Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Zena adjusted the bulky gold link around her neck for the third time, her fingers brushing over the diamond-encrusted RRR pendant. The ink on her contract was barely dry, and they had already christened her with the label’s signature chain.
The restaurant's private dining room was a blur of champagne flutes. This was her celebration dinner, a room full of power players all turning their heads to look at the new girl from Virginia.
A tall, slender, light-skinned woman with a sleek ponytail stepped into her line of sight. She moved through the crowded room with grace, wearing a fitted blazer over a silk blouse and stunning YSL heels she knew had to cost thousands.
She spotted Zena’s chain first, then smiled.
“It looks good on you,” the woman said, extending a hand. Her grip was warm. “I’m Lisa Danae. Head of Artist Development. I’ve been looking forward to finally meeting you.”
Zena shook her hand, forcing her heart rate to slow down. “Nice to meet you, Lisa.”
“You seem nervous. You need to get used to this, sweetie. Your life just changed today,” Lisa said smoothly, scanning the room over Zena’s shoulder. “Mingle, drink, enjoy the food. I’m going to go track down Supreme, but I’ll catch up with you before the night ends.”
With a polished nod, Lisa melted back into the crowd.
Zena exhaled slowly, her chest tight beneath her jacket. The room felt stifling. Needing a second to breathe away from the flashing cameras and fake smiles, she slipped away from the main dining floor, heading down a quieter hallway toward the restrooms.
“You signed.”
Zena stopped.
Camila was leaning against the dim hallway wall, a glass of champagne in her hand that she hadn't touched.
“Uh yeah.” Zena stammered, caught off guard.
Camila nodded slowly. “You got people here? Family? Friends?”
Zena shook her head, sudden wave of isolation washing over her. “Not really. Just Tate...”
At the mention of his name, Camila’s expression shifted; a stillness settled over her features.
“Mhmm,” Camila said simply, taking a small step closer. “Keep him close. Because if you keep that chain on your neck, you’re gonna need somebody who remembers the girl you were before you walked into this room.”
Zena’s hand instinctively went to the chain. “What does that mean?”
Camila looked back toward the main dining room, watching the executives laugh and pour more drinks, before locking her unreadable gaze onto Zena's.
“Just pay attention to who’s in that room,” Camila whispered.
“Not just what they’re promising you, but what they want to change about you.
And listen to me carefully, Zena... when the dinner wraps up and they invite you to the after parties, the private mixers, the penthouse suites. .. You don't go.”
Zena blinked, taken aback. “They said it was for networking—”
“It’s a trap,” Camila interrupted softly, her voice chilling the air.
“They’ll make it sound mandatory. It's not.
You do the regular events, you record the songs, and then you go home to your man.
Don't linger after dark with these people.
This label will feed on everything you are, strip your identity away, until there's nothing left of you.”
Zena stared at her; the weight of the warning slammed into her stomach. The RRR chain suddenly felt less like a trophy and more like a collar.
Hearing the click of Lisa’s heels approaching the hallway, Camila stepped back into the shadows. “You seem smart. Trust your gut.”
She disappeared down the back corridor just as Lisa turned the corner, a fresh glass of champagne in hand.
“There you are!” Lisa beamed, handing her the glass. “Supreme wants a toast. You ready to be America’s princess?”
Zena looked down at the bubbling champagne, then back at the hallway where Camila had just been standing. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a sudden wave of dread washing over her ambition.
“Yes,” Zena said.
She meant it when she said it. But for the first time, looking at the diamonds reflected in her glass, she wondered exactly what this chain would cost her.
Zena slowly spun around her condo, taking it all in.
Everything was stunning, with floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Atlanta skyline, marble countertops, and a spacious sunken living room.
Imported furniture that had to cost the label thousands of dollars.
She had spent the entire day arranging and rearranging everything until every detail was exactly right.
Just a few months ago, she was sleeping in a twin bed and counting tips to make ends meet. Now, Royal Reign had her living this life, with a huge condo and an Audi Q8. They handed her a generous advance that was enough to upgrade her and Tate’s entire life. But a part of her still felt empty.
From the outside looking in, she was doing well. Her name was on a billboard now.
