Chapter 13
Piper
The walls here are lined with sound-proofing foam.
It never really works. You can still hear the desperate echoes of musical ambition long after a person’s left the booth.
If I believed in ghosts, I’d say Reverie Rest’s studio was haunted by a parade of pop girls just like me—each of us dead on arrival, still wriggling and smiling.
Goodness. I need a break.
Nolan sits silently in the sound booth with one leg kicked up on the other thigh. He’s not usually in the booth with me, but we’ve had new protocols since the fan stampede. He looks up from whatever horror story he’s doomscrolling. “Are you okay?”
If he means am I about to run, then no, he’s got me well-caged. But if he means do I have enough coffee and snacks, also no.
“I’m dying, Nolan,” I croak, then thump my forehead on the microphone before me. “This is torture. This album is not coming out of me—because it’s being forced.”
He quickly glances at the door. “You’ll strike gold, Piper. Just need to let the inspiration strike.”
My lips form a thin line. “The only thing striking right now is my willpower.”
Nolan’s lips fight a smile.
“I’m serious!” I pick up my pen and point at him. “I could write a hundred more songs and they’d all sound like variations on a mid-2000s gum commercial. And that’s what Raelynn wants. But it’s not what I want.”
Nolan crosses his arms. “Why don’t you just write the gum jingle, then? Cash the check and move on.”
He’s got a point—and I hate it. If I didn’t care so much about what I put out to my fans, then I’d already be free of my contract with Reverie Rest. But I do care about my music and my career, so here I am.
I sigh. “You’re right.” I should stop complaining and just enjoy the fact I made it in this industry.
Nolan’s expression softens. “I didn’t say anything. Only giving you an option.”
I glare at the microphone before me. “There’s only one option.”
I go to say more, but the air changes. Like a thunderstorm, you can pretty much always sense Raelynn’s approach and where her lightning will strike.
“Brace yourself,” Nolan mutters.
The studio door opens and a few clicks of designer heels sound before Raelynn appears. She’s dressed in an ultra-tailored high-end suit with bright red shoes to match her bob.
“Piper!” Raelynn exclaims, like she’s delighted I still exist.
I force a smile. “You’re up early for a Thursday.”
She ignores Nolan entirely. “And you’re up even earlier. Writing, I hope?”
“Of course.” I gesture grandly at the blank document on the stand in front of me. “Observe my creative genius in its rawest, most unrefined form.”
Raelynn’s mouth twitches. “There’s a reason I keep you under contract.”
“Blackmail?”
Nolan smirks.
“Talent. And market appeal.” She steps closer and her eyes narrow. “Speaking of, I came to tell you today’s schedule’s been slightly adjusted.”
I make a sound just short of a whine. “Is it more promo?”
“Not exactly.” Raelynn glances at Nolan.
“The Palace and I have agreed you’ll be attending the Whitestone Children’s Medical Fundraiser this afternoon alongside Prince Kellen.
After that, a dinner tomorrow, and an interview at the palace with Vogue next week.
Then several more public events, but those are the big ones. ”
She delivers this like she’s handing me a complimentary bottle of water, not a set of shackles.
“Raelynn.” I try to be as polite as a woman can be when her will to live is slipping. “When exactly am I supposed to be writing this album if you’re sending me for all of these publicity spots? ”
Raelynn raises her hands. “You’re talented enough to do both. We all know you function best under pressure. Besides, this is what you wanted, isn’t it? To make an impact? To be remembered? This is it.”
Nolan’s head lifts, eyes going hard. “She wanted to make music. Not pose for the queen’s Christmas card.”
Raelynn pivots to him, a small smile flickering. “Thank you, Mr. Pierce. I’ll take it from here, and you focus on keeping our girl safe.”
Nolan stays silent, but the air bristles with unsaid violence. His burning wood scent flares brighter.
I cut in before they can dick-measure any harder. “Raelynn, if you want this sixth album to be anything other than a contractual obligation with mid-tiered music, maybe ease off the press circus. I literally can’t write when I’m being yanked to tea parties and ribbon cuttings.”
