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The blaringhorns and revving engines envelop me as I step onto the crowded sidewalk. This is Los Angeles in all its chaotic glory. I smooth down my floral sundress, taking a deep breath. My name is Willow Carter and this city is my kingdom.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a storefront window, my long blonde curls framing my face, green eyes bright with anticipation. I've learned to keep my guard up in this town. You never know who might be watching.

A sleek black car slows beside me, the tinted window rolling down. I freeze, poised for flight.

"Hey there gorgeous, need a ride?" The driver leers at me hungrily.

I square my shoulders and walk on. "No thanks, I'm good."

The car keeps pace with me. "Come on baby, I'll show you a real good time."

My skin crawls at his words. I spin to face him, anger simmering in my veins. "I said no. Now leave me the hell alone."

The driver's expression darkens. For a moment we're locked in a standoff, the rumbling car engine the only sound. Then he peels away, nearly clipping my leg.

I watch the car until it disappears, willing my pounding heart to slow. I hate how weak they make me feel, like a lamb among wolves. But this lamb has teeth. And she's not afraid to bite.

I take a deep breath and center myself, brushing off the encounter. I can't let creeps like him ruin my day. Today is important. I have a big audition that could change everything.

Music is my passion. Ever since I was a little girl, singing has been my escape, my salvation. Now at nineteen, it's finally my career. I've paid my dues playing dive bars and coffee shops, hoping for my big break.

And today might just be it.

I arrive at the prestigious recording studio, heart fluttering with nerves and excitement. This is my shot to impress a major producer and land a record deal.

The receptionist leads me to the studio where a team waits—manager, vocal coach, producer. The producer, Dante, rises to shake my hand.

"Willow, so glad you could make it. We've heard great things about your voice."

I smile, willing my nerves away. "Thank you. I'm thrilled to be here."

We get to work on a new song they've written for me. As the music starts, the familiar thrill rushes through me. This is what I live for. I close my eyes, let the melody fill me up, and begin to sing...

The hours fly by in a blur of takes and notes. When we finish, Dante grins and claps. "Incredible! You have real star power, Willow. How would you like to make an album with us?"

Joy surges within me. My dreams are finally coming true. "I'd love nothing more," I say.

This is only the beginning. With music as my wings, there's no telling how far I'll fly.



But with success comes darkness.

The album is a smash hit, my name and face suddenly everywhere. I'm stopped constantly on the street, photographed without consent. My social media is flooded with messages from obsessed fans, some worrisome in their intensity.

My team insists this is normal, but their reassurances ring hollow. I feel exposed, hunted. My blossoming fame has placed a target on my back.

I take precautions. Vary my routine, keep my head down. My guard is always up, eyes sweeping my surroundings. I check the locks twice at night, sleep with a bat by my bed. I'm almost afraid to be in public alone.

But still, the paranoia grows. I'm jumpy. I avoid people, cutting off friends and family. It's safer to be alone.

The darkness closes in, strangling my spirit. This is the cost of living my dream—a loss of freedom, of self. Each achievement only tightens the vise.

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