Leaving Love for Freedom

The morning light filtered through the studio windows as I made my way down the familiar hallway, a box of wedding favor samples tucked under my arm. Two days until I would become Mrs. Carter. Two days until Romeo and I would formalize what had been true for the past eight years—that we were a team, in music and in life.

I paused outside Studio C, hearing Romeo's voice through the door. He was supposed to be finalizing our album's bonus track, but I hadn't expected him to be here so early. Perfect—I could surprise him and maybe steal him away for lunch to discuss final wedding details.

My hand froze on the doorknob as I caught fragments of conversation.

"—absolutely perfect for Rosalia's album launch," Romeo was saying, his voice carrying that excited pitch I knew so well. "The wedding song has that emotional hook her music's been missing."

Wedding song? Our wedding song?

"You sure Emma won't mind?" That was Marcus, Romeo's manager. "She wrote most of it, right?"

"It's just business," Romeo replied dismissively. "Besides, I'm the one who shaped it into something marketable. Emma just does the initial melody work—I'm the one who makes it a hit."

My chest tightened as if someone had wrapped a vise around my ribs. Eight years of pouring my soul into his music, of staying up nights perfecting lyrics while he slept, of coaching him through vocal techniques he still struggled with—reduced to "initial melody work."

"Rosalia's going to kill it with this track," Romeo continued. "She's got that star quality, that hunger. She'll make it explosive in ways Emma never could."

I pushed the door open, the wedding favor samples tumbling from my grasp. Three heads snapped toward me—Romeo, Marcus, and the studio producer, Alan.

"Emma!" Romeo's face shifted instantly from surprise to his practiced camera-ready smile. "Baby, you're early! I was just wrapping up some business with—"

"Our wedding song?" My voice sounded distant, even to my own ears. "The one we wrote together about our journey? The one that was supposed to be just for us?"

Romeo crossed the room, hands outstretched, that familiar crease appearing between his eyebrows—the one that showed up whenever he needed to charm his way out of a situation.

"It's not like that," he said softly, trying to take my hands. I stepped back. "Rosalia needs a strong lead single, and this song is perfect. It's just business, Em."

"Just business?" The numbness was giving way to something hot and sharp. "That song is about us. About the night we met, about sleeping in your car when we couldn't afford rent, about promising to never forget where we came from."

Romeo ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair—a nervous tic I'd once found endearing. "Come on, Em. It's just some sentimental wedding moment versus a major career opportunity for Rosalia. You know how the industry works."

"For Rosalia." I repeated the name slowly. "My stepsister Rosalia. Who's been trying to get between us since we were teenagers."

"Don't make this personal," Romeo sighed, glancing at Marcus with a look that clearly said women and their emotions. "This is why you're still writing backup tracks while I'm headlining stadiums. You don't understand the business side."

Before I could respond, my phone rang. Unknown number. I almost ignored it, but something made me answer.

"Ms. Barnes?" A clinical voice. "This is Memorial Hospital. I'm calling about your mother, Patricia Barnes."

My blood went cold. "What's happened?"

"I'm afraid her treatment has been suspended due to payment issues. The transfer you arranged hasn't come through, and we can't continue without—"

"There must be a mistake," I interrupted, panic rising. "The payment was supposed to go through three weeks ago."

I looked up at Romeo, who was pretending to be absorbed in something on his phone. The payment he had promised to make. The treatment my mother couldn't miss.

"Romeo," I said, my voice shaking. "Did you transfer the money for Mom's treatment?"

He looked up, confusion crossing his face before recognition dawned. "Shit, Em. With the album deadline and tour prep... I completely forgot."

Forgot. My mother's life-saving treatment, and he forgot.

"I'll handle it right now," I told the hospital, ending the call. My hands trembled as I pulled up my banking app, transferring every cent from my personal savings.

"Baby, I'm sorry," Romeo was saying, reaching for me again. "I've just been so busy with the album. I'll pay you back double, I promise."

I looked at him—really looked at him—perhaps for the first time in years. The man I'd loved since we were struggling nobodies. The man whose career I'd built with my talent while remaining in the shadows. The man who had just given away our most intimate song and forgotten to save my mother's life.

And suddenly, with perfect clarity, I understood exactly who Romeo Carter really was.