PART 3 OF 3 – FINALE

Undercover and Over Her Head

Sometimes the truth is more dangerous than the lies—and love is worth risking everything.

Chapter 15: First Day in Paradise (Or Prison)

Ryland’s Malibu house was less of a home and more of a fortress disguised as a beach property. High walls, security cameras, gates that required three separate codes to open. I arrived Monday morning at seven, just as Margaret had instructed.

A different security guard—not one of the men who’d thrown me out at the golf club, thank god—checked my ID against a list and let me through.

The house itself was stunning. Modern architecture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean, minimalist furniture that probably cost more than most people’s cars. But it felt empty. Not just of people—of personality. No photos on the walls. No personal touches. It looked like a magazine spread, not a home.

Margaret met me in the kitchen. “Emily. Right on time. Coffee?”

“Please.”

She poured two cups and handed me one. “Ryland’s still sleeping. He had a late studio session last night. Your primary duties include managing his calendar, coordinating with his team, handling personal correspondence, and basically making sure his life runs smoothly. You’ll have access to his schedule, his email, and his personal phone for work purposes.”

Access to everything. Perfect.

“You’ll also need to be discreet about his… moods. Ryland can be difficult. He’s under a lot of pressure.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Lucky will check in regularly. He’s very involved in Ryland’s day-to-day life. If Ryland asks for anything unusual, run it by Lucky first.”

That was the second time someone had mentioned Lucky’s control. Not Ryland’s label, not his publicist—Lucky.

“Does Ryland always need approval for his decisions?”

Margaret’s smile tightened. “Lucky protects Ryland’s interests. They have an… understanding.”

Before I could ask more, footsteps sounded on the stairs.

And there he was.

Ryland Pierce, in sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair messy from sleep, looking more human than I’d seen him in years. He walked into the kitchen without acknowledging either of us, went straight for the coffee, and drank it black while staring out the window.

My heart hammered. This was it. The moment he’d recognize me, blow my cover, and have me thrown out again.

But he just glanced at me briefly. “New assistant?”

“Emily Rivers,” I said, keeping my voice steady and professional. “It’s an honor to work with you, Mr. Pierce.”

“Ryland’s fine. I don’t do the formal thing.” He turned back to the window. “What’s on my schedule today?”

Margaret handed me a tablet. “Photo shoot at ten, interview at two, dinner with Lucky at seven.”

He sighed. “Cancel the dinner. I’m tired.”

“You can’t cancel on Lucky,” Margaret said quickly. “He’s bringing potential investors.”

“Then Lucky can have dinner with investors and leave me out of it.”

“Ryland—”

“I said no.” His voice was sharp, exhausted. Then he walked out, leaving his coffee cup on the counter.

Margaret sighed. “Don’t cancel the dinner. He’ll show up. He always does.”

Chapter 16: Cracks in the Facade

The first week was a blur of learning Ryland’s routine, which was relentlessly structured by Lucky. Wake at seven. Breakfast—exactly 400 calories, meal-prepped by a service Lucky hired. Gym with a trainer Lucky approved. Studio sessions, meetings, appearances—all scheduled by Lucky. Dinner at seven, in bed by eleven.

Ryland went through the motions like a robot. He was professional during shoots and interviews, charming when he needed to be. But the second cameras turned off, his face went blank.

He barely spoke to me except to ask about his schedule or request simple tasks. He didn’t recognize me, didn’t seem interested in knowing anything about “Emily Rivers.”

But I was learning things.

Lucky called multiple times a day. Not to check on business—to check on Ryland. Where he was, who he was with, what he was doing. The conversations always had the same undertone: control disguised as concern.

Ryland’s phone was monitored. I saw Lucky’s name pop up with tracking app notifications.

And weirdest of all—Ryland’s mom was nowhere. No calls, no visits, no photos of her anywhere in the house. Carol Pierce, who’d been Ryland’s whole world, had vanished from his life completely.

On day eight, I finally worked up the courage to ask.

Ryland was in his home studio, sitting at the piano but not playing, just staring at the keys. I knocked softly.

“Sorry to interrupt. Lucky wants to know if you’ve finished the lyrics for the new single.”

“Tell Lucky I’ll finish them when I finish them.”

I hesitated. “Can I ask you something personal?”

He looked up, surprised. “What?”

“I noticed you never mention your family. Your mom—is she still in New York?”

His expression shuttered immediately. “That’s none of your business.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“My personal life stays personal. You’re here to manage my schedule, not psychoanalyze me.” He stood abruptly. “Tell Lucky the lyrics will be ready by Friday.”

He walked out, leaving me alone in the studio.

Chapter 17: The Discovery

On my tenth day working for Ryland, I found the files.

Lucky had asked me to retrieve a contract from Ryland’s home office. While searching through the filing cabinet, I found a folder marked “Personal – Confidential.”

I shouldn’t have looked. I knew that. But I opened it anyway.

Inside were documents that made my blood run cold.

