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The roar of the crowd swells, a wave of sound that crashes over me, but it's a noise I've grown accustomed to. For a fleeting moment, it's just me and the melody, the familiar lyrics a comforting echo of my turbulent journey here.
I let the music take hold, the rhythm a steady pulse that aligns with my own heartbeat. It's a bittersweet tether, this symphony of adoration from fans who know Drea Joy, but not the girl behind the mask, the girl who craves a sliver of true freedom.
I pour every ounce of that hidden yearning into my performance, my voice a clear call cutting through the noise.
As the melody builds, so does the pressure, a reminder of the invisible chains Brandon has wrapped so tightly around my life. I'm aware of every eye on me, the weight of expectations heavy on my shoulders.
I'm trapped, a songbird in a gilded cage, and the irony isn't lost on me that I'm singing about love and escape, yet I'm ensnared by my own success, unsure if I even hold the key to my liberation.
Then, as the song floats on a crescendo through the blinding lights, I see him. A shadow at the edge of the stage.
Damien McAllister.
Our eyes meet, and something shifts within me, an intangible spark. For a heartbeat, I'm no longer just Andrea or Drea Joy—I'm someone who might actually break free.
I tighten my grip on the microphone, the next verse a vow. I will find a way out. And Damien, he might just be my escape.
CHAPTER THREE
DAMIEN
Andrea's voice echoes through the club. It completely destroys the armor I've worked around my heart for so long, making me feel like dust being blown away by the wind.
My gaze remains fixed on her. "It's impressive, isn't it?" says Jackson from beside me.
I nod in response, silent. He stopped by to make sure that everything went well with the show. In the end, it did.
Behind the curtain, we can both see Andrea, her sweat-peaked forehead bathed in the lights. Her hands are clenched into fists, and her lips are open to allow the strength of her voice to sweep through every single person present in the club.
"I never thought such a powerful voice could come from someone so petite," I say, marveling at the contrast between her delicate frame and the force of her singing.
Jackson looks at me. He seems intrigued by the hidden meaning within my words, but says nothing about it.
Instead, he waits while Andrea dedicates the last notes of her concert to the audience. A wave of applause races through the crowd seconds before she spreads a beautiful smile across her lips and wipes away the sweat with one of her hands.
I could never have imagined that someone could make me feel so many things at once.
Jackson pats my shoulder and turns around. "I'll go check on our other superstar," my best friend says as he retreats back to the dressing room.
I imagine he's referring to Logan, which I’m not worried about. Instead, I turn my attention back to Andrea.
Watching her emerge from the dressing room as Drea Joy surprised me.
My little mouse entered but the pop sensation exited.
Now, a blonde wig conceals Andrea's fiery locks that I've seen cascade in soft waves around her delicate face, one that now hides behind the industry's mask.
My marketing team plastered her image on every surface they could find, but they captured a persona, not the woman.
Drea Joy's allure is undeniable, a crafted beacon of stardom that draws the masses. Yet, my gut clenches because it's Andrea's raw, unfiltered talent that truly captivates me.
She's more than this glitzy facade, more than what the crowd craves. And I know it—because I've been down this road before.
The road where the stage blurs the line between real and performance, where authenticity is traded for applause.
Natalie... her shadow flickers in my thoughts, a haunting silhouette of a past that taught me love and the spotlight don't mix.
I won't dwell on the details, not here, not now. Those wounds have scabbed over, toughened by the lessons they left behind. But the scar tissue tightens around my chest at the sight of Andrea, no, Drea Joy, and the familiar strain of caution tugs at me.
