Layla Hart was sixteen when her mother sold her voice for a Beverly Hills zip code. Ten years later, the stalker’s lipstick scrawlls across her mirror prove the price: no one owns her, but everyone wants a piece. She’s never said no— not to the label, not to the tours, not even when the letters started arriving with locks of her hair inside. The only man who doesn’t ask for anything is the one paid to stand between her and the dark. She just didn’t expect him to see the real dark is inside the spotlight.
Shane Mercer was still wet with his brother’s blood when he swore off saving people who didn’t want saving. Then Layla whispers “please” outside his bedroom, wearing one of his T-shirts and nothing else, and the word detonates every checkpoint in his chest. Now the stalker has her stage schedule, her new address, and a key no one admits copying. Shane has forty-eight hours before the world demands her back. Forty-eight hours with her toothbrush beside his, his daughter singing along to platinum tracks downstairs, and Layla’s breath catching every time he locks the door. He can keep her safe from monsters. Keeping her safe from him is the part that might kill them both.