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ul Julian Watson. But on the night of my greatest triumph, he framed me f
fan, fueled by his lies, attacked me, leaving a scar across my face an
d me. He threatened the kind old woman who'd given me a job and even my grandfa
r ambition. Kaylene, wearing a bracelet Julian once
d. "Your voice might be gone, b
nd left for dead. As I faded into darkness, I heard her final, ch
my estranged sister, a federal
about to f
pte
Farl
Julian' s betrayal was crushing me, even before the who
w, it was a curse. Plagiarist. Saboteur. The words echoed in every corn
. He fed the rumors, fueled the fire. He leaked my private demo tapes, my most intimate lyrical drafts from my perso
rnight. The public, a rave
parked by Julian' s lies, found its target in my face, leaving a jagged scar from my temple to my jaw. An
y rock, my first fan. The shock, the grief, it was to
and became Anna Miller. A barista in a quiet, rain-soaked town in
last
ter. Julian Watson' s face filled the screen. He was older,
rowful gaze that was probably practiced in front of a mirror, spoke
e coffee machine hiss
words were a brand, searing my
e under a bus. He engineered my downfall. He picked apa
for me. He wanted to look like the heartbroken martyr, the man who never stopped l
tant reminder of the price I paid for his carefully constructed nar
ry: Will Annie Farley Return?" People in the coffee shop whispered, their voices fil
idea. They
ntrol the narrative, to clean up his image. He was waiting
I knew this wasn't just a nostalgic interview. This wasn't jus

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