him back.”
The rudeness in her tone ignites a primal desire to fight back. My mother would tell me to be civil, to kill with kindness. But Mom isn’t here.
“And I suppose you’re his main act?“ I cock an eyebrow, my hand finding my hip in what I hope is a stance full of sass. “What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll steal your spotlight?”
Her smile tightens like shrink-wrap. “Don’t test me.”
The warning drips with menace, but some reckless part of me wants to step closer to the fire instead of retreating. And so, I take one deliberate step forward.
“You showed up here to break us up,” I say. “You clearly see me as a threat.”
In an instant, she storms toward me, and my bravery falters as instinct flattens me against the bedroom door. Her brown eyes—deep as poison wells—bore into mine with unchecked ferocity.
“He belongs with me,” she hisses. “On tour. In LA. Not tangled up in some small-town fantasy with a girl who teaches music notes to six-year-olds.”
Something snaps—the last thread of my patience, perhaps. I push off from the door, chin defiantly high. The sudden movement forces her to stumble back a step.
“What I do with Logan in private is none of your business, Vicky.”
Her face contorts into the most atrocious scowl I have ever seen. “No one calls me that.”
“Well, first time for everything.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone’s face flush scarlet with such alarming speed. She looks ready to blow up. For a split second, I’m afraid for my life.
Her hand dips into the back pocket of her pants, producing a folded white piece of paper that she dangles between two fingers as if holding something particularly distasteful. My heart slams against my ribs as recognition dawns.
The contract Logan and I had written out.
“How did you get that?” I remember what Logan said about our agreement getting into the wrong hands. She’s the worst person that could have gotten a hold of it.
She fans herself with it, theatrically, condescendingly. “Took a page from your playbook and hid behind a tree last night. Imagine my surprise when I overheard you mention it.” Her lips twitch in smug satisfaction. “Logan is paranoid about privacy. I knew he’d keep it close.”
“So you snooped through his things?”
“The existence of such a contract would surely stir trouble for Logan. As a concerned friend, I had to step in.” She unfolds the paper with exaggerated care, her eyes skimming the text as if reading the juiciest gossip column.
“‘Rule number one.’” she recites, voice dripping with contrived delight, “One must not fall for the other.’” Her gaze snaps to mine, sharp as a blade. “Who broke it first, I wonder?”
Blind panic propels me forward as I lunge for the contract, but she pirouettes away with the grace of someone who’s spent a lifetime dodging consequences.
“I knew something was off the moment the press picked up your little love story,” she says, triumph lighting her eyes. “Now I have proof.”
“You’re a thief.”
She smirks—the expression of someone who’s never been called on their behavior. “One way or another, I always get what I want.”
“And what exactly is that?”
“For you to disappear.” No pretense in her tone—just pure, undiluted malice.
My body goes cold, starting from my fingertips and spreading inward like frost on a window. I’ve known since our first meeting at the school that she wanted me gone. I just didn’t realize the depths she’d sink to make it happen.
“Unless,” she adds with a honey-sweet voice, “you want this little contract to be leaked to every news outlet in the country. I’m sure they’ll love the narrative: a delusional fan blackmailing Logan Humphries into fake dating her.
And even if Logan defends you, the damage will be done.
Your name will be mud. Or, maybe, it was Logan’s idea, in which case his career will nosedive. ”
My legs tremble beneath me. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
I stare at her, mind whirling with possible counters, but nothing sounds like it could turn the tables in my favor.
“I’ll give you until the end of the weekend,” she says, folding the paper and putting it into the back pocket of her pants. “Make up an excuse. Pretend you lost interest. Just be gone before we leave for L.A. Monday morning.”
My lower lip trembles as I say, “You’re a monster.”
“No,” she corrects, “I’m a professional.”
She turns on her heel and glides toward the door, pausing just long enough for one final jibe over her shoulder. “Looks like you have much to think about. I’ll leave you to it. Oh, and if you so much as even breathe a word of this to Logan, I’ll make your life a living hell.”
The door clicks shut, and I crumble to the floor with the weight of her ultimatum.