Chapter 4
Drea, are you all right?Brandons eyes meet mine, his face etched with concern, powerless to dispel my dark mood.
No.
I lie in bed, the curtains drawn, enveloped in darkness. The question hangs in the stale air.
Are you all right?
Of course, Im not alright, you idiot. I havent left this room in days. But Brandon doesnt care how I feel, only about maintaining his control. His presence looms over me, suffocating. I can sense his impatience, his desire to force me back into the spotlight on his terms.
My throat tightens as dread washes over me.
I flip onto my stomach, yanking the blanket over my head to block the intrusive light spilling in from the cracked bedroom door.
After the Club Allure concert, the tabloids descended like ravenous vultures. They’ve speculated about what might have happened between Logan and I backstage, since someone shared that we talked backstage before he opened the show.
Overnight, this insignificant exchange with Logan has snowballed into a full-blown scandal, haunting me relentlessly. As if I need to give them a reason to splatter my name and likeness across the internet.
My phone buzzes incessantly, notifications flooding in, but I cant bear to look. Social media is a minefield, every feed dissecting my interaction with Logan, twisting the brief conversation into something sordid.
I exhale shakily, my heart pounding against my ribs as the memory of Friday night floods over me. Logans eyes blaze with fury as he takes a step towards me, his fists clenched at his sides.
But then Damien is there, his solid frame shielding me. His predatory growl, and jaw clenched tight.
Logan froze, muscles coiled like a viper poised to strike. For a moment, the air crackled with tension so thick I could barely breathe. My lungs constrict as Im transported back to that night, trapped between two forces threatening to tear me apart.
All I want is to sing, to lose myself in the soaring melodies and pulsing rhythms that have been my refuge since childhood. The music is my sanctuary, the one place where I can be truly free.
But Logan lives for the scandal, the media frenzy, thriving on the chaos he creates. I wouldnt be surprised if he leaked that moment to the press.
Because hes a pyromaniac, and Im the tinder he can never resist igniting.
That night I thought everything went better than expected. The show was amazing, and then there was Damien…
Talking with him felt normal.
But afterward, the whispers have growm into roars, our past dragged out and rewritten as some tumultuous saga. I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing the world would swallow its baseless assumptions.
Evidently, no one has gotten the story right, because there were only three of us that night in the concert hallway.
Logan, Damien, and I.
No one knows about the club owners involvement in this encounter. How he saved me from Logans constant destructive nature and the way he protected me without me even needing to ask.
I know its hard, Drea, but you have to recover from this. The tour is in a few weeks. You cant let this bring you down.
Thats easy for you to say, I mutter in response to Brandon. Its not your life that everyone is talking about.
Im curled up in a ball, my legs tightly pressed against my chest. This shit is getting old.
Brandon sighs as if annoyed. Okay, Andrea. Ill give you today. But thats it. Tomorrow, I expect Drea Joy front and center, ready to dominate the stage. Is that clear?
I nod because, at this point, I know its the best deal I can hope for. I let him go, sinking into my own misery.
And Andrea, I should have to remind you, but this tour is our last chance. This situation with Logan isnt blowing over, and the record label isnt supporting us. Well lose every deposit weve provided to secure the venues. You need this tour.
I know…
Once Brandon leaves the apartment, it takes me a while to get up, but I finally do. When I manage to get to my feet, I drag my ass into the kitchen and rummage in the fridge for something to eat.
Its all healthy, of course, because just like my schedule, my wardrobe, makeup, and hairstyle, Brandon controls my life. He controls it all for the sake of helping me fulfill the role Im supposed to play.
The perfect girl with the perfect weight, the perfect face, and the perfect voice that America loves.
Im not that girl, of course.
The real Andrea is a real mess. Shes full of past hurts, fears, and scars. At the same time, shes a fighter, a girl whos always been in the ring, swinging and dodging, trying to keep afloat. And so far, shes managed to stay on her feet.
The real Andrea loves carbs, ice cream, and running until she’s out of breath. She cries at every Disney movie and is a hopeless romantic.
Life, however, has other plans. It began to peel away the layers of my naiveté, revealing the harsher shades of reality that lay beneath.
The real me is far from perfect.
Andrea Kingsley is full of flaws that baffle and terrify her, but therein lies the trick. The trick is that I have learned to love myself as I am, and, at times, I wish the world would see me and love me for that, too.
Thats precisely why I wrote Broken.
After a lot of effort, I finally got Brandon to let me put it on my last album. Although the song got good reviews, he didnt like it. Apparently, it attracts the wrong kind of attention and gives people the wrong image of me.
