Chapter 1

Number nine.

This was the ninth girl Julian Vance had brought to me to "ghost-sing" an entire album for.

The girl strutted around the recording studio with pure disdain:

"You've been signed to him for ten years, and he hasn't released a single track for you?"

"We only met today, and he already asked me if I wanted to be a superstar."

"I was wondering how I was supposed to pull it off since I'm totally tone-deaf. Turns out he's got you, his little 'shadow.'"

Yeah.

Julian was one of the biggest music producers in the country. There was no one he couldn't turn into a star—only people he didn't care to.

Before Mia, eight other girls had caught his eye. He gave them songs, launched their careers, and turned them into overnight sensations.

All built on my back, of course. The ghost behind the glass.

I used to break down, screaming and sobbing at him until my lungs burned: "If all you love is this voice, what if I destroy it?! Would you care then?!"

All I ever got back was a calm, dismissive brush-off: "Stop acting crazy. You're my greatest masterpiece. How could I not love you?"

That, and a credit card with an ever-increasing limit.

So this time, I said nothing. I checked the mic, calibrated the pitch, and recorded the tracks, acting completely unfazed by Mia's taunts.

Seeing how docile I was, Julian smiled, pleased, and affectionately ruffled my hair.

He seemed to have forgotten, though.

Our ten-year contract was set to expire in exactly ten days.

"Stop, stop, stop!" Mia marched over to the soundboard and wrapped herself around Julian's arm.

"Julian, babe, I hate this track. It's way too slow and emotional. Can we change the style?"

Sitting behind the console, Julian asked softly, "What kind of vibe do you want, Mia?"

"Something explosive! A club banger!" she whined, pouting.

I looked down and adjusted the mic stand.

Last year, I had tried adding a subtle improvised vocal run into a chorus.

His face had instantly turned to stone:

"Clara, remember your place. Follow the sheet music. Don't take liberties."

Now, he just ruffled Mia's hair. "Alright. If you want it changed, we change it. Our Mia deserves something special."

I put my headphones back on.

During a break in soundcheck, Mia spotted an acoustic guitar resting against the wall.

"Whoa, this guitar is gorgeous!" She reached out to grab it.

My chest tightened.

That was Julian's prized possession, custom-crafted by an Italian luthier.

Three years ago, I had accidentally brushed against it while cleaning, and he had completely lost his temper: "Don't touch it! That guitar is worth more than your life!"

Mia strummed the strings randomly, producing a harsh, discordant screech.

Julian walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "You like it?"

"It's pretty! But it's kind of heavy."

She shoved the instrument into his chest. "It hurt my fingers."

He took it, tossed it carelessly onto a nearby couch, and rubbed her fingers. "I'll find you a lighter one next time."

Standing nearby, I felt a heavy, sickening knot form in my stomach.

A slow, stinging ache.

The studio AC hummed loudly. Wearing a short-sleeved shirt, my arms broke out in goosebumps.

"It's boiling in here! Julian, turn the AC down," Mia complained, tugging at her collar and fanning herself.

Julian cranked it down to sixty-four degrees.

The freezing air blew directly onto the back of my neck.

"Thirsty?" he asked, looking down at Mia. "What do you want to drink? I'll go grab it."

"An iced boba milk tea! Extra sweet!" she chirped. "And a slice of tiramisu!"

He snatched his car keys and walked straight out.

I watched his retreating back.

For ten years, I had sung until my throat felt like sandpaper, and he had never once asked if I needed a sip of water.

Julian returned quickly, carrying the drinks along with several delicate pastries.

"Here, Mia. Take a break and eat something first."

He poked the straw in and held it right to her lips.

Sipping her drink, Mia barked orders at me: "Hey, shadow? Let's redo that last take. The vibe was totally off."

Taking a deep breath, I stepped back into the booth.

Because she kept demanding style changes, it was ten at night and we still didn't have a good cut.

Outside, a heavy storm began to pour.

As I packed my things, Julian suddenly spoke up. "Clara, I'll drive you."

I froze and looked up at him.

In ten years, this was the very first time he had ever offered to take me home.

In the dead ashes of my heart, a faint wisp of smoke inexplicably flickered.

"Just in case you catch a cold and mess up your voice for tomorrow's session," he added smoothly.

The rain outside instantly doused that tiny spark.

I understood. He was just terrified I'd get sick and derail Mia's debut.

The heater in the car blasted warm air.

"Aside from her vocals, Mia has the perfect look and star presence," he murmured, almost to himself. "Her debut has to be flawless."

I stared out the window at the rain streaking across the glass, staying silent.

The car pulled up to the curb outside my run-down apartment complex, stopping short of the gate.

"You can walk from here, right?"

Julian stared straight ahead. "It's just a few steps. Mia's exhausted, and I need to take her back to rest."

In the rearview mirror, Mia was fast asleep, wrapped in Julian's jacket.

A sudden realization hit me like a slap.

He was taking her to the family estate? The ancestral property he always claimed was sacred ground, where he never brought outsiders?

I didn't say a word. I pushed the door open, the downpour instantly soaking my shoulders.

The taillights sped away into the night, leaving me standing in the pouring rain, watching them fade into the dark.

She really was different to him.