Unmasked: The Rockstar Ex-Wife

The divorce papers slapped against the marble counter.

I snapped my gaze from the pages to my husband's face. "Leighton, we're getting a divorce." Alistair locked eyes with me. "Peyton came back. I let her slip away once.

I refuse to lose her again." Romanticizing cheating? That takes a special kind of delusion. The absolute audacity. Ice froze his stare.

He left zero room for discussion, zero space for my input. "Besides," he leaned in, "you noticed it over the last three years. You just don't fit the wife role.

You don't belong in my world. Step aside." Who knew being a stayathome wife demanded such a killer resume? Clearly, I failed the probation period. So, what comes next?

Chapter 1 The family business ran like a welloiled machine without me. So maybe… I should hit the road with the band again? Yeah. Time to dust off the bass.

I snatched the papers and flipped them open. My pen hovered over the dotted line, but my fingers locked up. I paused when I saw the compensation clause.

Ten million dollars. "Ten million?" I muttered. Alistair loomed over me, his jaw tight. "Is that not enough?" I dropped the pen and headed straight up the stairs.

Ten minutes later, I marched back down.

I gripped a freshly printed, revised agreement—three copies total—and shoved them toward his chest. "I already signed." Alistair's brow furrowed.

He snatched the papers and scanned the pages. I had stripped out all his clauses.

Below our names and the date, only one stark sentence remained: No children, no joint assets, uncontested divorce.

Alistair's head snapped up, shock cracking his cold facade. "You don't want the money?" I gave a dry laugh. "Keep your loose change, Alistair. Just sign it.

I've got places to be." He stared at me, jaw clenching, before grabbing the pen and slashing his signature across the bottom.

We got the papers notarized and headed straight to the courthouse to file. State law mandated a thirtyday waiting period. One month until I got that decree in my hands.

I couldn't wait.

I turned on my heel to leave, but Alistair's voice caught me. "If you regret this… if you need the money, you can always call." I threw a glance over my shoulder, offering him a tight, silent smile, and walked out the door.

His entire net worth didn't even cover what I raked in over a single year. I slid into the driver's seat of my car and hit Roxanne's contact on the dashboard.

My manager picked up on the first ring. "I'm coming back," I said, putting the car in drive. "And I'm writing the new album." Roxanne let out a sigh over the phone. "Thank god, Leighton.

You finally remembered I exist. I was literally just about to call you. Get to the office. We need to talk." I pulled up to the agency twenty minutes later.

Roxanne dropped the bomb the second I walked in—a massive reality TV show wanted our band, and the payout was insane. But there was a catch.

The producers wanted me, the bassist, to drop the gimmick and show my face. I was the band's ultimate mystery. Ever since our debut, I had performed behind a custom angelwing mask.

Not a single fan had ever seen my real face. Chapter 2 "They really know how to milk a gimmick.

Tell them no." Roxanne groaned, throwing her hands up. "This is the music industry, Leighton. I don't care how deep your family's pockets are. I'm your manager.

You listen to me!" I shot her a single, flat look. Roxanne instantly deflated. She latched onto my arm, shifting into full begging mode. "Please, Leighton. I need to eat.

I'm banking on you. What if I score you some solo magazine covers? We'll make sure you're the absolute center of attention on the show." I barely blinked.

Roxanne squeezed her eyes shut, forcing out fake tears. "I know you're loaded. I know this band is just a hobby for you. But I live in the real world. I need the paycheck.

Throw me a bone here." A heavy sigh cracked my chest. The guilt trip worked. "Fine." The universe had a sick sense of humor.

The final day of our thirtyday divorce mandate landed exactly one day before cameras rolled. I pulled into the courthouse parking lot before the doors even unlocked.

Alistair finally strolled up ten minutes late. "Hurry up. I have somewhere to be," I snapped, pushing past the heavy glass doors. Ten steps in, silence echoed behind me.

