Chapter 2

A few days later, Lena decided to surprise Blake at the upscale clinic he'd mentioned. She'd baked his favorite cookies, a small attempt to bring some normalcy, some cheer.

The clinic was opulent, nothing like the struggling musician vibe Blake usually projected. Marble floors, hushed voices.

She asked for Blake Vanderbilt at the front desk. The receptionist, a woman with a perfectly sculpted face, gave her a cool, appraising look.

"Mr. Vanderbilt is in a private consultation suite. You can wait in the lounge."

Lena sat, the cookie tin feeling foolish in her hands.

Then she heard voices from a slightly ajar door down the hall. Familiar voices.

Blake's laugh. Clear, strong. Not sick at all.

And a woman's laugh, sharp and mocking. Chloe Astor. Lena knew her. Chloe was an aspiring singer, always dripping in designer clothes, always looking down on everyone.

Curiosity, a cold dread, pulled Lena to her feet. She crept closer to the door.

"...can you believe she actually sold it?" Chloe was saying, her voice laced with amusement. "That dusty old guitar. For Blake's 'life-saving treatment'!"

A chorus of laughter from others. Blake's friends, Lena recognized some of their voices. Wealthy, entitled.

"Eighty grand, straight into my account," Blake said, and Lena's blood ran cold. "Paid for this lovely clinic visit, and Chloe's new demo."

"She's so naive, it's almost painful," another voice chimed in. "Did you see her face when she handed over the cash? Blake, you've got the video, right? The one of her bawling her eyes out?"

"Oh, it's gold," Blake confirmed. "We're saving that for the party."

"Chloe's 'Welcome Home from Europe' party," Chloe drawled. "Which, by delicious coincidence, is also little Lena's birthday. Perfect timing to play it on the big screen."

"The look on her face will be priceless," Blake added, and the group roared with laughter again.

Lena felt the floor tilt. Her cookies, her stupid, hopeful cookies.

"And it's all because she actually beat me for that Nashville Rising Star grant," Chloe said, her voice turning venomous. "Me! My parents were so humiliated they shipped me off to that awful conservatory in Switzerland for a year. This is just a small taste of payback."

"She deserved it, Chloe," Blake said, his voice suddenly smooth, intimate. "No one messes with my girl."

My girl.

Lena stumbled back, a strangled sob caught in her throat.

The cookies tin slipped from her numb fingers, clattering loudly on the marble floor.

The voices inside stopped.

The door opened. Blake stood there, his face a mask of surprise. Chloe was right behind him, a smirk playing on her lips.

He was perfectly healthy. Radiant, even.

The betrayal hit Lena like a physical blow, knocking the air from her lungs.

Eighty thousand dollars. Her father's guitar. Her songs. Her love.

All a game. A cruel, elaborate lie.