Chapter 28
What just happened?
For Maisie to reveal our agreement to the world—I just don’t understand it.
Tomorrow morning, her confession will be front page news, and she will no doubt face unabated ridicule.
Why would she throw herself under the bus like that when I’m the architect of this whole disaster?
It’s not her fault. Never her fault. I can’t let her pay for my shortcomings. I won’t.
I shove through the crowd, desperate to catch up to her. I need to know why she did it. Reporters press in from all sides, snapping pictures and halting my progress. Every second I waste means she gets further away.
“Logan! Why did you go along with it?”
“Is it all true?”
“Can you comment on the blackmail?”
The questions hit like fastballs, one after another, but I keep moving. I have to reach her.
Memories flash through my mind—the dance we shared at the dress store, her eyes reflecting the sunset at the hot spring, the taste of strawberries on her lips when I kissed her at the Spring Festival. None of that was fake. Not for me.
I’ve almost broken through the mass of bodies when Victoria throws herself in my path, one hand planted firmly against my chest.
“Let her go,” she says, looking at me like I’m crazy for trying to go after Maisie. “This is exactly what we needed.”
I don’t have time for this. I shove her hand away. “Move.”
Victoria stands her ground. “Look around you, Logan.” She gestures at the circling photographers before she loops her arms around my neck, all for show.
“The press, the record label, your fans—they’ll eat this up.
Small-town teacher thought she could tame a bad boy artist?
They’ll love you even more, and they’ll crucify her online. ”
Over my dead body. No one will lay a hand on her if I have anything to say about it. “I’ll protect her,” I say in Victoria’s ear. “I’ll tell them it’s all my doing.”
“Go right ahead. I’ll just tell everyone you’re being nice. Who do you think they’ll believe, you, her”—she looks up at me with a sly smile—“or me.”
Brutal irony punches me in the gut. Fame used to be everything—my oxygen, my purpose, my validation.
Now? It’s worthless if Maisie isn’t standing beside me, rolling her eyes at my smart-ass remarks.
My life has always been chaotic. Everywhere I go, people want a piece of me, but Maisie never asked for anything.
She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, my light in the darkness, my anchor to sanity in this crazy world.
The label’s rep glares at me from across the room, practically ordering me to smile, and Victoria hooks on to my arm like a shackle I can’t escape, posing for the cameras. I’m a prisoner here, unable to protect the one that matters most.
By the time the photoshoot ends, and I run outside, Maisie’s long gone.
I go to my apartment, turn on the TV, and start packing for my trip back to Maplewood Springs.
My thoughts revolve around Maisie, her face when she grabbed that microphone, the tremble in her voice as told the truth.
Twelve unanswered texts glow accusingly on my phone screen. When I call, I get her voicemail.
I toss another shirt into my suitcase, missing it entirely. The television drones in the background until the news comes on.
“In a stunning turn of events, up-and-coming artist Logan Humphries finds himself at the center of a controversy involving a fan-turned-faux-girlfriend . . .”
I get sick to my stomach as I jerk my head around to look at CNN. The news anchor stands outside Avalon Hollywood where everything fell apart just hours ago. A photo from the Spring Festival fills the screen, my arm around her shoulders, both of us laughing.
With fumbling fingers, I grab the remote and change the channel to Entertainment Tonight.
“Was it all a publicity stunt or a misguided act of love? Opinions are divided after tonight’s heartfelt confession . . .”
It’s as I feared. The hosts debate our relationship with the same gravity usually reserved for international incidents.
I switch to Local 5 News.
“Small-town teacher Maisie Lang blackmailed the pop sensation Logan Humphries, who remains tight-lipped about their so-called fake relationship . . .”
I can’t imagine what she must be going through. I must hurry.
I mute the TV and pack as fast as I can, hoping she avoids the headlines.
Against better judgement, I pull my phone out and scroll through X.
@PopCultureGuru: Can’t believe she’d do that to Logan. Disgusting.
@LoganLover99: Hope karma gets her! #MaisieLangIsOverParty
@TeamMaisie: Guys, give her a break. It takes guts to come clean like that.
For every defender, twenty trolls circle, ready to pick Maisie apart. I better stop swiping before I shatter my phone against the wall.
Why, Maisie, why did you admit that it was all your doing? I dial her once more, but all I get is her voice asking to leave a message.
“Maisie, please. Call me back. What you did—I need to understand.” I pause, searching for words. “What you said on stage . . . that’s not how it happened. You and I both know that.”
What was it that she said to me before she left?
You’re free now to do as you please.
Free from what? Her? The contract? Is that what she thought I wanted?
A sudden rapping at the door stops my thoughts cold. I move to open it, hoping against hope it might be Maisie.