I stopped and glanced over my shoulder. Alistair stood frozen on the pavement. His eyes bore into mine, dark and unreadable. "Move it," I barked. I had a tight schedule to keep.

Alistair finally closed the distance, his expression serious. "Are you absolutely sure about this?" I rolled my eyes. The annoyance spiked hot and sharp. He wanted the divorce.

I handed it to him on a silver platter. Why drag his feet now? "Walk," I ordered, spinning around and marching toward the clerk's desk. We both signed the final papers.

The clerk stamped the decree. Done.

I hit the brisk morning air. "Leighton." Alistair's voice clipped my heels. "Why did you marry me?" My boots ground to a halt against the concrete.

I pivoted to face him. "Why do you care?" He just stared, searching my face for a crack. The realization finally dawned on me. "You're mad I made this so easy.

You thought I didn't love you at all, and now you're feeling disappointed, aren't you?" His silence practically screamed a confession. Such a massive, walking red flag.

A cold, easy smile curved my lips. "I loved you once, Alistair. That was real. But the ick I feel right now? That's real, too. You cheated on your wife.

You absolutely disgust me." I turned my back on his stunned, ashwhite face and slid into my car. I headed straight back to the agency.

Roxanne and the rest of the band waited in the lounge.

Roxanne bounced on her heels the second I walked in. "Jace is on the roster!" she squealed. "He just signed on for the entire season, exactly like us." I knew exactly who Jace was.

The guy dominated the Billboard charts. He refused acting gigs, cementing his Alist status purely through insanely highquality, original tracks.

I always suspected he used a ghostwriter. I just never had the proof. Maybe I was just being a cynic and projecting my own suspicions.

Either way, his attendance didn't impact my paycheck. I commanded my own massive fanbase. I refused to sweat over a pop star stealing my spotlight.

Besides, the producers bought me for the mask gimmick. They wouldn't waste their money letting Jace hog all the screen time.

Chapter 3 The producers booked a local studio for an evening shoot. I slept until 1:00 PM before dragging myself to hair and makeup.

I barely crossed the threshold before our drummer, Maisie, launched herself at me. "Leighton! I just saw Jace!" she squealed, her fingers digging into my arm. "He is gorgeous.

I literally can't function.

How am I supposed to ask for his number?" Maisie's agencymandated wardrobe screamed punkrock badass, but underneath the leather and studs, she operated on pure, boycrazy delusion.

I dropped my savior complex a long time ago.

I just let her live in her own boycrazy delusion. "We work on the same set now," I told her, brushing her hands off. "Just walk up and ask." I needed Maisie to realize she stood on his level.

She had to stop putting these guys on a pedestal. Maisie snatched my hand right back. "You do it!

He'd definitely give it to you." She leaned in, squinting at my face. "Honestly, you guys have a massive enemiestolovers vibe.

The coldhearted ice queen and the—" "Stop talking," I snapped, cutting her off. "Someone hears that, they'll think I'm trying to engineer a PR stunt." Ice queen? Please.

I wasn't some coldhearted ice queen at all. The makeup artist hauled her kit over. I was slapping a mask over my face anyway, so I shoved Maisie into the chair first.

A tall shadow suddenly blocked the doorway. A guy strolled into our dressing room, his eyes glued to his phone screen. Jace. He paused, taking in the crowded room.

His dark brows pitched into a hard scowl. "What is this?" he demanded, shooting a glare at the guy trailing him. "Clear them out." His assistant leaned in, whispering something frantic into Jace's ear.

Jace barely blinked. "I want to rest in here. Tell them to leave." The absolute nerve of this arrogant prick.

Maisie tugged my sleeve, shrinking back. "Leighton, maybe we should just go—" I ripped my arm out of her grip, marched straight to the doorway, and planted my boots. "Get out of our dressing room." Jace finally looked up.

He turned around and slowly looked me up and down, his eyes holding an evaluating stare that I instantly disliked. "Who are you?" he demanded. "None of your business.

