Page 37 of The Broken Keys

Some people don’t stitch you up. They slice you open and say thank you after.

My legs shake as I deplane the jet and slide into my waiting car with the image of Livianna smiling for the tabloid. The headline was more than a blow.

LIVIANNA HEMINGS SAYS YES!

The high I was on from my morning meditation wore off fast. But I vow to give her a chance to explain. She’s always said the media has never treated her right. Maybe this headline is another lie.

The black SUV rolls off the tarmac, windows dark enough to pretend the world can’t see me bleeding. David keeps his eyes on the service road and says nothing, which is why he’s my driver. He lets me think.

I huff when I realize something profound. Silence has always felt like control until it turns into a mirror. I’m alone. It’s just me.

Before that lands and settles into my bones, my phone connects to the network like a storm wakes a coastline.

Notifications flood the screen with board updates, European numbers stacked like dominoes, and a calendar anchoring me to meetings that don’t care about my personal issues.

I scroll without reading, smooth out my jacket, and pretend the aircraft didn’t drop me off in a life I don’t recognize. How could Livianna go back to a man who nearly destroyed her?

A headline cuts through the noise on my phone’s screen.

MAYHEM FRONTMAN + DESIGNER: BACK TOGETHER!

I don’t open it. Not at first. I stare at the words until they blur and I can pretend the plus sign is a dividing line, not an addition I can’t balance.

“Sir?” David’s voice is careful. He’s seen this face before, the one that holds in earthquakes.

“Take me straight to the office.”

“Of course.”

The phone is a bomb in my hand. I never read the gossip sites, but I click the article anyway.

Photo after photo of her in Cash’s presence with a smile I’ve held in my head on nights I couldn’t sleep. Only these look easy, public, and earned. On stage, in the press, and in his orbit.

Nobu’s sign is in the background where she’s handing a dessert and a coffee to a cameraman like she’s untangling a snare with grace. I knew she would learn to negotiate with monsters, but I didn’t expect to be watching her from afar when she did.

You handed her your house, not your heart, Jaxon. Probably the worst decision you’ve ever made.

The thought hits without mercy. I close the article before itkills me. I gaze out the window and ignore this gut-wrenching pain.

The SUV glides through downtown. Glass towers rise like mountains that are too high and dangerous to climb. I imagine her telling me these stories are all fabricated and laughing at the insanity of it all.

David pulls into the parking lot under my building. We park in the private bay, and I don’t move.

“I’m done hiding.” The cabin is quiet, testing the shape of resolve after too many days of acting like my travels didn’t come with a cost.

He opens my door. I step out, the city heat skims my face, and then I let hope, small and reckless, breathe once. I need to find out if there’s still a chance for us.

My stomach twists and knots as I prepare for the most important conversation I’ll ever have with Livianna. I steady myself and stride toward her office.

The lobby is all marble and heavy décor, the kind of place designed to promise stability. My West Coast headquarters live here. So does hers. Elevator doors slide open, exhaling cool air.

You’ve waited long enough.

I’ve been silent too long. My plan to give her agency over her life while I was away was taken as abandonment. And now, I may have lost her for good. But the pain carves clarity. I still love her, and she needs to know it.

The lift climbs. I adjust my sleeves, let the sterile light wash over the fatigue of crossing time zones, and ignore the way my hands shake. Each floor number lighting up like a countdown to something I’m not prepared for.

My reflection in the polished steel doors shows a man who’s spent too many hours on a plane thinking about one conversation, one woman, and one chance to undo the biggest mistake of my life.