When I started singing, I did it so I could write songs like that. Songs that come from my heart and help me connect with people. It seems that somewhere along the way, my essence got lost.
My phone starts ringing in the middle of my thoughts, while I had been trying in vain to make myself like the taste of this healthy ‘chocolate ice cream’ that actually tastes like dirt.
Hello?
We need to talk.
The voice on the other end of the line cuts me off. Hoarse, deep, and slightly raspy, I recognize it instantly, though Ive only heard it once in my life.
Its the panther. Damien McAllister.
Mr. McAllister?
Are you in your apartment?
Maybe.
Good. Ill be right there.
Wait, how do you know where I live? How do you even have my number?
On the other end of the line, I hear a car starting up and pulling away. Hes probably already on the move.
Ill be there in ten minutes.
Wait, are you really coming? My heart suddenly races. If youre going to do it, bring food. Real food. Not the crap they make me eat.
For a moment, Damien is silent, then says. What are you in the mood for?
Pasta, I answer immediately. And ice cream. Please dont bring anything healthy for me.
Silence again, but he eventually agrees. Okay. Give security my information.
With my heart still racing, I cut the call and run into my bedroom.
What the hell is going on here?
Without thinking, I pull off the baggy T-shirt and the bunny shorts I sleep in. My hair is a mess, but theres nothing I can do about that.
I get dressed as fast as I can. Baggy, fashionable pants and a blue tank top that matches my eyes.
I look in the mirror and check the dark circles under my eyes. They arent as pronounced as they could be, which is a blessing. I spray a little perfume on myself, and then the phone rings.
Open the door, says Damien on the other end of the line.
For a second, I stop breathing, and then I run to the door.
I race through the apartment in record time, trying to calm myself before I open the front door.
For a moment, I dont believe its going to be him on the other side. Yet, when I pull open the door, hes there. Tall and so handsome, I could cry just looking at him.
Damiens suit, tailored to perfection, straddles the line between polished professionalism and rebellious edge. Hes tieless and the top button of his shirt is unfasten, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone.
What is wrong with me?
Youd think Ive never seen a gorgeous man before. But Damien isnt like anyone else. Hes not cocky or arrogant. He just is.
Damien steps into the apartment without asking permission. He takes off his shoes in the doorway and hands me a package that smells heavenly.
Oh, thank god, I whisper.
He follows me as I make my way into the kitchen. Once we’re both standing in, I open the package and discover that hes brought shrimp and chicken fettuccini, a heaping bag of garlic and butter toast, and a huge carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream.
I moan like an org. I think I love him.
How did you know it was my favorite? I open the tub of ice cream and grab a spoon in one fluid motion. With one bite, the ice cream melts in my mouth.
I died in gossip hell and arose in ice cream heaven.
Damien shrugs, his eyes twinkling with mischief. I didnt know, he admits, I just brought what I felt like eating.
I look at him, raising an impressed eyebrow as I pull out a pair of silverware. I place a plate in front of him and one in front of me, and, for a moment, I try to calm down.
After the ice cream rush disappears, I realize Damien McAllister is in my apartment.
What are you doing here?
I told you. We need to talk.
Damiens dark eyes lock onto mine, and I swear, even with the ice cream in my mouth, I feel myself melting from the intensity.
Swallowing the scoop of ice cream, I nod. Okay, spit it out already. Whats going on?
Damien reaches into his pocket and retrieves his phone. His thumb swipes across the screen, flipping through video after video. Finally, he pauses, his eyes narrowing as he finds the clip he wants.
Its about this, he states, setting the phone on the island between us.
As my eyes lock onto the phone screen, the video shows a view of the door to my dressing room at Club Allure. The time stamp reveals its half an hour before my performance.
At that time, I was trying to change into my costume. I remember this because I couldnt put on my costume alone, and I was calling for one of the assistants to help me.
But the person outside the room is not one of the assistants but a strange man. He’s tall, and his face is hidden by the hood of his black sweater. He’s struggling to enter the room.
A noise startles him, and he leaves. A few minutes later, I left the dressing room, and once it was quiet again, the man entered the room.
He starts rummaging through my things until he finally seems to get something. He brings the fabric close to his face, hurriedly stuffs it into his pants pockets, and leaves.
My heart stops, and my stomach twists into a knot.
Oh... my... god, I whisper, staring at the security footage in disbelief.
The intruders hooded figure looms on the screen, caught red-handed as he stuffs my panties into his pocket.
Fear and rage course through my veins, making my body tense. I cant believe he was in my dressing room, violating my privacy like that. And no one saw him.
I thought I should tell you in person, Damien says. You have a stalker.
Yeah…I know.