I never thought the day would come when I'd walk into a vocal studio not as a guest, not as Claude's wife, but as someone who truly wanted to stand in front of a microphone and sing. My heart thudded in my chest as I pushed open the door to the training room in Jean Entertainment, the glossy white floors and faint smell of polished wood making the place feel both professional and intimidating.
Len Sky was already there, leaning casually against the piano with a notebook in his hand. His hair caught the overhead lights, his sharp eyes darting to me the second I stepped inside.
"You're late," he said simply, though the clock on the wall told me I was exactly on time.
I frowned. "No, I'm not."
"You're late because I was waiting," he countered smoothly, flipping his notebook open. "Lesson one: in this industry, the clock runs faster. If you want to shine, you need to move faster than everyone else."
