Rhea Vale didn't knock because she didn't have to.
The moment she stepped into the studio, memories she'd buried under contracts and champagne came flooding back—raw vocals, sleepless nights, lyrics scribbled on napkins. She had been where Liam Carter stood now. Once.
He looked younger than she expected. Less hardened. His eyes still held that untarnished fire. The same fire that got me burned, she thought.
She kept her voice smooth, professional. She couldn't afford to sound like she cared. "Everline Media wants to talk," she said, watching the way Liam's posture stiffened. His fingers twitched. Not out of fear—anticipation. That hope. Still intact.
She hated it.
Not because he didn't deserve it.
But because he did.
She handed him the folder. Sleek. Elegant. Dangerous. "It's not a contract," she said. "It's a beginning."
His hands trembled slightly when he took it. Still human, she noted. Not a machine. Not yet.
Behind her cool expression, something twisted. Rhea knew what Everline would do to him—how they'd wrap him in praise, dangle fake choices, then cut him into a marketable shape.
And the worst part? He'd smile through it all… until it was too late.
Ace Maddox was glaring at her, eyes full of unspoken warnings. He thought she didn't care. He was wrong. She cared too much. That's why she buried it.
She turned to leave. Before I say something I can't take back.
The door clicked shut behind her, but her heart stayed in that room. With the boy who reminded her of who she used to be—and the artist who might still save himself, if he had the spine to walk away from everything she couldn't.
She got into her car. Checked her phone. Dozens of unread messages.
Everline:
"Is he biting?"
Her thumbs hovered. Then typed:
"He's thinking."
And beneath the glare of her phone screen, Rhea whispered the words she couldn't say in person.
"Please… don't make the same deal I did."
The End of POV