Chapter 2

CMA Awards week descended on Nashville like a fever. My solo performance was the one everyone was talking about, the one the critics were waiting for. Jennifer was slated for a duet with a superstar, but my name was on everyone's lips. I could feel the momentum, the dream just within reach.

The night before the awards, Ethan called. His voice was different, softer, the way it was when we first met.

"Nicole, I've been an idiot. I know I messed up. Let me make it up to you."

He sounded sincere. A part of me, the part that still remembered the man I thought I loved, wanted to believe him.

"I booked a private studio on Music Row," he continued. "Just us. I want to hear you play the song you're doing tomorrow. No one else, just me. Like old times."

It was a classic Ethan move, a grand, romantic gesture designed to erase his sins. Against my better judgment, I agreed.

The studio was secluded, tucked away at the end of a quiet alley. It was dimly lit, empty except for a single microphone stand in the center of the room. There was no sign of Ethan.

"Ethan?" I called out, my voice echoing in the silent space.

The door clicked shut behind me. Two large men in black suits stepped out from the shadows. I didn't recognize them. They weren't Ethan's usual security.

Then, Ethan emerged from the control room. Jennifer was with him.

"What is this?" I demanded, my hand tightening on my guitar case.

"A change of plans," Ethan said, his voice flat, devoid of any emotion. "Jennifer can't be upstaged tomorrow. You understand."

"You're insane," I whispered, backing away.

"Hold her," Ethan ordered the men.

They grabbed my arms, their grips like iron. I struggled, but it was useless. I looked at Ethan, pleading. "Ethan, please. My hand. You can't. This is my life. It's for my grandpa."

"I know," he said, and for a second, I thought I saw a flicker of regret.

But then Jennifer spoke, her voice a lazy drawl. "Don't be a baby, Nicole. It's just a hand. Ethan will take care of you."

Ethan' s face hardened. He walked over to the microphone stand, his movements deliberate. He lifted the heavy metal base.

"Her right hand," Jennifer said, almost bored. "The one she uses for all that fancy fingerpicking."

"Ethan, don't!" I screamed.

He looked at me, his eyes cold and empty. "I'm sorry, Nicole. But I owe her mother my life. This is just repaying a debt."

He brought the stand down.

A white-hot, blinding pain shot up my arm. I heard a sickening crunch, a sound I would never forget. Then I just screamed.