"I told you," she snapped, standing abruptly, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. "Reschedule everything. My brand ambassador is recovering, for God's sake. Photoshoots, interviews, whatever stunt you had planned—cancel them all!"
She paused, eyes blazing, then added with finality, "Nothing gets released until he says he's ready. End of story."
The call ended with a harsh swipe. Starla sat down again, letting out a frustrated exhale.
Ryley blinked, stunned—not at her temper, but at her loyalty. At the sheer force of her defense.
It wasn't that he hadn't expected care from Starla. But this? Putting her rising empire on hold because of him?
Something shifted inside him. His heart ached—not from guilt, but from how unfamiliar that kind of protection felt.
Before he could say anything, Starla reached for his hand again, squeezing gently. Her voice softened.
"Don't worry about it. You come first. Take your time, okay? Work can wait."