Raelynn folds her arms. “The album’s due date was established a year ago, Piper. Long before you swooned into the prince’s arms at a charity gala on live television and decided to become the Palace’s favorite PR stunt.”
My cheeks burn and my skin prickles under my collar.
The room is suddenly ten degrees too warm as sweat beads at the nape of my neck.
“I didn’t decide anything! It was a moment.
People have moments, and usually they’re taken by the Palace and turned into a PR campaign to make their own reputation look just a little more wholesome. ”
Raelynn’s lips purse but her eyes flash wildly. “The world doesn’t care if your little moment was staged or sincere. They’re eating it up either way. So are your numbers.”
“Glad to know I’m making you lots of cash,” I hiss. She’s backed me into a corner and I’m severely not a fan.
“The Palace wants you visible,” she says. “And so do I. So you’re going to these events.”
My jaw clenches so tight my molars grind together. “So basically, I’m supposed to fake-date the prince, grind out a chart-topping album, and keep it together through all these press stops when I haven’t slept in two weeks?”
Raelynn’s voice is syrupy sweet when she says, “That’s the job. You can do it.”
I look to Nolan as he watches Raelynn like he’s calculating if she might be the next threat. I know he wants to tear into her. So do I.
But the reality is, Raelynn’s not wrong even if I hate her right now.
I signed up for all of this. Every inch of my soul was mortgaged at nineteen for the price of a six-album deal. It’s not a surprise that the final payment is due with interest.
The silence turns sour. Raelynn glances at her phone, her time too valuable to waste. “You’ll be on time for the event this afternoon. Please wear something respectful. Nothing see-through and no Piper-special crop tops.”
She’s already out the door before I can flip her off.
The tension in the room deflates as the click of her heels fades down the hallway.
Nolan lets out a slow exhale and stands. “That woman is poison.”
“She’s efficient,” I correct. Thank god Nolan is the one part of my career not controlled by Raelynn. I hired him specifically myself. She can’t take him away or replace him just because he spoke up to her.
He scoffs. “I could break her in half.”
“You can’t break a cyborg, Nolan. She’d just regenerate and come back meaner.”
I survey my distinctly blank ideas page. “Am I a sellout if I just write another breakup song and call it a day?”
His scent envelopes me as he moves closer, like he’s actually a warm fire here to comfort me without me touching the flames—or him. “You’re not a sellout. You’re surviving.”
I shrug. “Some days, I can’t tell the difference.”
There’s a long pause. Maybe I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
Nolan leans in, his scent heavy and grounding. “Let’s get you through this gig today. Then we’ll figure out a way to lock you in a room until the album’s done.”
“Romantic.”
I pack up my bag and toss it over my shoulder, already dreading the hospital event. Out in the hallway, Nolan matches my pace, his large body forming a barrier between me and the rest of the world.
We pass by a wall of framed platinum records. A photo of me grinning shines from five of them. There’s a sixth empty frame next to my last album, just waiting to be filled with my next release. I stop and look at it for a long moment.
“I’m not giving her another one after this,” I mutter.
“Good,” Nolan replies.
I keep walking. One more album.
Then I’m done. Free from this strictly pop-centered musical life.
Just one more.
It’s not the first time I’ve been paraded in front of a children’s hospital.
Raelynn had that set up during the tour for my third album.
It breaks my heart every time to see what these children have to suffer through, but their brave little faces and the hard work of the doctors helping them is always grounding.
I’m happy to help fundraise in any way for these hospitals.
That wasn’t the issue with the schedule change today. It was how it happened.
But I’m here now, and putting my best face forward to help raise as much money—and morale—as I can.
Nolan stands next to me at the base of a faux-grand staircase, arms crossed, wearing an expression so cold it could freeze the industrial-strength coffee in my hand. He’s not in suit-and-shades mode but he might as well be. His body language shouts, I dare you to approach.
I’m still simmering from this morning’s Raelynn encounter, which makes me extra perky for the media. They want pictures of the prince and his songbird sweetheart together.
“Piper!” Kellen glides down the staircase like he’s greeting an old friend when he sees me. “I’m so glad you made it. I know you’re working hard at Reverie Rest.”
I smile warmly as we embrace. “Raelynn insisted, so here I am.”
