Monique’s long nails dug into my sleeve as she tried to pull me around to face her. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked again, her breath breaking as she struggled to keep up.

I shook off her hand. “Going to my wife.”

I jogged forward, craning my neck. There. Her brown hair glinted in the wintry sun, flashing with bits of gold brought out by the sun’s rays. They were at the entrance. Jeremiah seemed to be holding up much of Ella’s sleight weight. Was she sick? She’d been so ill with Jeremiah, barely gaining enough for the baby.

“Ella!” I shouted.

She didn’t turn back, just saluted me with her middle finger. Jeremiah did, though, and the look on his face caused me to stumble to a stop. He pulled Ella closer to his side and quickened his pace, putting as much distance between us as he could.

My son hated me.

“You don’t have a wife,” Monique said from my side. “I was there when you visited your lawyer. You remember why, baby?” Monique crooned, running her palm up my arm. “She’s holding back your career. She didn’t want you to add to your touring schedule. She’s keeping you from real fame and respect.”

Monique spoke in a soft, soothing voice—a siren whose words caused earthquakes and destruction. She wrapped her arms around mine and pulled my biceps to her breasts, trying to ensnare me further into her web of darkness.

“That means we can get married. Start our own family if you want.” I turned toward her in time to see her smile. “I’d love to have a baby with you, Simon.” Her eyes, before her lashes dropped into a seductive, bedroom pose, flashed with greed.

She wanted a child with me to secure her place in my life—and bank account. Not because she loved me. Or even liked me.

I’d fallen for Monique’s spiel before—that’s how I ended up considering the possibility of leaving my wife. Monique stroked my pride—such a beautiful woman showing interest in me—but that interest went only as far as my ability to stay on the Billboard’s Top 200 list.

With slow precision, I pulled my arms from hers. I stepped back so we were a good five feet apart. “Don’t ever come near me again.”

Her mouth dropped open and her eyes flashed with vindictive outrage. “I’m your publicist!”

“Not anymore. You’re fired. My guess is you had something to do with those papers Ella had served to her at her school.”

My chest rose and fell. At her school. Ella wasn’t just hurt, she must be mortified. That she could ever think I’d do something like that to her made my ears burn with anger.