Chapter 3

When I burst into the studio, Julian was standing by the console with his back to the door.

Mia sat in the swivel chair, her eyes red and puffy from crying.

"You're finally here," Mia shrieked, leaping to her feet. "Did you do this?!"

Still trying to catch my breath, I gasped, "Do what?"

"Someone leaked a track and is claiming my debut single is stolen!" She slammed a tablet onto the table in front of me. "Did you leak this demo?!"

On the screen was an old indie music hosting site. Playing through the speakers was an acoustic track I had written in high school, titled Gentle Breeze. It had been uploaded a week ago.

Several lines of lyrics matched Mia's new single word-for-word—the exact lines Julian had tweaked based on my suggestions.

Julian turned around, his expression ice-cold. "Explain."

"I wrote that song back in high school," I said, my voice trembling. "I never published it anywhere, and I've never even heard of that website!"

"Cut the innocent act!" Mia screamed.

"You're just jealous! You're trying to ruin me! Who else could have posted your song?!"

Julian glared at me, his eyes dark. "So this was your plan all along? Ruining her as payback?"

I was stunned. "What?"

"First, you casually suggest 'tweaks' to the melody, and then the moment Mia's single is scheduled to drop, you hire internet trolls to cry plagiarism," he sneered. "Methodical, aren't you?"

"You're not just trying to take Mia down. You're trying to destroy me."

My heart felt like it had been struck by a sledgehammer.

"No, that's not... that song was..."

"Was what? What lie are you going to spin now?"

That song was written for you.

It was the unspoken, buried secret of my teenage heart.

During our high school talent show, he had sat at a grand piano under the spotlight, shining like a beacon in my dull world.

I had become completely captivated. Every day after class, I would stand outside the practice rooms just to listen to him play. His favorite piece was Mariage d'Amour.

I saved every video of his performances. I even spent an extra year grinding to get into the same music conservatory he attended.

After graduating, just because he offhandedly mentioned he loved girls with stunning voices, I trained my vocal cords ruthlessly, day in and day out, just to earn the right to stand beside him.

What was the point of saying any of that now?

He wouldn't care.

Julian picked up his phone. "PR department. Put out a statement."

"Say Clara copied Mia's unreleased work and maliciously leaked it online to defame her."

I stared at him in horror. "How can you twist the truth like that?!"

"It's not like you're a public figure anyway," he said, casually adjusting his cufflinks. "Nobody is going to remember your name. Mia is different. She's meant to be a superstar."

His assistant hesitated. "Mr. Vance, Miss Clara's reputation..."

"I don't care about her reputation," Julian cut him off with a flick of his hand. "Do as I said."

"This is what happens when you try to play smart."

A smug, vicious grin spread across Mia's face.

Within two hours, orchestrated by professional PR bots, my face, real name, and personal details were plastered across every social media platform.

My phone blew up with calls from burner numbers:

[Go die, you thieving fraud!]

[How dare you sabotage Mia!]

[Doxx her! Make sure she never works again!]

I curled up on the sofa, watching the vile comments flood my notifications.

The screen lit up with a text from Julian:

[Keep your head down and stop causing trouble, and you'll still be Mrs. Vance one day.]

[Push me again, and all bets are off.]

The next day was supposed to be the live showcase for Mia's single.

My vocal cords were so swollen and raw that I couldn't even whisper, making it impossible to ghost-sing behind the curtain. Julian was forced to downgrade the event to a simple fan-signing, cutting the live performance entirely.

Around noon, as I was choking down some soup, my apartment door was violently kicked open.

Two of Julian's assistants barged in.

One grabbed me roughly by the arm. "You're coming to the studio."

Dizzy with fever and physically weak, I was dragged out the door.

A dreadful chill settled over my chest.