Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chaos blew out a breath of frustration. Zena had been butchering the chorus for the last two hours straight.
What was supposed to be a quick, effortless session ended up dragging far longer than anticipated.
She could tell he was trying his best to keep his temper in check, but the mounting agitation was written all over his face.
“Yo, you want to take a fifteen?” Chaos’s voice cut flatly through the talkback microphone.
Zena shook her head, adjusting the headphones over her ears. She flicked anxiously through the pages of her notebook on the music stand. “Can we just run the chorus one more time?”
Chaos sucked his teeth, turning his head to look over at his engineer, Cool.
“Man, I thought Danger said shorty could actually spit,” Cool muttered, not even bothering to lower his voice as he pulled out his phone. “Her ass is mid at best.”
Chaos kept his mouth shut. He had always been the silent type, preferring to let the music do the talking, but he couldn't deny the energy was off. He knew Zena was deeply talented, but right now, she couldn’t hold the vital note they needed to save her life. Her head just wasn’t in the room.
He adjusted a few faders on the soundboard, queued up the playback, and nodded through the glass for Zena to go ahead.
This take was almost worse than the last. It was so bad that Cool didn't even wait for the track to finish before he started packing his stuff into his backpack.
“I’m gonna go out and smoke right quick,” Chaos said, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood up. “Just… take a moment to yourself.”
The studio door clicked shut, leaving Zena alone.
She snatched the headphones off and slammed them down on the stand.
This shit was so much harder than she remembered.
The game felt different from when she was younger.
Back then, she could sing for eight hours straight without her throat tightening up, but now?
Her stomach was uneasy, her throat raw, and her head throbbed from the tight clamp of the headphones.
A wave of doubt washed over her, making her think this whole comeback was a mistake.
Thirty minutes ticked by, and Chaos still hadn’t returned. Figuring he had ghosted the session, Zena sighed and stepped out of the booth.
She was silently packing her notebook into her bag when the door clicked open. She turned around, expecting to see Chaos, but instead, she locked eyes with Danger. He was flashing a warm smile, balancing two black takeout bags and a cardboard drink tray.
Zena crossed her arms. “What are you doing here?” She could have sworn he told her he was locked in meetings all week.
“Chaos called to say you were having a rough session,” Danger said as he set the food on the lounge table. “You know, the second I get a call about you, I’m running to see what's wrong.”
He was dressed down for once, sporting a casual grey Nike tech-fleece sweatsuit and box-fresh white Jordan’s 11’s.
“Is that right?” Zena muttered, though she had to bite the inside of her lip to fight back a small smile.
Danger reached out, grabbed her hand gently yet firm, and pulled her down onto the leather couch beside him. “You good? You hungry?”
He unknotted the plastic bags, pulling out four foam containers stacked with street tacos.
“I didn’t know if you were in the mood for steak, chicken, or shrimp,” Danger admitted. “So, I just told them to give me all three.”
Wasting no time, Zena’s appetite over took her pride. She grabbed a container, lifted a loaded steak taco, and took a bite. A soft moan of appreciation escaped her throat.
“Oh my god… this is incredible. Thank you.”
Danger nodded, a satisfied smirk on his face as he pulled out his phone to clear out a few urgent texts and emails while she ate.
The room grew quiet as they finished off the food.
Danger tapped out a quick text to Chaos, telling him to get his ass back so they could wrap up the session.
Zena stared down at the empty foam container in her lap, the shadow of doubt returning. “I don’t know if I can do this, Dmitri,” she mumbled, her voice so low it was barely audible.
Danger set his phone face down on the table and turned his full attention to her.
“You’ve gotta get out of your own head, Zena.
If there’s one thing in this world I have an ear for, it’s good music.
You can’t keep sitting on your talent. It’s not fair to yourself, and honestly, it’s not fair to the world.
Somebody out there needs your art a whole lot more than you do right now. ”
“I’m trying…”
“Then try harder,” Danger said. “Your head isn’t in the room today. You can’t keep navigating this with one foot in and one foot out. You’ve got to fully commit to the music.”
Zena stayed silent, letting his words drop into her chest. She traced the edge of her notebook. “My voice… it doesn’t sound the same as it used to.”
“And? You’re older now,” Danger countered smoothly. “If anything, your tone has more seasoning. More life in it. All I’m hearing right now is a bunch of excuses.”
Zena glanced up, her eyes wide with terror. “What if the old label hears it? What if they recognize my voice on the radio?”
“I can’t sit here and promise you they won’t,” Danger said, leaning in closer, his calm eyes locking onto hers with certainty.
“But what I can promise you, is that you won’t be standing alone in the cold this time.
You’ve got full access to my legal team, and they’re already picking your old contract apart line by line.
And you’ve got me. Most importantly, Zena?
I am never going to let this industry consume you again. I’ve got your back.”
Zena felt her heart twist. Could she truly trust him?
He was a businessman, a mogul, a man wrapped up in his own complicated life, but he had never given her a single reason to doubt his loyalty to her music.
Yet the industry had already ruined her once.
Was her dream honestly worth the risk of losing her sanity all over again?
She looked at the isolation booth, then back at Danger. The fear was there, but beneath it, a spark ignited.
Zena stood up and walked back into the vocal booth just as Chaos slipped back into the studio. Danger didn't move to leave; he threw his legs up on the table, clearly intending to conduct and monitor the rest of the session himself.
Chaos slid back into his chair at the soundboard, his expression reset when he saw Danger in the room.
He queued up the session file. “Alright. Let’s hit this chorus again from the top.”
Zena slid the headphones back on, locking them into place.
She closed her eyes, letting the ambient intro bleed into her ears.
This time, she didn't try to hide. She laid out every ounce of raw emotion she had been running from. Every bitter tear she’d cried in that motel, every time her heart had been shattered by Tate, the agonizing grief of losing her parents…
Everything she had bottled up inside her chest built up to this exact breath.
Her mother had always told her that music wasn't just entertainment; it was a spiritual gateway designed to force people to feel.
The moment she opened her mouth and hit the first note of the chorus; Chaos’s eyes grew as large as saucers. He snapped his head toward the glass, stunned.
“Bruh…” Chaos turning to Danger. “What the fuck did you say to her?”
It was as if an entirely different entity had taken over her body.
One track at a time, Zena was determined to take back every single thing the industry had ever stolen from her.