"I don't need a replacement," Jason hissed, glaring daggers at the trainee the new management wanted to put in his place. "I can get back to work. My physical therapy's going great. My knee's basically better now."

It was a lie, of course. Jason's left knee still hurt like hell every time he put weight on it, not to mention his ankle and wrist. His doctor had told him he needed rest for another few months, but he wasn't having it.

The agency had refused to pay for his treatment despite the fact he'd had an accident during a performance because of the stage giving way. They'd had the gall to claim he'd been over the maximum weight in his new contract—which was ridiculous in the first place. The minimum measurements alone already put him past the weight limit. It was impossible for a big guy like him to weigh that little and they knew it.

On top of that, now they wanted to replace him entirely. His brother had been paying for his treatment, been forced to return to showbiz and sign a predatory contract, all for his sake. Jason knew what the agency's plan was; they'd claim breach of contract since the accident had been "his" fault, and he'd have to pay a giant fine. They wanted to use him to trap his family into this for as long as possible.

There was no way in hell he was letting that happen.

"I don't care that this newbie's already signed the contract. My contract is still valid. I'm here. The fans want me back. Let me rehearse. I'll be back to my usual shape soon, I promise. I'll be the best."

He hated that he'd been reduced to this, begging the higher-ups to give him another chance. Before the change in management he'd felt like his agency had actually cared about him.

After much insistence on Jason's part, they relented. The trainee—well, not a trainee anymore, but may as well have been, in his eyes—was told to teach him the choreo and singing parts.

"Don't need you to preach to the choir," Jason barked at the trainee, trying not to wince at how badly his knee hurt. "Just do it, and I'll copy you."