________
CASSIE
Once I step inside my house, I storm into the meeting room. Indeed, my team is waiting for me.
There are four people in the room. Morgan, who is my manager and stepmother. Peter, her assistant. Oscar, her boss, who also happens to be my songwriting partner. And Paul, my makeup artist—as to why he's here too, I don't have any idea.
Along with Mike, my bodyguard, and myself, there are six of us.
"Surprise," Oscar hums, but the look on his face is deadly, like he's not happy with whatever he found on the news.
"I'm on holiday," I groan, sinking into one of the couches, throwing my head back.
This meeting room is more like a living room but not as huge as the real one in the house. But there are definitely a big TV and a projector.
"With how you've behaved, you don't even deserve any holiday," Morgan snaps, and I roll my eyes. "For God's sake, Cassie, it's time for you to grow up."
Each of her words stings, but never in million years would I ever show her again how much it affects me. I gave up a long time ago.
"Come on, Morgan, she just finished her tour," Paul says nonchalantly before sipping his wine. "She deserves a break."
I appreciate Paul's effort to take my side, and so I give him a soft smile.
"And why are you even here, Paul?" Morgan asks, sounding annoyed, her wavy blonde hair tossed as she snaps her head toward my makeup artist.
"For moral support." Paul winks at me.
Right. The people in this room who understand me better are Paul and Mike. I often rant to them about my life problems, telling them about all the struggles I'm going through when my stepmother doesn't even want to hear me.
I can't hate Peter, though. To me, he's just an innocent and hardworking guy who always helps Morgan when things get hectic.
I wouldn't be surprised if he told me that he'd changed his surname from Parker, because he looks just like that handsome nerd in the movie.
As for now, when I shift my attention to him, he just grins, adjusting his glasses.
"Did you see the news?" Oscar asks, a frown touching his lips like he's trying to figure out whether I give a damn about the consequences of my actions. "Or did you check the comments on your Instagram at least?"
With the number of my Instagram followers almost close to that of Justin Bieber's, I definitely can't check all of them, and only the comments with the most likes show up at the top.
Right now, I can guess where they come from.
From the haters.
Fully aware that hateful comments affect me ten times more powerfully than the good comments, I choose not to open my Instagram just yet.
"So, what did they say this time?" I ask, my voice small.
Oscar lets out a long sigh, shaking his head in disbelief. He looks really tired, and I suddenly feel responsible for causing him to look older than his 32-year-old self.
Usually, he would take my side when Morgan scolds me and approach the topic more diplomatically, but right now, I feel like he's just going to scold me too.
"Cassie, your charts are going down," he says, ignoring my question about the hateful comments.
Yes, I'm aware of that. I know that my career is about to be ruined.
"Cassie." Oscar sighs again. "Four guys in one year. Really?" he asks me in disbelief.
OK. Here we go.
