Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Zena was starting to hate industry events.
Tonight was the Royal Reign Mid-Year Showcase, a corporate party designed to pitch the label roster to major distributors and wealthy tech investors.
Somewhere between the mandatory meet-and-greets and the catered hors d'oeuvres, the night had stopped being about the music.
The room was full of older white executives in expensive, tailored suits.
Men, she was constantly reminded she had to "play nice" with them if she wanted her failing Dreams EP to get a second promotional push.
“You’re a great asset to the label, sweetheart,” they kept saying, their breath smelling of expensive Scotch. “We just need you to bring that energy back. We love what you're doing with the brand.”
Then came the bolder ones. The investors who used the loud music as an excuse to lean in too close, giving her a creepy pat on the back, where their palms lingered on her skin just a little too long for her comfort.
It made her stomach turn.
They looked at her with dark eyes, as if they personally owned every single stream she generated.
As she moved throughout the party, she had learned something devastating.
It turned out Royal Reign didn’t actually own anything at all; it was just a shell label tucked inside a mid-tier distribution company, which was owned by a major conglomerate, which was ultimately owned by a global mega-label.
She felt like a puppet, manipulated by invisible hands pulling the strings from miles away.
She thought about her recent royalty statements.
The confusing deductions, the administration fees, the numbers that never quite added up no matter how many times she tried to calculate them, and that long contract she signed that never sat well with her from the beginning.
Instead of staying inside to enjoy the party, she had retreated to the edge of the Olympic-sized swimming pool, staring blankly into the bluest water she’d ever seen.
A green champagne bottle was nestled in her right hand.
The label team had been doing that a lot lately, recklessly shoving alcoholic drinks into her hands to keep her compliant, unbothered by the fact that she wasn’t even legally old enough to drink.
In this environment, laws didn't exist.
Nobody cared about her age; they only cared about her output.
She had been sitting out on the concrete ledge for at least an hour, and not a single soul had come looking for her.
Tate was somewhere deep in the indoor crowd, dressed in a suit and aggressively rubbing elbows with anyone who had a title.
He had shamelessly used her ticket to gain access to the venue, using her momentum to boost himself into the right elite circles.
He kept telling people he was taking his “management” business to the next level, acting as if he were truly steering her career with care, rather than riding her coattails.
Inside, the music cycled back to her lead single, pumping it through the outdoor speakers.
“God, I hate this fucking song!” Zena screamed into the empty night air.
Her own voice echoed back to her, rubbing salt into an open wound.
The EP had stalled. The girl singing those tracks wasn’t her anymore.
She wasn’t entirely sure who she was. To make matters worse, she had heard Velvet’s voice blasting through the speakers earlier that night.
The label was already working on a backup plan, prepping Velvet to slide right into her spot.
She forced down the final, bitter sip from the champagne bottle, then tossed the glass into the deep end, watching it sink slowly through the blue water until it settled out of sight at the bottom.
Standing, her legs wobbled k in the six-inch Christian Louboutins she had been forced to wear—another stupid, superficial gift from the label to keep her looking like a pop princess.
She slipped off the painful heels, letting them clatter against the stone, and dipped her big toe into the icy-cold water.
The sudden chill sent a shiver straight up her spine.
Yet, looking down into the quiet depths, something about the stillness seemed peaceful.
It looked like the exact escape she had been desperately searching for.
She kept her eyes locked on the water, the dark thoughts settling in.
She wondered, with a hollow ache in her chest, who would miss her if she never came back inside.
How long would it take for someone to notice she was gone?
Would Tate or J-Rock even care, or would they just be annoyed that the promotional schedule was disrupted?
Would anyone notice her absence before her lifeless body floated to the surface?
It was at that sobering moment that she realized she didn’t have a single real friend in the world. Everyone around her was a parasite. The industry. The lifestyle. All of it was fake. Her father had warned her about this world all along, and now she was trapped inside it with no visible way out.