Get out." I didn't need a mirror to know my expression was already sour. Jace stalked forward, eating up the space between us.

He was tall, nearly sixfoottwo, so I had to tilt my head back to look at him. I felt the heat radiating off his chest, but I refused to give an inch.

A slow, arrogant smirk tipped the corner of his mouth. "What's your name?" "None of your fucking business." Maisie scurried over behind me, poking me in the waist as a warning.

I ignored her. Jace tilted his head, his smirk deepening. "Do you even know who I am?" "None of my fucking business." Another poke to my waist.

I pulled the door wide open. "After you." His assistant practically folded in half, staring at the floor, desperate to escape the crossfire. "Shut the door on your way out," I snapped, spinning on my heel and dropping back onto the sofa.

Silence hung heavy in the hallway. Then heavy boots receded, and the door clicked shut. Chapter 4 Maisie came over, looking at me with admiration. "Wow, Leighton.

You're a total badass. You completely ripped into Jace, and he didn't even get mad.

He actually left smiling." I shot a glance at the empty doorway and rolled my shoulders. "What's so surprising?

Everyone in this industry is a little unhinged." A giggle bubbled out of Maisie. "You're in the industry.

Are you unhinged, too?" I tilted my head and flashed her a saccharine smile. "Go get your makeup done." Right before the cameras rolled, the cast mingled on set.

Jace swaggered straight toward me. "Leighton." My brows pinched together. "How do you know my name?" A smug, infuriating smirk hitched his lips. "Because I made it my business to find out." The floor director called for positions.

I couldn't be bothered to entertain him.

I reached for my custom angel mask, settling the cold material over my features. "Why do you always hide behind that thing?" Jace's voice dropped, the rough gravel of his tone slipping right through the heavy bass thumping from the stage monitors. "Does it concern you?" The annoyance flared hot in my chest.

Why did he talk so much?

Jace stared at me, his lips curving into a slow smile. "Do you have plans after the shoot?" I took a deep breath. "Do you need something?" Jace closed the gap.

His chest hovered inches from mine, trapping my oxygen.

He dipped his head, his breath grazing the exposed shell of my ear. "My place after this?" I let out a harsh, mocking breath. "Are you a stray dog in heat or something?

Back up." A low, dark chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. His eyes dropped to my lips, dilated and hungry. "Can you blame me?

Look who's standing right in front of me." I stretched my mouth into the sweetest, most venomous smile I could muster. "Piss off." Luckily, Jace flipped a switch the second the cameras blinked red.

He kept it strictly professional. No more unsolicited hovering. I kept the mask locked on for the entire first episode. Production was dragging out my face reveal.

They wanted to milk the suspense, farm that TikTok clout, and analyze the premiere's data before unmasking me. They didn't yell cut until past 4:00 AM.

I had downed enough espresso to kill a horse, but the exhaustion still dragged at my bones.

I hauled myself into the back of my Sprinter van, practically collapsing into the leather seat. The second I sank down, a massive shadow filled the open doorway. Jace.

The man was a total parasite. He braced a hand on the doorframe, leaning his heavy frame into my space. "Give me your number." I maintained my flawless, plastic smile. "Sorry.

I don't give my number to fuckboys." Jace arched a dark brow, not even blinking. "You don't even know me yet.

How do you know I'm a fuckboy?" I held his stare, deadeyed and unblinking. "Close the door." Eden lunged forward and slammed the heavy sliding door right in his smirking face.

She dropped into the seat beside me, vibrating with energy. "Boss, is Jace hitting on you?

He is so freaking hot!" I stared at my assistant, utterly exhausted. "He's not hitting on me, Eden.

He just wants to hook up." Eden muttered under her breath, sinking lower in her seat. "I mean, a hookup with him isn't exactly a tragedy.

