For the rest of the day, Maeve tore her studio apart. She wanted to know it was possible. How the new artist was able to steal her music, who the new artist was.
She overturned her chairs, yanked her drawers open, scattered papers like broken wings. She ripped through every corner, every shelf, as if the walls themselves were hiding secrets.
There had to be something. A camera. A recorder. Anything.
How else could her music have been stolen? She had recorded alone last night, she wrote the songs alone, it wasn't even possible for two people to think of the exact same thing.
She searched until her hands shook, until sweat clung to her skin. She even brought out a metal detector, waving it across the floor, the walls, the instruments, desperate for the faintest beep, the smallest clue.
But there was nothing.
No wires. No devices. No evidence.
The studio was as clean as a grave.
Maeve had made little money so she ordered new equipment and took the old ones out. She called her assistant Becky, who helped with the arrangement of the new studio setup.
She would never let the mistake of her past life repeat itself. If nothing else, she would make sure she found the thief and brought justice to her old self.
"It's all done. Please come see your studio." Becky's voice was bright. Maeve walked calmly behind her and was in awe of everything inside. It looked beautiful, breathtaking, even.
"We can start arranging the plaques and trophies in...."
"No," Maeve said almost immediately.
"Send the plaques and trophies over to Mr. Orchard's office. He'll make better use of them. I don't need them," she said softly, keeping her tone calm as she walked toward a chair.
Becky froze, staring at her with her mouth open.
"Are you sure, Mrs. Orchard?"
Maeve nodded with a small smile. "Yes. A thousand and one percent sure."
Becky blinked, like she had something more to say but didn't want to upset her. Aside from being her assistant, Becky was almost like a friend. She knew how to read Maeve in ways others couldn't.
"I got the tape you asked for miss Maeve." Becky said calmly. "It seems like other people were trying to get it too, but I had gotten there just in time. You have nothing to worry, I asked him to destroy it. We're the only once with the evidence."
"Thank you Becky." Maeve took a flashdrive from her assistant.
"Miss Maeve… w... What happened? H... how are you able to cope with all the rumors? And with... Mr. Orchard?" She lowered her voice when she said his name.
It had only been a day since Maeve and Fred got married, and already there were rumors flying around that Maeve had cheated.
It wasn't supposed to be out yet, and Maeve knew who must have released those headlines.
She leaned back in her chair. "Everything you've read is true, Becky." She smiled faintly.
"Fred and I… we're already divorced and will be announcing it soon. We're divorced because I cheated. Or maybe got set up."
Becky's eyes nearly popped out of her head. Everyone knew how obsessed Maeve had been with Fred Orchard. She had humiliated herself publicly for his attention. Fought girls online for him. Confessed her feelings in front of the world. Even begged him to be her husband.
Some people mocked her for it, but others applauded her boldness. Either way, she hadn't cared. At that time, all she'd wanted was him. And somehow, she got her wish.
Everyone wanted to be Fred's wife, she had the opportunity and had given it away.
So now, the news that she had cheated and was leaving him shocked everyone. Her fans were in an uproar. They couldn't believe it. After all, Fred and Maeve had been painted as the perfect couple. The internet called them the next Beyoncé and Jay-Z. She was the rising star with the golden voice, and he was the powerful label owner who had become a billionaire quickly.
Little did they know those accolades were all fakes. He had bribed news outlets to make him seem bigger than he was so that he would be respected more.
Maeve and Fred were supposed to be untouchable. A match made in heaven.
But that was the old story. That was her past life.
The truth? Fred had killed her long before the world thought she was dead. He gave away her place, her dreams, to a newer artist who stole all her songs. And when she complained, he silenced her.
"Being my wife is enough, Eve," he told her. "You don't need anything else. Let her shine, it's her turn."
Maeve had no idea who the faceless thief was, but she'd listened. She'd obeyed. That obedience destroyed her. That was how she died.
But this time, things were different. She would find out who the thief was, and destroy her.
★★★★
"You asked for her to be investigated further, Mr. Grey, and here you have it."
The maid's voice trembled as she clutched the phone, reading his assistant's message from his cellphone.
"The news about your scandal is all over the net. It seems… it's not the first time she's been accused of such."
Clayton swirled the last drop of wine across his tongue before setting the glass aside. Then, without hurry, he rose from the tub.
Water streamed down his chest in thin, glistening trails, catching on every hard line of muscle. Droplets slid lower, dripping from his waist, hitting the marble floor like the ticking of a clock. He didn't bother reaching for a towel.
The maid's throat bobbed as she swallowed. Her cheeks burned red, but she didn't dare look away. She was both frightened and… spellbound.
Her master was like a sculpture, a sculpture even the best crafter could never craft.
Clayton's gaze shifted to her, cool and sharp. "What else is written there?" His voice was calm, deep, and commanding, the kind that left no room for hesitation.
Her knees almost gave way. She gripped the phone tighter, fingers trembling as if the device weighed a ton.
"S... She's trouble. A woman who begs men for attention…"
"Hm." He hummed with a smile. "So... she's a chaser..." He paused. "I love being chased."
"She has a bad reputation," the maid continued quickly.
"You cannot be seen with such a woman, Mr. Grey. She's a whore, that's how she got to fame. And most especially, she's your nephew's wife. It's going to cause a commotion."
"Hm… is that all?" Clayton asked, finally wrapping a towel around his waist as the maid continued reading.
"She's an artist, one of the rising stars of our time, but her name trends for scandals rather than music these days." She hesitated. "She has a sister and is an orphan. It seems she's been with your nephew for a really long time. They... are... inseparable…"
"But Master Grey," the maid read softly, "why are you suddenly interested in that woman? There are many other women to want."