In the highest floor of Silver crown entertainment, now seated in his office was Fred Orchard who stared into space wondering what next to do. Maeve had bitten more than she could chew and he wouldn't let it slide.
He had no idea when she changed so much. Just last week she had been all over him, planning their wedding and in the blink of an eye, everything had gone south.
Fred moved his hands through his head frustratedly as he sighed.
At first, he had been overly confident that she wouldn't leave. He thought he could break her through the cheating scandal. He thought she would be at his mercy and cry everyday for her tape not to be released.
Right! She had no idea he had the tape already, it was time for him to use it against her.
"John." His assistant walked in.
"Yes sir."
"Get Maeve and tell her to meet me in my office by tomorrow, I have something very urgent to discuss with her." John returned after a few minutes.
"Sir, she said she's too busy with the songs you asked her to release and cannot make it today." Fred frowned.
"Is that so?" He smiled.
----
Maeve's phone has not stopped buzzing since the response from Clayton Grey. Every notable brand has tried to reach out for a collaboration.
Clayton Grey was the gold of the country, anything he touches immediately turns to gold.
To them, she was a treasure they all wanted to work with amidst the scandal. If a man like Clayton would want to be associated with Maeve, who were they?
Maeve has forwarded their messages to Martin but for some reason, he said they were too good for her. The sabotage was really alarming.
The days slipped by, and still, not a single new song had dropped. Maeve waited and waited but nothing was heard.
No live video random release, nothing.
Maybe Ama must have finally realized Maeve had caught on to her game. She knew that the moment she tried to steal and release another song, Maeve would blow her cover wide open. So did Maeve think.
She had set a trap for her, and this time, Ama wouldn't be stupid enough to fall for it.
She leaned back in her chair, headphones snug around her ears, listening to her recordings once more. Every note, every beat was perfect.
In just three days, she had created eight powerful songs, enough to form her debut EP. Her manager had demanded results, and she had delivered. Now, only one step remained.
With her pulse racing, Maeve hit send. The songs were finally out of her hands.
She hadn't even taken a full breath when Becky burst into the studio, her arms loaded with yet another massive bouquet of flowers. A small velvet box dangled from her fingers.
"You've got mail… again," Becky teased, dropping the flowers onto the desk.
Maeve's eyes flicked to the card. Same handwriting. Same message.
"From your biggest fan."
Her brows drew together. Who was this mystery admirer? The gifts had been arriving nonstop, roses, chocolates, jewelry, all anonymous, all signed the same way.
At this point, she was tired of even collecting them.
Maybe it was because most people now knew about her and Fred's divorce. Maybe other men thought she was finally available.
She wasn't used to being wooed, she had spent her entire adult life loving Fred Orchard. And in the end, that love had destroyed her.
She knew she couldn't dwell on the past forever. Someday she would find someone. Somewhere out there, maybe there was a man who wouldn't care about her tarnished image or the tabloids calling her a whore.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Becky said, smiling softly. "He even bought you a gift. How romantic."
"We don't have time for this, Beck. Martin's going to call any minute about the songs I sent. I'm nervous." Maeve's voice was clipped.
She wasn't worried about the quality, she knew the songs were good. What terrified her was Ama stealing them again. She had sent out a decoy version, just in case.
"This is a Black Baccara, Miss Maeve," Becky whispered in awe. "One of the rarest roses in the world. At this rate, we could start a flower shop. Whoever keeps sending these must be completely obsessed with you."
She set the bouquet beside the growing pile of flowers on the table, then carefully opened the velvet box.
Her gasp filled the room. "Miss Maeve…" Her hand flew to her mouth. "This is the Rule Paola limited-edition pearl necklace. Your name is engraved on it. Do you have any idea what this is worth? A couple million, at least."
Maeve gave the necklace a quick glance, the soft shimmer catching the studio lights, before rolling her eyes.
"Your secret admirer is loaded," Becky teased. "If this isn't love, I don't know what is."
"I don't have time for love, Becky. I just got out of a divorce."
Becky's smile faltered. She caught herself before saying his name. "Messy or not, you're free now. Everything's going to be fine."
"Fine," Maeve echoed quietly, though her chest felt tight.
Becky quickly changed the topic. "The competition is next week. And… it seems your plagiarist is joining."
Maeve froze. "What?"
"She's debuting at the competition. Rumor has it Mr. Orchard built the entire lineup around her."
Maeve's pulse pounded in her ears. In her past life, this was ground zero, the day Ama destroyed her. Back then, Ama hadn't even competed. She'd simply accused Maeve of stealing her music. That was the day the headlines turned, and Maeve's career went up in flames.
"She doesn't even have a face yet," Maeve muttered.
"She will soon," Becky said bitterly. "Fred will make sure of it."
Of course he would. Fred wasn't just angry she had left him, he wanted to bury her alive. But Maeve had lived through this nightmare once before. This time, she knew where every trap was hidden.
Her phone rang immediately, Martin's name flashed across the screen. She picked up immediately.
"Maeve," his voice was clipped, his tone unreadable. "I've listened to the music."
Relief flickered in her chest. "Good. Can it be released now?"
There was a long pause. When he spoke again, his voice was cold.
"No. Mr. Orchard says it's useless. Not worthy of his label. He wants new songs. Eight of them. By the end of the day."
Maeve's mouth fell open. "Eight songs? In hours? That's impossible!"
She had poured herself into that EP. Every lyric, every note was perfection, and Fred dared to call it useless?
"This isn't about the music," Martin said quietly. "This is about you. You left him humiliated, and now he's bleeding you dry in return. You're not his wife anymore, Maeve. You're his enemy."
Heat crawled up her spine, fury boiling beneath her skin.
"I don't care how good the songs are," Martin continued. "He doesn't want your voice out there. You're not a fan favorite anymore. You're hated. Every post and headline is against you. Maybe it's best if you step back. Leave music for a while, or better yet, sell your songs to the new rising star."
Maeve's knuckles turned white around her phone. Her jaw clenched.
"What the fuck…" she whispered, the words trembling with rage.