AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You have no choice.”
CHAPTER 1
OLIVIA
19 YEARS OLD
Istared at the picture on the dressing room table, a snapshot from the day I’d signed my first contract.
From the day I’d signed my life away.
Or should I say the dayMamahad signed my life away. Because at nine years old I hadn’t been old enough to do that for myself.
In the picture, my mother–Jolette as she liked me to call her now–and I were both wearing twin smiles, a pen in her hand. Her smile was because she was about to make millions off me. My smile…was because she seemed happy with me for once in my life.
I would have given anything to go back in time, to right before that contract was signed. I would have torn it up, and run from the room. I would have disappeared.
I wouldn’t have even cared if I’d died.
Because it would have meant…I was free.
I flung the picture down in disgust, enjoying the sound of glass breaking. Not that it would matter.
Somewhere, there was a dressing room rider, that I’d never seen, that made it so this stupid fucking picture was waiting for me at every venue.
I rubbed at my chest. At nineteen you weren’t supposed to have chest pain, but here we were.
We were in New York tonight, and I was about to play for a packed house at Madison Square Garden.
But if this chest pain kept up, I wasn’t going to be playing anywhere.
I sank down on the padded bench, exhaustion seeping through my bones. I’d been on tour for…how long?
It felt like forever. It felt like I was a rat on one of those wheels, destined to collapse because I couldn’t stop running myself to death.
I rubbed my hands along my legs, struggling to find my composure. I could hear the faint sound of the roaring crowd, and I was already dreading the blinding lights.
This was a small venue compared to where they normally had me play, but there were still twenty thousand people out there.
Jolette and Marco were furious about the size.
When was the last time I’d eaten? When was the last time I’d done anything remotely in the realm of taking care of myself?
I was so fucking tired.
The door to the dressing room swung open, and my mother entered. She was dressed in her usual outfit of the most expensive designer clothes money could buy, her demeanor as cold and demanding as ever.
“Get up. You’re on in five,” she hissed, staring down at me with her nose wrinkled up, like I was a splash of mud that had gotten on her pristine white Chanel coat.
“And while you’re getting ready, think about this shitshow.” She threw down her phone where there was an article displayed from some news site, speculating I’d been high at a recent show.
They weren’t wrong.
“If you have to be a weak little brat…” she said snidely, tossing me the bottle of pills she’d forced down my throat for years. I took them willingly now before shows and appearances; I couldn’t get through a show without them. “Then you need to control yourself better. That’s all you need is more bad fucking publicity.”
A wave of shame sliced through my skin, like it always did when she pointed out all my deficiencies. No matter what I did…I was a disappointment.
There was a knock on the door and Marco opened it without waiting for anyone to tell him to come in. I stiffened at his appearance. He wasn’t supposed to be at this show tonight. I wasn’t supposed to have to deal with him too. A bead of sweat dripped down my spine and my hands began to tremble.
