Gelo's POV
Two years. That's how long it had been since Adra boarded that flight to Seoul, his voice fractured, his chest heavy, his silence swallowing us whole.
Two years since Xiarya had stepped into his place, carrying the mask so perfectly that the world never questioned. To the fans, Sudden Music never stumbled. Adra never left. But the truth was standing here beside me now, fingers twisting nervously in her sleeves, long hair brushing her shoulders again after so long.
And today, the mask was finally ending.
Because Adra was coming home.
The Airport (Private Terminal)
The terminal we used wasn't the one screaming with fans and reporters. That would've been suicide. If even one camera had caught a shot of Xiarya standing beside Adra, or if anyone noticed the timing of his "arrival," the lie would've unraveled in minutes.
Instead, we waited in a quiet VIP corridor—fluorescent lights buzzing faintly, the air thick with anticipation.
And then the side door slid open.
Adra stepped through.
No crowd. No flashing cameras. Just us.
He looked different—shorter hair, leaner frame, sharper posture—but his eyes were still the same. That calm silence that seemed to pierce straight through you.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Xiarya stepped forward, her long hair brushing her shoulders now that the disguise was gone.
Adra's lips curved faintly. "You held it together."
Her throat tightened. "I only borrowed what was yours."
And for the first time in two years, he smiled. A real smile.
The world outside would never know this moment happened. And that was exactly how it needed to be.
The Concert (Seamless Handoff)
The return concert sold out within hours, just like every other. To the fans, this wasn't a comeback. This was just another show.
Backstage, Xiarya stood in the wings, her hair long again, no longer in Adra's jacket. She wasn't stepping into the lights this time.
When the stage cues hit and the spotlights burst alive, the crowd screamed his name—"Adra! Adra! Adra!"—believing he had always been theirs.
And now he was.
Adra walked out, shoulders squared, mic steady in his hand. His voice soared, clear and commanding. The fans cried, cheered, shouted his name like nothing had ever been wrong.
They didn't notice the difference because to them there was no difference.
The illusion had worked.
And from the wings, with my hand in hers, Xiarya finally smiled—not as Adra's shadow, but as herself.The Dorm
That night, the house pulsed with life. Mark blasted old demos through the speakers, Steve poured soda into cups like champagne, Monique laughed until her stomach hurt.
Adra sat on the couch, jacket still on, watching us. Not distant—just quiet, as if he was measuring every piece of the life he had left behind.
"So..." Mark leaned forward. "You gonna prove it? That you can actually sing again?"
Adra smirked faintly. "Tomorrow."
Steve groaned. "Two years gone and you're still dramatic."
We laughed, but my eyes were on Xiarya. She sat by the window, away from the noise, hair long again, her figure no longer hidden under oversized jackets. She looked like she was caught between relief and dread. Relief that Adra was back. Dread that her role was finished.
I crossed the room and took her hand. Not in secret. Not hidden. Out loud. Out in the open.
The room went quiet.
Mark's grin widened. "Finally."
Steve raised his cup. "Took you long enough, man."
Even Monique nodded approvingly.
But it was Adra who sealed it. He met my eyes, then hers, and said: "She's earned more than secrecy."
So I pulled her closer. "Everyone—this is Xiarya. My girlfriend. And Adra's cousin."
No one questioned it. No one mocked it. The truth landed not like scandal, but like recognition.
Adra added quietly, "She's not my shadow. She's family. She's her own."
And for the first time, Xiarya's eyes shone with something like freedom.
The Studio
The next morning, we gathered at the recording booth. The air was tense, like the entire band was holding its breath.
Adra stepped inside, adjusted the mic like it was second nature, and closed his eyes.
The silence stretched.
Then he sang.
Just one line.
But it was enough.
The sound was clear. Strong. Alive.
Steve's jaw dropped. Mark swore under his breath. Even Monique blinked tears away.
And Xiarya—her hands flew to her mouth as sobs broke loose, relief and grief tangled together.
When Adra stepped out, his voice rough but whole, he said simply: "Not perfect yet. But mine again."
And his eyes went to her when he said it.
Xiarya's POV
That night, I folded away the mask.
For two years, I'd kept my hair cropped short, hidden under caps and hoods. For two years, I'd worn his jackets, his silence, his name.
No more.
I let my real hair fall loose again, long and dark, brushing past my waist. I put away the hoodies. I tucked the jackets into storage.
When I walked into the kitchen the next morning, the room fell silent.
Steve nearly choked on his toast.
Mark stared openly.
Even Monique muttered, "Finally."
And Adra?
He studied me quietly, then nodded. "You've done more than anyone could ask. But now—it's my time."
The weight slipped off my shoulders.
For the first time in years, I wasn't pretending. I was me.
The University
At Alcantara University, the whispers followed immediately.
"Isn't that her? The girl with Sudden Music?"
"She's with Gelo, right?"
"Wait—Adra's cousin?!"
But for once, I didn't shrink from them.
At the registrar's office, I slid my forms forward. "General Education," I told the clerk.
Not remedial. Not from scratch. For two years, I had studied in secret—tutors, credits, accelerated modules. With the Yung family's backing and my own bloodline revealed, the school slotted me into advanced placement.
I wasn't falling behind. I was walking beside them.
When I stepped out, Gelo was waiting. He took my hand openly, no hesitation.
"You're officially one of us," he said with a smile.
And for the first time, I believed it.
Gelo's POV
She wasn't hidden anymore.
Xiarya walked beside me across campus, long hair gleaming in the sun, her books tucked under her arm. Students whispered, but this time it wasn't jealousy—it was respect.
Because she wasn't just my girlfriend. She wasn't just Adra's cousin. She was Xiarya Buenavista—princess in her own right, heir to a family name as strong as his.
Not a shadow. A light of her own.
And I would stand proudly beside her.
Adra's POV
That night, I found her on the balcony under the stars.
"You did well," I told her.
She turned, eyes shimmering.
"For two years, you gave them me when I couldn't. You gave me time to heal. That's more than I can repay."
Her voice cracked. "But what happens to me now?"
"You live," I said simply. "As Xiarya. Not as me. Never again as me."
Her tears fell, but they were light.
"You're not forgotten," I added softly. "You're my cousin. My family. Their sister. His love. You're not a shadow anymore."
And she smiled through her tears, free at last.
Adra's POV
The dorm was quiet that night. Too quiet. Steve had crashed in his room, probably buried in law books again. Mark was out late, still chasing business pitches even when classes drained him. Gelo's laughter echoed faintly down the hall, muffled through his closed door where Xiarya's softer voice answered back.
And me? I sat alone, the guitar resting against my knee, my room dim except for the city lights bleeding through the blinds.
Two years ago, I thought I'd lost everything—my voice, my music, my place. But somehow, they'd kept me alive. Xiarya had carried my silence. Gelo had carried the band. Together, they'd carried me.
Now the band was whole again. Steve pressed deeper into law. Mark thrived in business. I had reclaimed my music.
And Xiarya... she wasn't my shadow anymore. She walked the halls of the university with her head high, her long hair flowing, her books in hand. A student. A cousin. A girlfriend. A princess in her own right.
The fans never knew the truth. They didn't need to.
Because sometimes the best performances are the ones no one ever realizes were acts.
I leaned back in my chair, eyes drifting shut, and let the silence settle around me.
And somewhere—whether memory, dream, or fate—I heard it: the faint chime of a bell.
A girl in white robes knelt beneath the weight of her vows, her heart still tied to mine by an invisible thread.