Already deep in the dark corner of her mind, the thoughts shifted to the horror of what had happened to her at Lisa’s house.
The jagged memories she had spent days forcing into the part of her brain where she promised herself she’d never go again unless it was absolutely necessary.
Because who would believe a young girl against industry giants?
She didn’t have one good person in her life who would listen to her, let alone trust her.
Even if she gathered the courage to go to the police, it felt like a complete waste of time.
Her memory of the night was terrifyingly shaky; she couldn’t remember the exact faces or what someone had done to her in that room, but her body felt broken.
Different. She knew deep in her bones that she had been violated that night, and she knew Lisa had stood by and let them do it. She was certain of it.
Lisa had avoided her like the plague ever since, giving Zena all the confirmation she needed.
The sickening reality of someone violating her body made her stomach churn.
She was so tired of fighting a losing battle.
Tears streamed down her face, glistening under the pool lights as she stood on the edge.
She wanted to be strong, to keep pushing forward, but her exhausted body and mind betrayed her.
With a soft gasp, she stepped off the edge, entering the water with a splash.
With her eyes tightly shut, she let the weight of her dress pull her down until she hit the bottom of the pool.
She tried to stay submerged, but within seconds, her mind panicked.
Her breathing became labored, and her lungs cried out for oxygen.
A part of her brain screamed to swim upward, to fight for the surface, but the sheer weight of her depression overwhelmed the instinct.
Her mouth opened involuntarily to gasp for air, but instead, chlorinated water rushed down her throat, filling her lungs.
Her mind panicked, but her spirit felt no regret. The suffering was coming to an end. At last, she was going to find peace. She was going to be with her mother. Once she was reunited with her, she knew everything would be okay.
Her limbs grew weak, her movements slowed to a halt, and slowly, the blue light faded into black.
At the last final second, just as her spirit was preparing to accept its fate. A force suddenly ripped her from the depths. It happened with such blinding speed that it felt like an out-of-body experience.
Through the water clearing from her ears, Zena heard a deep, frantic male voice.
“Yo! Can you hear me? Open your eyes!”
She was placed onto the hard concrete. The stranger began pounding on her chest with immense force, nearly cracking her ribs under the pressure. Then, a pair of warm lips covered hers, forcefully delivering air straight into her lungs.
“Please wake up! Come on, wake up!” The stranger begged, his voice laced with panic. He delivered another set of chest compressions, sending a violent shockwave through her central nervous system, commanding her brain to fight its way back to reality.
Zena’s eyes popped open. She rolled onto her side, a wave of pool water forcing its way up her throat as she coughed and choked, gasping for air.
“Damn, shawty…You scared the shit out of me.” The stranger let out a sigh of relief as he gently cradled her trembling frame in his strong arms, keeping her off the cold concrete. “You good? Look at me.”
Zena hesitated to answer, her vision blurry as she met the man’s intense eyes.
Her entire body was trembling from the freezing night air, the wind cutting through her wet clothes.
The stranger picked up on her shivering.
He grabbed a dry black blazer from a nearby chair and draped it securely over her soaked shoulders.
That was when the fog cleared enough for her to notice him. He had a handsome face, a chiseled jawline, and full lips framed by a meticulously kept beard. But far beyond his physical appearance, it was his immediate aura that surrounded her. Sitting in his embrace, she felt entirely safe.
There was something so strangely familiar about him, but her brain couldn't grasp the connection.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice raw from the chlorine.
The kind stranger gently helped her to her feet, supporting her weight.
As her breathing stabilized, reality rushed back into her mind like a freight train.
Panic set in. If anyone from the label or the press saw her like this, it would ruin her.
She immediately began building a defense.
If anyone asked what happened, she would put on her biggest, prettiest corporate smile and tell them she was just drunk.
So drunk that she accidentally stumbled into the deep end. That was it.
“I said…Are you really good?” The stranger’s deep baritone broke through her frantic thoughts.