A management contract between Ryland Pierce and Lucas Morrison, dated three years ago. The terms were insane—Lucky controlled everything. Ryland’s music, his image, his finances, even his personal relationships. There was a clause about “maintaining brand integrity” that essentially gave Lucky veto power over who Ryland could associate with.

Another document: a non-disclosure agreement Carol Pierce had signed two years ago, along with a settlement payment of $500,000. The NDA prevented her from discussing Ryland publicly or attempting to contact him without Lucky’s approval.

Lucky had paid off Ryland’s mom and made her sign away her relationship with her son.

But why would Carol agree to that? Unless…

I kept digging and found medical records. Carol had been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s two years ago. She was in a private care facility in Arizona. The bills—nearly $15,000 per month—were paid by Lucky’s company.

That’s why Ryland had changed. That’s why he’d ghosted everyone from his past, including me. Lucky had isolated him completely, using his mother’s health as a weapon.

And the NDA meant Ryland couldn’t talk about it without risking his mom’s care.

I was still staring at the documents when I heard footsteps.

Ryland stood in the doorway, looking at the papers in my hands. His face went white.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Chapter 18: The Confrontation

“I was looking for the contract Lucky wanted—”

“Those are private files. You had no right.” He crossed the room in three strides and snatched the folder from me. “You’re fired. Get out.”

“Ryland, wait—”

“I said get out!”

“I know about your mom. I know what Lucky’s doing to you.”

He froze.

“I know he’s using her care as leverage. I know you’re trapped in this contract. And I know—” I pulled off my glasses, my hands shaking. “I know you didn’t forget me. You couldn’t tell me the truth.”

Ryland stared at me, recognition slowly dawning on his face. “Eva?”

My name, spoken in his voice after three years of silence, broke something inside me.

“Yeah. It’s me.”

He stepped back like I’d slapped him. “What are you—why—”

“Because you pretended not to know me at the golf club. Because I needed to understand why you disappeared. Because I—” My voice cracked. “Because I couldn’t let you go without knowing the truth.”

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Then Ryland sank into the desk chair, dropping his head into his hands.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” he said quietly. “Lucky will destroy you if he finds out.”

“Let him try. Ryland, we can fix this. We can get you out of this contract—”

“You don’t understand. Lucky doesn’t just control my career. He’s using my mom’s care facility as leverage. If I break the contract, he’ll pull funding for her treatment. She needs specialized care for her Alzheimer’s. Without Lucky’s payments, I can’t afford it.”

“We’ll find another way. There are lawyers who specialize in contract disputes—”

“I’ve tried. Lucky made sure the contract is airtight. And even if I could break it legally, the legal battle would take years. My mom doesn’t have years.”

The defeat in his voice was crushing.

“That’s why you cut everyone off,” I said. “Lucky wanted you isolated so you’d be easier to control.”

“The contract has a clause about ‘maintaining appropriate relationships.’ Lucky interprets that however he wants. Anyone from my past is a threat to his control. When you showed up at the golf club, I had to pretend not to know you. He was watching.”

“Your security guards.”

“They report everything to Lucky. Eva, you need to leave before he figures out who you really are. If he thinks you’re a threat—”

“I’m not leaving you like this.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, I do. And I choose to help you, whether you want me to or not.”

He looked at me then, really looked at me, and I saw the boy I’d fallen in love with underneath all the pain and exhaustion.

“Why?” he whispered. “After everything, why would you help me?”

“Because you’re still my best friend. And because I—” I stopped, the words catching in my throat.

Because I never stopped loving you.

I didn’t say it. But from the look on his face, he knew.

Chapter 19: The Plan

We had three days before Lucky’s next in-person visit. Three days to figure out how to free Ryland without endangering his mother.

I spent those days digging through every document I could access. The management contract was predatory but technically legal. The NDA with Carol was ironclad. Lucky had covered his bases.

But he’d made one mistake: he’d built his empire on leverage and secrecy. And secrets, once exposed, lose their power.

“What if we go public?” I suggested on day two. Ryland and I were in his studio late at night—the only place without cameras. “Expose the contract, the coercion, everything. The public backlash would force Lucky out.”

“And he’d immediately cut off my mom’s care. It would take weeks to get her transferred to another facility, and she’s fragile. The stress alone could—” He shook his head. “I can’t risk it.”

“What if we move her first? Get her into a new facility before we expose Lucky?”

“With what money? I’m technically a millionaire, but Lucky controls all my accounts. I get an allowance like a kid.”

I thought for a moment. “My sister works in healthcare administration. She might know someone who can help. And if we can document everything Lucky’s done—the coercion, the financial control—we might be able to break the contract on grounds of duress.”

Ryland looked at me with something like hope. “You really think this could work?”

“I think we have to try. You can’t live like this, Ryland. You’re barely surviving.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then: “I’m sorry. For everything. For ghosting you, for being a jerk at the golf club. I thought pushing you away would keep you safe from Lucky, but—”

“I know. I understand now.”

“I missed you,” he said softly. “Every day. You were the only real thing in my life, and Lucky took that too.”

I reached across the space between us and took his hand. “Then let’s take your life back.”

