Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Grace
The moment I stepped into DreamCrest’s private recording studio, I realized something was different.
Unlike the lavish venues, red cacarpeted-carpet andorporate offices I had been dragged through over the past few days, this place felt real.
The space was dimly lit, cluttered with instruments, half-filled coffee cups, and stacks of handwritten notes.
There were no flashing cameras, no screaming fans—just an open creative space, the air thick with something I couldn’t quite place.
Dominic had sent me ahead, claiming he’d "catch up later," which I knew meant he was avoiding whatever meeting his manager had set up for him. That left me standing at the entrance, scanning the room until my gaze landed on Jaden Lee.
He was at the grand piano in the corner, back to me, completely focused on the keys.
A pair of studio headphones rested around his neck, and his dark hair fell over his face as he hunched forward, lost in whatever melody he was creating.
He hadn’t acknowledged my presence, and for a second, I wondered if he even noticed I was there.
I cleared my throat. "Jaden."
Nothing.
I took a step closer. "I’m supposed to check the security setup here."
Still nothing.
I narrowed my eyes. "You ignoring me on purpose, or are you just that absorbed in your genius?"
His fingers continued to move over the keys, but then he spoke, voice quiet, even. "Both."
I folded my arms. "Right."
Silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
If anything, Jaden’s complete disinterest was refreshing.
He wasn’t flirting like Riley. He wasn’t playing mind games like Dominic.
He wasn’t carefully controlling the world around him like Theo.
He just existed in this space, undisturbed, uninterested in anything but the music in front of him.
I leaned against the nearest console, watching him work.
His fingers never hesitated, moving smoothly over the keys, stopping only to scribble something in a worn notebook beside him.
I had seen musicians perform before—on stage, in front of millions, under blinding lights and deafening screams. But this? This was something else.
This was real.
"You do this a lot?" I asked.
Jaden didn’t look up. "It’s my job."
"Your job is to perform," I pointed out. "This looks more like a personal obsession."
His fingers slowed slightly, but he didn’t stop. "If it wasn’t an obsession, it wouldn’t be worth doing."
I didn’t have a response to that.
I had spent the last week convincing myself that DreamCrest was nothing but a manufactured machine, built to sell an illusion. But there was nothing artificial about Jaden inathis moment.
"Do the others help write?" I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.
"Some." He finally lifted his gaze, meeting mine with dark, sharp eyes. "But I put it all together."
I studied him. "So you’re the one who makes sure it sounds perfect."
He tilted his head slightly. "No such thing as perfect. Just finished."
I scoffed. "That’s not the message you guys sell."
For the first time, something flickered in his expression—just for a second. Then, just as quietly, he said, "Not the music. Just the machine that sells it."
That threw me off.
I had expected Jaden to be detached, like Theo, or performative, like Riley. But there was nothing calculated about what he had just said. He had spoken like someone who knew the difference between the industry and the thing that actually
."You love it," I said, realizing it as I spoke.
Jaden held my gaze. "Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t."
That shouldn’t have surprised me. But it did.
I crossed my arms, trying to find something, anything, to argue with. "Does it bother you that everything gets auto-tuned and overproduced before it reaches people?"
His lips twitchedlike he almost wanted to smirk. "It’s not about how they hear it. It’s about what they hear."
"And you think that matters?"
"Doesn’t it?"
I didn’t have an answer to that either.
I should have left it alone. I should have dismissed this as an exception—Jaden was just the rare one who cared about the music, while the rest of them focused on selling the brand. But something about the way he had never looked away, never hesitated, made me question everything I had assumed.
Before I could decide how I felt about that, the studio door swung open, and Dominic walked in, looking as effortlessly put together as ever.
"Interrupting something?" he asked, clearly amused.
I straightened, stepping back instinctively. "No."
Jaden had already turned back to the piano, uninterested in whatever conversation Dominic was about to start.
Dominic walked over to me, voice lower. "You look like you have thoughts, Dauntless."
I exhaled sharply. "I just wasn’t expecting at least one of you to actually care about the music."
Dominic smirked. "So you’re admitting you were wrong?"
"Absolutely not."
He chuckled, stepping a little closer, his voice dropping just enough that only I could hear. "I don’t think you hate the industry as much as you pretend to."
I narrowed my eyes. "I don’t pretend anything."
"Don’t you?"
I hated the way he watched me—like he was waiting for me to admit something to myself before I even realized it.
Before I could argue, a melody filled the space.
Jaden had started playing again, but this time, it wasn’t aimless. It wasn’t just stray chords and unfinished notes. It was a song.
Slow. Unpolished. Unfinished. But raw.
I wasn’t an expert in music, but I knew emotion when I heard it. The kind that wasn’t created for the sake of radio charts or brand deals. The kind that wasn’t meant to be sold or packaged neatly.
I didn’t move. I just listened.
And for a brief moment, I almost believed they weren’t as empty as I thought.