Kellen’s eyebrows crinkle together for a quick moment before they’re erased by the reality that we’re being watched far too closely for deeper investigation into my statement. “Well, I’m happy you’re here.”
Elliot comes up beside him and flashes me a quick smile as well. I nod to him, and the Kellen and I join hands and walk toward the event’s main space together.
The first hour is a blur of flashbulbs, canned speeches, and handshakes.
The hospital director ushers us around in a cloying circuit: palliative care, oncology, neonatal, and then back to the media tent.
I autopilot through the script, but Nolan watches me with growing concern.
It’s not that I don’t care about what we’re doing here or the children in these wards, it’s that I’d rather visit on my own and donate directly myself.
At one point I pull Nolan over and direct him to do just that on my behalf.
The donation is complete before the tour is done.
By the time the official luncheon starts, I’m wilting like the centerpiece tulips. I’m just not meant for this particular type of spotlight with the weight of everything else. And I feel bad I can’t directly spend more time with each of these kids.
I make an excuse to slip out onto the garden terrace. Elliot finds me there, leaning against the banister and watching a pigeon circle the fountain.
He gives me a small nod. “Didn’t think you’d be the first to bail.”
I shrug. “Not bailing. I’ve donated to the hospital directly on my own between tour stops.
Hopefully that comes out later to the press.
” I turn to face him. “I wish I could do more for these children, that’s all.
And me looking bereft about it rather than empathetic is an optics nightmare.
Kellen’s much better at this sort of thing. ”
He stands beside me, hands clasped behind his back. Unlike Nolan, Elliot has a more subtle approach to standing guard: instead of looming, he projects a calm, as if nothing bad could ever happen within a hundred-foot radius of his body.
He glances at me. “Do you want to talk about it, or what happened at the studio this morning?”
My eyebrows raise, although I shouldn’t be surprised he already knows. Elliot and Nolan have a way of communicating every important piece of information about Kellen and I that’s nearly telepathic.
I consider brushing it off because this isn’t the time or place, but I do want to talk about all of it. “Yes. But I don’t want to make it your problem. Especially here.”
Elliot glances around. “We’re alone, Piper.”
I swallow hard and meet his gaze. “Reverie Rest is going full-tilt on the royal romance story. Raelynn basically told me to multitask being a pop star and a walking, talking ad for the monarchy. And I think if I open my mouth the wrong way, she’ll just hire a new girl and have me digitally deep-faked into irrelevance.
Which is to say nothing of what the Palace will do.
” I sigh again. “Which is probably why I shouldn’t have donated directly while we’re here, but I did. Sue me.”
Elliot leans in closer. “You’re not replaceable.”
My eyes narrow playfully. “You’re a little biased. Scent-match and all.”
“Doesn’t make it less true.”
I clench my hands on the banister. “I feel replaceable, though. At least to Reverie Rest. If I don’t finish this album, I’m stuck until I do. But if I do it their way, I’ll hate it and myself even if it goes platinum.”
He lets that hang. “Do you want help?”
I stare at him. “What, are you going to storm the palace? Kidnap me until I finish the album?”
He tilts his head. Mirth shines in his eyes. “If it works, yes.”
It’s so blunt I almost laugh. “Nolan would love that.”
Elliot pushes off the banister. “You need time. Space. And less interference from Reverie Rest and the Palace.”
“Sure, just call up the Queen, tell her I need a sabbatical.”
Elliot grins. “I don’t need to call anyone. Nolan and I have resources. And Kellen has a yacht.”
“Of course he does.” This information chills me a little, not because I think Elliot is bluffing, but because I’m starting to believe the only thing keeping my life from imploding is the stubborn competence of two security guards. And I have no idea what that says about my own agency.
Elliot turns to go. “We’ll handle it. Try to focus on what’s really happening here, okay? Not the press or the PR angles. The rest. And… good on you to donate directly, Piper.”
Elliot is right.
He walks back inside, leaving me with the beautiful flowers and a gorgeous stone fountain. After another minute of grounding myself, I return focus back to the all-important why of today’s events, and make it my mission to spend time with every single child here.
I accomplish that mission.