It’s Victoria, dressed to the nines in a sleek black dress meant for seduction, but in my eyes, she doesn’t hold a candle to Maisie. A folder tucks neatly under one arm, and her smile gleams. Without waiting for an invitation, she strides inside.
“Your doorman practically rolled out the red carpet.” She surveys my living room with the critical eye of someone mentally redecorating. “I told him we had important business to discuss.”
I stand by the open door, one hand still on the knob. “Now is not a good time.”
She glances at my half-packed carry-on, shoes and shirts tumbling over the sides. “Planning a trip somewhere?” Her gaze shifts to the TV momentarily before returning to me. “The press is clamoring for your side of the story, and you’re running back to Hicksville?”
“That’s my hometown you’re insulting.” I never cared much for Maplewood Springs—too many hurtful memories there. Until Maisie knocked on my door. If she loves it there, so do I. “And yes, I’m going back.”
Victoria clicks her tongue. “You can’t be serious. After all the damage control the label’s done?” She tosses her folder onto my glass coffee table with a smack. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are that this has actually boosted your profile instead of tanking it?”
My hand curls into a ball at my side. “None of it is her fault. She never blackmailed me to do anything. The fake relationship was my dumb idea. I never should have written that contract.”
“You mean this?” She pulls a folded white piece of paper from her pocket and holds it up, dangling it between two fingers like a dead mouse.
My heart skips a beat, then accelerates to dangerous speeds. I march over and snatch it from her grip. “I thought I’d lost it. I’ve been looking everywhere for it. How the hell did you get this?”
Victoria’s smile grows cold. “I overheard you and Maisie talking about it that night at the lake house.”
The paper crumples in my fist. “You stole it?”
“Oh please.” She snickers. “I just borrowed it to give the small-town girl some motivation.”
“What did you do?” I demand through gritted teeth.
Victoria shifts her weight to one leg, crossing her arms with what I can only describe as nonchalance.
“I simply pointed out how disastrous it would be if the press found out. She did the rest.” Her shrug is theatrical.
“You should thank me, really. It’s worked out in our favor.
You’re the hottest topic in the industry right now. ”
Fury pulses in my veins with each quickened breath. “You blackmailed her.” It takes everything I have not to throw her out the door.
“I gave her a reality check.” Victoria examines her nails. “Whatever. She wasn’t right for you anyway. She doesn’t fit our image.”
So that’s why Maisie did it—to protect me.
Victoria’s hand slithers inside the folder and produces a yellow envelope, which she slides on the coffee table toward me.
“The label wants us to sign this new agreement for our collaboration. My signature’s already on it.
” A predatory smile spreads across her face.
“We’ll be music’s ultimate power couple. ”
I scoff at her. “You really think I’m going to sign my life away again?”
“Don’t be stupid, Logan. Fame. Money. Everything most people dream of but never get.” She steps closer, voice dropping to a velvet purr. “Everything we talked about back when we first met.”
I laugh bitterly, the sound bouncing off my expensive, empty walls.
“You don’t get it. I never cared about all that.
I started singing because I wanted the freedom to express myself, to uncork the feelings I’ve kept bottled up.
It was therapy.” After meeting Victoria, I got sucked into endless parties, hook ups, and talks of building up a fake image.
It was fun at first, but it left me feeling hollow.
Perhaps that’s the reason I ran back home.
A slow smile curves one corner of my mouth as I say, “I never imagined true love would come knocking.”
Her face twists like she just heard the most absurd thing ever spoken. “Love? That’s for fools and song lyrics.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Money and influence—that’s what everyone really wants.”
So this is her true character. I always suspected but seeing it laid bare is still shocking. The person I once thought I wanted versus the person my heart pines for—the difference couldn’t be more striking.
I move to open the door wider. “Get out.”
Victoria’s expression cycles through disbelief, anger, and finally indifference.
“Fight all you want. But you’re contractually obligated, same as me.
If you back out, they’ll sue you for everything you got.
” She snatches up her folder but leaves the contract envelope on the table.
“Your little teacher won’t want you when you’re broke and forgotten.
” Victoria storms out, her heels clicking angrily against the hardwood like tiny hammers.
I slam the door shut behind as she turns around for a final word I don’t want to hear, then slump on the couch.
The yellow envelope sits before me, innocent-looking but loaded with consequences.
If I sign, I’ll have it all—the world at my feet, the adoration of millions—but I’ll lose Maisie forever.
If I tear it up, I’ll lose my career, my financial security, my dream .
. . but maybe I’ll get a second chance with the only girl who’s ever seen the real me.
I bury my face in my hands, wishing I never wrote that damned contract.