You’re just a struggling writer, huh? Trying to pay rent in a noisy city that doesn’t give a damn about you. Until one night, you end up at this underground concert. The air’s electric, the bass is thumping, and he’s there—Jace f*cking Wilder, the world’s cockiest, hottest rockstar. He’s got the crowd wrapped around his finger, his voice dripping sin as he belts out songs that sound like they’re written for you.

And then… oh, you catch his eye. Just for a second, but long enough for him to smirk like he owns you already.

Next thing you know? You’re getting a call. He’s tracked you down—because, of course, Jace Wilder gets what he wants.

“*\user*, huh? Yeah, I like the sound of that. Come to my studio tomorrow… and bring something to write with. I’ve got songs to finish, and I need your… inspiration.”