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"You seem distracted. Is there something on your mind?" Her gaze follows mine across the room, landing on the retreating form of Bailey.
I take a swig of my drink. "Just thinking about a deal I'm working on." It's a blatant lie, and I know it. But the last thing I need is Aliyah getting suspicious, especially when I'm not even sure what's going on in my own head.
After an evening filled with empty laughter and shallow conversation, we leave the restaurant. My arm is draped around Aliyah’s waist and I can feel her body press against mine. Her laughter rings in my ear as I help her into the backseat of my chauffeur-driven Bentley.
Aliyah begins chatting about some drama in the celebrity world. I struggle to remember who she's talking about. A new pop star? An old one? Really, who can keep up? And who the fuck wants to?
"Aren't you excited about Mitch and Abbey, Logan?" Aliyah chirps from beside me, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "They finally got cast on that new reality show!"
"Ah yes." I turn to look at her. "Very... exciting."
Inside, I'm rolling my eyes. Celebrity gossip. I can't stand it. The superficiality of it all, the fleeting relationships, the media circus, the invasion of privacy. I'm part of that world, reluctantly, and it's nothing like the glittering fairy tale Aliyah imagines. It's exhausting, being in the limelight, putting on a show for the world.
I glance out of the window, my eyes drawn to a music shop we pass by. Guitars and drums line the display window. I'd give anything to be a low-key music producer, making beats in the solitude of a studio, my soul poured out in the creation process.
Music. It is my life. It's what keeps me going and has kept me going through some of the darkest times.
My mind wanders back to a harsh memory that still stings, even after all these years.
The day Jennifer, one of my ex-girlfriends, decided to turn my world upside down. She painted an elaborate picture of our future together, complete with a white picket fence and a couple of kids. She wanted marriage. But I wasn't ready for that. I wanted to break free, to focus on my music.
That didn’t go down well with her.
The night I told her I wanted to break things off, she looked at me with those tear-filled eyes, her mascara smudging, and screamed, "You'll regret this, Logan."
I didn't realize how serious she was.
The next day, scandalous headlines splashed across every cell phone, every TV screen. Accusations of sexual assault. My face plastered everywhere. Jennifer crying crocodile tears, playing the victim, spinning a rumor mill of events that never happened.
I still remember the feeling of the world turning against me. Friends becoming enemies, fans turning into haters. My world crashed down around me in a fuckin' heartbeat.
I found my solace in the one place I knew wouldn't abandon me—music.
In my soundproof studio, away from the world's condemnation, I drowned myself in beats and rhythms. My pain pouring through the notes, my anger etched into every drop.
Music doesn't judge. It doesn't accuse. It doesn't take anything from me.
With my mind wrapped in the memory, I shake my head, shoving the ghost of Jennifer away.
"But Logan..." Aliyah's voice interrupts my thoughts. "Don't you love the fame, the attention?"
I plaster a smile on my face, looking at her. "Yeah... It's all so... thrilling."
My eyes fall back to the music shop receding in the distance.
Someday. Someday.
We pull up to my penthouse, a towering glass sky-scraper overlooking the beauty of Lake Michigan. As we step out of the car, I catch a glimpse of the lights reflecting off the water’s surface. The lake’s calmness neutralizes my turbulent thoughts. This is my sanctuary, my escape from the world.
I guide her through the entrance and into the elevator that leads up to my penthouse. As the doors close behind us, I brace myself for another round of rehearsed charm and fake smiles.
We walk into my place and I lead her directly towards the wet bar. The ambient lights bathe the room in a soft, sensual glow as I grab a couple of glasses and a bottle of whiskey.
“Here,” I say, pouring a generous amount into her glass and then mine.
She looks at the amber liquid swirling in the glass and crinkles her nose. “Logan...You know I don't drink whiskey."
I raise an eyebrow.
