ad like a phantom haunting its own house. Her throat burned, not from effort, but from holding in too much. The same could be said for her heart. She sat on the little velvet couch, hands still trem

ing to perfection. Leona behind the curtain, voice bleeding through speakers, heart breaking beneath it all. The fans cheered for a voice they didn't know belonged to someone else. And Leona? She sang her soul into the shadows. Jason Carter watched the headlines. Read between the lines. He hadn't seen Leona since the night she sobbed in his arms, but she hadn't left his mind. Not for a second. At his desk, he pulled up a security feed-a favor from someone on the tour crew. Backstage footage from the last venue. Leona, post-show. Pale. Shaking. Alone. He slammed his laptop shut, frustration boiling under his skin. He couldn't just sit back any longer. It was time. After another sold-out show, Leona found herself alone outside the venue, wrapped in her coat, waiting for her car. Jason appeared like a ghost beside her. His presence was the kind that could change the air around her, but she didn't flinch. Not this time. "Don't scream," he said softly. Leona blinked. "Jason." "I need ten minutes." "You shouldn't be here." "I shouldn't be watching you waste yourself either." She stiffened, cold seeping into her bones. "This isn't your fight." "It became my fight the moment you walked into that studio and sang like you were dying." Silence. The kind that stretched so far between them, it almost swallowed the words. "I know about Ava's surgeries," he continued. "I know about Bryan's secret meetings. I know he's selling you out for Ava's rebrand." She looked away, trying to block out the truth he was revealing with quiet ease. "He doesn't love you, Leona." "He used to," she whispered, voice breaking on the words. Jason stepped closer. "And you still think that's enough to stay?" "I think love is messy," she said, her words small, like she was justifying a life she couldn't break free from. "No. This? This is cruelty with lipstick." Leona swallowed, hard. "I can't just walk away." He reached for her hand, and this time, she didn't pull back. "Then let me walk with you." Her hand trembled, then pulled back. She couldn't. Not yet. "I still love him," she whispered, eyes filled with something close to resignation. Jason nodded slowly, a mix of sadness and resolve flickering across his face. "Then I'll wait. But I won't watch you break alone." He turned and left her there. Alone, but not alone. The truth of his words stayed with her, heavy in the quiet. Tears slipped down her cheeks, silent as the truth. The next venue was in Seattle. Rain traced long fingers down the glass of the hotel windows. Leona stood by the curtain, watching the city blur into mist. She hadn't slept. Not deeply. Not peacefully. The silence was beginning to feel like a second skin, a shield from everything outside the walls of her suite, but also a prison. A knock tapped gently at the door. She didn't move at first. Just stared at it, as if the knock itself was a decision she had to make. She opened it. Jason stood there. No suit. No tie. Just a grey hoodie, jeans, and eyes that looked like they hadn't rested either. His hands were stuffed in his pockets like he was holding something in, anger, worry, himself. "I shouldn't be here," he said, voice low. "And yet," she murmured, stepping aside. Jason walked in quietly, taking slow steps as though entering a place of reverence. She closed the door behind him, not daring to breathe. Neither of them said anything. Leona moved toward the small couch by the window. She didn't sit. She stood there, arms crossed, as if bracing herself against him. Finally, she asked, "Why do you keep coming back?" He hesitated. "Because you won't fight for yourself. And someone has to." She looked away. "You don't know me." "I know enough. I know you're bleeding yourself out in songs no one even credits you for. I know you're in