She’d been in Atlanta for three weeks when she saw it for the first time.
A billboard on Peachtree, maybe forty feet wide. Her face was on it, but it wasn’t her face. It was the branded one. The one with the sapphire contacts, the pink wigs, and the practiced smile. Above it were two words in a font she hadn’t approved and hadn’t been asked about.
Princess Z
She’d made the label car pull over. Stood on the sidewalk in the Atlanta heat and looked up at it for a long moment, trying to find the feeling it was supposed to produce. Happiness, maybe?
What she felt was different, like she was staring at a photograph of someone who shared her features but wasn’t her.
She got back into the car and called Tate.
“Bae, did you see—
“The billboards? Yeah, wild, right? Princess Z. That’s you”
“When did they decide that?”
A pause.
“What do you mean?”
“The name. Princess Z. When did that get decided? Nobody asked me.” She’d looked out the window at the city moving past. “They gave me a name...”
“It’s not really your name, it’s like. A stage thing. A brand. Supreme knows what he’s doing.”
She didn’t push. The call ended, and she sat with it, telling herself Tate was right. It was just branding. It didn’t mean anything about who she was.
But three weeks later, the merch dropped.
Hoodies, phone cases, and hideous tote bags with Princess Z in pink bubble letters.
People were using it in comments, interviews, and the label’s social media posts, as if it had always been her name, as if she’d chosen it, as if it had come from somewhere inside her, rather than from a conference room she hadn’t been in.
Nobody asked and nobody cared.
She kept waiting for the moment when it would feel like hers, but that moment never came.
Zena poured a glass of wine and sank into her new cloud couch, tucking her feet beneath her. Settling in, she grabbed the remote and found something to watch. Tate had been in the room, sleeping all day, unbothered by the tedious task of decorating.
The clock read 9:02 pm when Tate emerged from the back of the condo, freshly lined up and freshly retwisted, wearing a Two-Piece Dickies set: Yankee fitted and all-white Forces. He had slept through the movers bringing in the furniture and her unpacking.
“Bae!” He held out his hand. “Let me see the keys. I need to go out for a bit.”
Zena didn’t look up from the TV. “I need to go to the studio in the morning.”
“What does that have to do with tonight?”
“Because you don’t stroll in here until early morning, and I’m tired of waking up alone.
” The words spilled out before she could stop them.
The label kept her busy enough during the day, but nights without him were long and quiet.
Since the move, she felt as if someone had built a wall between them that she couldn’t tear down.
She got up from the couch and turned to face him.
He crossed the room, grabbing her from behind and wrapping his arms around her. She stiffened.
“Let me go, Tate.”
“So, what you’re really saying is that you miss me, huh?” His lips found her neck. “That’s all you have to say.”
“I’m serious-”
“So am I.” He let go of her and disappeared down the hall. A minute later, he returned with a small black box in his hand.
Something in her chest shifted as he placed the velvet box in her hand.
“I was gonna wait until we got settled in and plan for something bigger, but I also couldn’t hold out much longer. “Tate rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m serious about you, Z. I want you to know that.”
Zena opened the box.
The ring was beautiful. A marquise-cut pink diamond set in a white gold band. She slid it onto her finger and held it up toward the window, letting the light catch it.
It wasn’t her ring.
She knew it. She had a dedicated Pinterest board for her ring, down to the specific cut, setting and even the moment.
On a beach, close friends around her, a dress she’d picked out just for this occasion, with him on one knee and the look of admiration on his face as he professed his love to her.
She had talked about it enough that Tate should have found it in his sleep.
“So, what do you think?” he asked.
“I love it.” She forced a smile onto her lips.
Staring down at her hand, she turned the ring on her finger. It caught the light beautifully. Sure, it didn’t make her feel as wonderful as she’d imagined, but he had done it, and that was all that mattered. He was trying. Right now, a trying man was all she had.
So, she swallowed everything.
“I knew you would.” Tate kissed her temple, then reached for the keys on the counter. A few seconds later, he was gone.
Then the question of how he was affording this ring crept into her mind.
Lisa had a habit of showing up without warning. She had texted Zena, "Are you home?” approximately one minute before she knocked. She got up from the couch and opened the door.