Chapter 20: The Rescue

Sky came through. She had a contact at a care facility in Oregon that specialized in Alzheimer’s patients and was willing to expedite Carol’s transfer. The cost was astronomical, but Sky offered to take out a loan, and I liquidated my savings.

The facility in Arizona, it turned out, wasn’t actually controlled by Lucky—he just paid the bills. Carol’s power of attorney was still technically held by Ryland, something Lucky had overlooked.

We moved fast. While Lucky was in New York for meetings, Ryland flew to Arizona, signed the transfer papers, and personally escorted his mother to Oregon. I handled the logistics from LA, making sure everything looked normal on Ryland’s schedule.

When Lucky called to check in, I told him Ryland was at a private studio session. When he called again an hour later, I said the same thing. By the third call, his voice had an edge.

“Put Ryland on the phone. Now.”

“He specifically asked not to be disturbed. Creative process.”

“I don’t care what he asked. Emily, if you don’t—”

I hung up.

Ten minutes later, Lucky’s car screeched into the driveway.

I met him at the door. “Mr. Morrison, Ryland’s not here.”

“Where is he?”

“He didn’t say.”

Lucky’s face went red. “You’re lying. Get out of my way.”

He shoved past me and tore through the house, checking every room. When he realized Ryland was really gone, he rounded on me.

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. Maybe Ryland finally got tired of being your puppet.”

His eyes narrowed. “Who are you? Really?”

“Someone who knows exactly what you’ve done. The coercion, the isolation, using his mother as leverage. All of it.”

“You have no proof of anything.”

“Actually, I have copies of everything. The contract. The NDA. The care facility payments. And I’ve already sent them to a lawyer who specializes in entertainment law. Turns out contracts signed under duress aren’t enforceable.”

Lucky’s expression turned dangerous. “You have no idea what you’ve done. I made Ryland. Without me, he’s nothing.”

“No. Without him, you’re nothing. And everyone’s about to find out.”

Chapter 21: The Aftermath

The legal battle was brutal. Lucky fought tooth and nail to maintain control, but with Carol safely in a new facility and multiple lawyers reviewing the contract, Ryland finally had leverage.

The story broke in the entertainment press: “Pop Star Ryland Pierce Breaks From Controlling Manager, Alleges Coercion.” Public opinion turned fast. Fans who’d wondered why Ryland seemed so different rallied around him. Other artists managed by Lucky started coming forward with their own stories.

Within three months, the contract was dissolved. Lucky’s company imploded under the weight of the scandal. Ryland was free.

But freedom came with consequences. Ryland had to rebuild his career from scratch, firing most of Lucky’s team and starting over with people he could trust. The legal fees and his mother’s ongoing care costs ate through his savings. He moved out of the Malibu fortress and into a modest apartment in LA.

For the first time in years, he was broke, uncertain, and completely in control of his own life.

He’d never been happier.

Chapter 22: Second Chances

Three months after Lucky’s empire fell, Ryland showed up at my apartment in New York.

I opened the door to find him standing there in jeans and a hoodie, looking more like the boy I remembered than the superstar he’d become.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

“Can I come in?”

I stepped aside, my heart racing. He walked into my small, cluttered apartment—so different from his Malibu prison—and looked around with a smile.

“This is nice. It actually looks like someone lives here.”

“Ryland, what are you doing here?”

He turned to face me. “I wanted to apologize. Properly. For leaving after high school and not staying in touch. For being such a jerk when you came looking for me. I was so frustrated with my life, and taking it out on people around me made me feel like I had some control. But that’s not an excuse. I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

“I know why you did it now. You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do. You risked everything to help me. You figured out I was in trouble when everyone else just thought I’d turned into an asshole. You—” He stopped, his voice thick with emotion. “You saved me, Eva. And I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

“You don’t need to thank me. You’d have done the same thing.”

“I hope so.” He stepped closer. “I also wanted to ask if you’d let me get to know you again. I feel like I’ve been gone for three years, and I’ve missed so much of your life. If you’re willing, I’d love a second chance. Not as the guy who abandoned you, but as the friend you deserved all along.”

I looked at him—really looked at him. The exhaustion was gone from his eyes. He looked lighter, younger, more like himself than he had in years.

“Are you sure? Because that’s going to take a while. I have a lot of stories to tell you, and I’m not always the easiest person to be around.”

He smiled—that real, genuine smile I hadn’t seen since we were teenagers. “Oh, I’ve got plenty of time. I’m not going anywhere.”

“What about your career? Your music?”

“I’m taking a break from the industry stuff. Writing music for myself again, not for charts or labels. And I want to be closer to my mom. Oregon’s not far, but I was thinking… maybe New York could use another struggling musician.”

My heart skipped. “You’re moving here?”

“If that’s okay with you. I’m not asking for anything more than friendship right now. But I’d like to be in your life again, if you’ll let me.”

I thought about all the years I’d spent angry at him, all the imaginary conversations where I told him off, all the closure I’d thought I needed.

None of it mattered anymore.

“Yeah,” I said, smiling through sudden tears. “I’d like that.”