Chapter 32
Slipping the Silk
Lily-Anne
I wait outside the café for Ellenor to pick me up.
After last time, I’m reluctant to walk home alone, so I linger just beyond the glow from the windows, admiring the festoon and fairy lights with a newfound sadness.
I knew I’d feel melancholy saying goodbye to this place.
I just didn’t realise my memory of tonight would become tainted.
I tense when Jack appears in the doorway, silhouetted against the light as he scans the small crowd outside—people laughing, finishing their drinks, waiting for rides. Instinctively, I edge back into the shadows, hoping he won’t see me.
“Hey, Lily-Anne! There you are!”
He jogs over, that easy grin plastered back on, voice light as if he didn’t just try to commandeer my song.
“What are you doing out here?” he asks.
For a second, I can only stare at him. “I’m just waiting for my sister.”
He nods like that makes perfect sense. “Right. But everyone’s asking about you. The scout wants to meet you. You should come back in.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, incredulous. “After what happened in there?”
He blinks. “What do you mean?”
“The lowered mic? The way you didn’t let me sing my own song?”
The part where you tried to control me?
He blinks again, confusion melting into a grin. “Ah. Yeah, the tech stuff always gets a bit niggly towards the end of a night. Luckily, we didn’t get any huge dramas! And hey, you’ve got to sing that song by yourself. Brilliant, by the way. You’ve been holding out on me.”
He gives my arm a playful punch.
I’m struck speechless. I can still picture the brittle smile he wore only minutes ago when I played solo. He’s changed his tune, and I think I know why.
“Come back in. You’ve got to meet Hilary.”
“You meet her.” I fold my arms against the chill. “I’m going home.”
His smile falters. “Come on, Lil. Don’t be like that. It’s a huge opportunity for us.”
“Sorry. I’ll pass.”
A faint whine slips into his voice as he rubs his neck. “But Lil…Hilary wants to sign us as a duo—Lilloughby.”
“I’m sorry, Jack. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me—truly—but I don’t want to be part of a duo. Not now, anyway.”
His eyes flash, then they dim. “I thought we had something special, Lil.” He reaches for me, but when I tense away, he drops his hand. “I thought you wanted this. A career in music. That’s what you told me.”
A pang of guilt hits, but I hold firm, softening my tone. “I’m still figuring out what I want, but I know it’s not this.”
He draws a shaky breath, eyes glistening. For a moment, I’m afraid he’ll cry.
“The thing is, Lil…she won’t take me without you. It’s either the duo or nothing.”
The words land like a blow. Guilt floods through me, swift and overpowering, even as I register that this is the only reason he chased after me—not to apologise, or to make sure I’m alright, or even to say goodbye, but because he needs me.
“This is my dream,” he continues, voice desperate. “My chance to make it. And I love your songs, Lil—you know I do. And so does the scout. Whatever that factor is, you’ve got it—her words.” His voice softens. “And I think, if you really think about it, this is your dream too.”
In a way, he’s right, and my heart aches for the younger version of myself who would’ve said yes in a heartbeat. But I have the same feeling of unease I did walking home last night, with an instinct whispering that something’s off.
And that’s when I realise it: I’ve literally just told him I don’t want this, but he’s already pulled me off course.
“Just come inside and talk to her,” he murmurs. “Please? For me?”
His eyes smoulder, and he flashes that dazzling smile, the one capable of breaking hearts…
And understanding slides into place, soft and terrible.
He’s using it to try to break me.
Just like Toby did, except he chipped away pieces until my autonomy cracked beneath his disapproval.
Whereas Jack’s charm has wound around me like silk—soft, persuasive, almost comforting until it over-tightened.
“Lily-Anne?” he prompts. “You coming?”
Anger flares, but I temper it. I can see how badly he wants this, and if his dreams truly rest on my shoulders, I hate that for him. I don’t want to let him down, but I won’t let him pressure me, either.
“I’m sorry,” I say again as Ellenor’s car pulls up across the road. “I wish you all the best.”
I start crossing towards it, but his voice rises, sharp and wounded.
“You said you appreciated everything I’ve done for you! Funny way of showing it!”
I keep walking, reaching for the door handle, but his voice hardens. “Fine! Go. But those songs are mine now.”
I whirl around, the words hitting like a slap. He’s still standing under the café lights, jaw set, defiant.
“You can’t take them.” The words scrape out of me as I drift back. “I wrote them—they’re mine.”
He sneers, “No. We collaborated.”
“You hardly changed a thing.”
“I changed enough. New lyrics. Added riffs. Different key. And I have you on video agreeing we’re an official duo. Do you know what that means? A brand. Shared identity. It implies co-ownership.”
“I never said—”
“I’ll send you the link.”
Cold floods my veins, then heat. “I never asked for your help. You offered.”
He crosses his arms smugly, feet set apart. “Yeah. And help you I did.”
“This is your idea of helping?” I ask, my voice small.
The air shifts, and he laughs gently, disarming me. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m being a twat, aren’t I? But come on—it’s a big night for both of us. The crowd loved Lilloughby. You felt it too—the spark, the magic.”
“There is no us.”
“There could be. Let’s not lose our chance over one stupid argument.” When I open my mouth to protest, he adds, “Let me make it up to you, at least. Come inside, have a drink. My treat. Please?”
His sincerity is almost enough to undo me.
Almost.
My mouth curves, but there’s no warmth in it. “Back to you threatening to steal my songs before…”
“Lil, come on. Don’t be like that.”
“You didn’t write them,” I say, low and firm. “A little arranging doesn’t make you the songwriter. The copyright stays with me.”
He laughs, a brittle sound. “You’re overreacting, Lil. You’re throwing it away on a mood.”
The words land like shrapnel—Toby said the same thing when I broke up with him, trying to make me doubt my own mind.
“You think this is a mood?” I hate how my voice rises, and I fight to keep it from trembling. “No, Jack. This is clarity.”
This time, I march straight to the car without stopping.
He shouts after me, his threatening words echoing through the courtyard, turning heads. “Hey, tell your lawyer sister I said hi! And ask her what prima facie authorship means!”
I wrench the passenger door open, slide inside, and slam it hard.
Dread curls through me.
I know what it means.
He can prove my songs are his.