Chapter 1

I used to believe our love could coexist with my ambition. That was my first mistake.

Eight years I' d given her. Eight years of my life, my heart, and my music, all laid at the altar of Cassidy Vance.

Tonight, standing backstage at the CMA Music Festival, the noise of the crowd felt a million miles away. All I could see was her, across the room, laughing with some record label suit, her back turned to me. Again.

My new album, the one I poured my soul into, had been sitting on her desk for three months. She hadn' t listened to a single track.

[You are ready, Liam.]

The voice in my head, the one I called the Guide, was calm and clear. It had been with me since the car wreck that almost killed me, a constant companion on my quest to become a "Country Music Titan."

"Ready for what?" I muttered under my breath.

[To sever the tie. The emotional cost of this relationship is unsustainable. It is hindering the mission.]

For years, I' d argued with it, telling it that my love for Cass was part of the mission. It was the fuel for my songs. Now, I knew the Guide was right. The fuel had turned to poison.

"Do it," I whispered, my voice tight. "Sever my love for her."

[Acknowledged. The process will take seven days to complete. There will be a cost.]

I didn' t care about the cost. I just wanted to be free.

I pulled out my phone. My last text to her, sent three hours ago, was still unread.

"Killed it out there. Thinking of you."

Her last text to me was from yesterday morning.

"k."

Shane, my manager and the only real friend I had in this town, clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder.

"Don' t let her get to you, kid. She' s working the room. It' s what she does."

"She' s not working the room, Shane. She' s ignoring me. There' s a difference."

He sighed, the sound of a man who' d seen this a hundred times. "You know I never liked this arrangement. You, the secret boyfriend, while she plays the queen of Nashville."

"She made my career," I said, the words tasting like ash. It was the same defense I' d used for years. Cassidy had discovered me, molded me, and put my first record on the map. I owed her. I loved her.

My phone buzzed. A text from a buddy in a road crew. It was a picture.

A grainy, long-lens shot from the private jet terminal.

Cassidy, climbing the steps to a Gulfstream. And right behind her, his hand on the small of her back, was Caleb Rivers. Cal. The new country-pop sensation she' d plucked from some reality show. Her "new project."

My blood ran cold.

I called her. It rang once, twice, then she picked up.

"Liam, hey. Can' t talk, emergency meeting just came up. Have to fly to L.A. tonight. Talk tomorrow." Her voice was rushed, business-like.

"L.A.?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. "You sure it' s not Aspen?"

A beat of silence.

"Don' t be ridiculous. I' ll call you when I land."

She hung up.

I felt hollowed out, a ghost in a crowded room. I walked out of the arena, the Nashville skyline a blur of neon and broken promises. I just started walking, with no destination in mind.

Hours passed. My phone buzzed again. It was midnight. A notification from Instagram.

Cassidy Vance had posted a new photo.

It was her, curled up on a plush sofa in front of a roaring fire. A rustic, expensive-looking cabin. She was holding a glass of wine, smiling at the camera. At the person taking the picture.

The caption shattered what was left of my heart.

"Found my new sound. #muse @CalRivers"