I couldn't get him in my bed if I tried." I passed out the second my head hit the mattress. When I finally dragged my eyes open, daylight still bled through the blackout curtains.

Eden sat camped out in the living room. She bolted upright the second I emerged. "Boss! I was just about to wake you.

We need to get you to hair and makeup." Shooting two episodes backtoback was physically wrecking me.

I absolutely despised night shoots. "Call Roxanne," I rasped, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Tell her if the call time isn't during daylight hours, I'm not signing the contract." Eden grinned, completely ignoring my foul mood. "Honestly, Boss?

We have it so good right now. Strict eighthour shifts. My last boss pulled allnighters just for fun.

My hormones were completely trashed." I tuned out her chatter as a sharp ping echoed through the room. My phone screen lit up with a new notification.

Chapter 5 I snatched up my phone. A text from an unknown number glowed on the screen. 'It's me. Save my number.' My gut twisted. Jace. My thumbs flew across the keyboard.

How did you get my number? The typing bubble popped up instantly. I get what I want.

A harsh laugh punched out of my lungs. 'What an entitled brat.' I spun my chair around to face Eden. "How old is Jace?" "Twentysix!" Eden blurted out instantly.

Just another delusional fangirl. He was only two years younger than me. Why did he feel like such a child?

Dropping his name completely opened the floodgates for Eden. "Our Jace has been through it all.

He hit the absolute peak, crashed to rock bottom, and clawed his way right back to the top of the charts. Can you believe he's only twentysix?" Right. It clicked.

Jace debuted when he was twelve. His first album broke records. I actually bought that CD.

No wonder my brain had permanently filed him under 'kid.' My image of him had frozen in that era. Such a shame.

A kid with that much raw talent, completely corrupted by the industry over the years. All that innocent charm, gone. Not my problem, though.

As long as he kept his distance, I couldn't care less how toxic he became. My screen lit up with another text. When are you heading over?

I stared at the harsh blue light for a second, then locked my screen. I left him on read, threw my gear together, inhaled a quick bite, and headed straight to the studio.

I was trapped in the makeup chair when Jace strolled in.

He completely ignored the crew staring at him, dragged a chair over, and dropped into it right beside me. "Why are you ignoring my texts?" I kept my eyes clamped shut, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. "You won't even save my number," he griped, his voice dropping low. "Why are you so damn cold?" A dry laugh slipped out of me.

I cracked my eyes open and shot him a sideways glare. "I don't know you. Why would I give you the time of day?" "Save it and you'll know me.

We're coworkers now." He stated it like a fact, radiating sheer arrogance.

The makeup artist swiped the final gloss over my lips and quickly packed her brushes, practically sprinting over to Maisie.

Maisie was staring at us, her eyes wide, entirely consumed by the drama. This was spiraling out of control. "Outside.

Now." I hauled him out of the crowded room, dragging him down the hall into a deserted, dimly lit corner.

I planted my boots and glared up at him. "What exactly is your game here?" A slow, wicked grin spread across Jace's face. "Isn't it obvious?

I'm pursuing you." "I'm two years older than you." Jace just shrugged, unbothered. "And?" "I just got divorced." A dark, hungry laugh vibrated deep in his chest. "Perfect.

Saves me the trouble of being the other man." He didn't give me a single second to process. The physical distance between us vanished, his heavy frame trapping me against the wall.

The intoxicating scent of cedar and pure male heat swallowed my oxygen. I felt the rough calluses of his thumb drag along my jawline, tilting my face up.

The millimeter of air between our lips went scorching hot, buzzing with a frantic, suffocating tension. I heard the jagged hitch in his breathing—a desperate, starving sound.

My brain screamed at me to shove him away, but my fingers betrayed me, locking into the fabric of his shirt. Then, his mouth crashed down on mine.

I had survived years in this toxic industry, but the sheer, primal aggression of his kiss sent a violent shockwave through my system.

I shoved both hands against the solid, shifting muscles of his chest