I arrived at the VisionWave building at 9:52, eight minutes early, carrying three shopping bags and a newfound confidence that still felt strange but good.
I took the stairs this time instead of the elevator—part exercise, part burning off the residual nervous energy from the mall confrontation. By the time I reached the fourth floor, I was only slightly out of breath, which was an improvement considering my pathetic 34 Strength points.
I knocked on the studio door.
"Come in!" Marcus's familiar voice called out.
I pushed the door open and entered, and Marcus immediately turned from the desk where he was adjusting some equipment, his eyes scanning me from head to toe.
"Okay, wait," he said, putting down whatever he was holding and walking over to me. "You look different."
I looked down at my outfit—the well-cut black turtleneck and the high-waisted tailored trousers I had bought literally an hour ago. I'd changed in the mall bathroom before leaving. "Different good or different bad?"
"Different amazing," Marcus said, circling around me like a fashion designer assessing a model. "This top? Perfect. The cut is clean, it'll look great on camera, won't create weird shadows or distract from your face. And these pants?" He whistled. "Girl, where did you find these? That's exactly the vibe I was picturing."
"Urban Thread at the Millennium Mall," I said, unable to stop smiling at his enthusiasm. "I went last minute this morning because I panicked about my original options."
"Well, your panic resulted in excellent choices." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Wait. You're also… I don't know, glowing? Like, you look more rested? Did you sleep well?"
Ah. The Charm increase. Apparently it was noticeable.
"Uh, yeah, slept well," I said, which was technically true. "And the mall was… interesting."
"Interesting?" Marcus latched onto that word like a dog with a bone. "Interesting like 'I found an amazing bargain' or interesting like 'something happened'?"
I hesitated.
And that was all Marcus needed.
His eyes widened. "Something happened! Tell me. Now." He grabbed my arm and practically dragged me to the armchairs near his workstation, gently pushing me to sit down. "Don't you dare leave me out. You know I live for drama."
I laughed. "It's not that much drama—"
"Let me be the judge of that," Marcus said, flopping into his chair and spinning to face me completely, hands clasped under his chin like a child waiting for a bedtime story. "Tell me everything. From the beginning."
"Don't you have equipment to set up?" I pointed to the cameras behind him.
"I set it all up at seven AM because I was excited," he said shamelessly. "Now stop stalling and talk."
I huffed. "Okay, okay. So basically, I was in the store trying on clothes, right? And then I heard these voices…"
---
Cut to: twenty minutes later.
"—and then I literally said 'Enjoy your shopping, oh wait, you only came here to humiliate me, didn't you?' and just walked away," I was saying, gesturing dramatically with my hands while Marcus was practically falling out of his chair.
At some point during the story, he had produced a box of chocolate cookies (from where? No idea) and was munching on them while watching me as if I were the season finale of his favorite show.
"You did NOT say that," Marcus said, grabbing another cookie. "Please tell me you actually said that."
"I swear I did!" I was half-laughing now because, in hindsight, the whole situation was absurd. "I didn't even know I had that in me! Like, normally I would have probably stammered something pathetic and run away."
"But you didn't run," Marcus said, pointing a cookie at me accusingly. "You slayed. You basically channeled movie villain energy and verbally destroyed them."
"Yeah," I said, leaning back in the armchair. "I kind of did, didn't I?"
"And that part about Melissa and her dad's financial scandal?" Marcus was laughing now. "Was that real or did you make it up on the spot?"
"Oh, totally real," I said. "I remember hearing gossip about it a few months ago. The Zhang family is being investigated for tax evasion or something. Everyone was talking about it at parties, but always in hushed tones because no one wanted to offend the family directly."
"And you threw it in her face in public. In a mall." Marcus was practically glowing with vicarious pride. "Cassandra, I need you to know: I am so proud of you right now. Like you're my little kid who just won a spelling bee trophy, except the trophy is for excellence in calling out phonies."
I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm honest," Marcus corrected. "And also I'm like, extremely invested in your personal growth journey now. You showed up here three days ago all 'I got disinherited and don't know what to do with my life,' and now you're buying new clothes, verbally destroying people, and about to record a professional video. That's iconic character development."
"Character development," I repeated, shaking my head but still smiling. "You're aware that you treat my life like it's entertainment, right?"
"Your life is entertainment," Marcus said without hesitation. "Like, if you don't become a famous singer—which you will, by the way—you should seriously consider writing a memoir. I'd buy it. I'd buy multiple copies and give them as Christmas gifts."
"Memoirs," I murmured. "Maybe. If I survive the next few months."
"You'll survive," Marcus said, his voice getting a bit more serious but still warm. "You're stronger than you think. Like, you don't realize it, but the way you handled those girls? That takes real guts. A lot of people would have crumbled."
I looked at him, feeling something tighten in my chest. "Thank you. Seriously. For… for always making me feel less alone in all this mess."
"Always," Marcus said, smiling gently. Then he clapped his hands once, breaking the moment. "BUT enough emotional moments! We have a video to record! Are you ready?"
I nodded. "Yes. Let's do this."
Marcus stood up, offering his hand to help me out of the armchair. "Great! So let me show you the setup."
He guided me to the main area of the studio where he had set up… well, something that looked like it came straight from a professional set.
There was a simple, elegant chair in the center, positioned against a plain black backdrop. Two large softbox lights were positioned at perfect angles, creating soft, flattering light. A main camera on a tripod was positioned directly in front, and I could see at least two smaller cameras at different angles.
"Wow," I said, looking around. "You really set all this up?"
"Told you I was excited," Marcus said, clearly proud. "So here's the plan: we're going to record several takes from different angles. You'll sit here," he pointed to the chair, "and just sing to the main camera. Don't worry about the other cameras—they're just for extra footage I'll use in editing."
"Okay," I said, approaching the chair. "And I just… sing? Like normal?"
"Exactly. Pretend the cameras aren't here. Just you and the music." He went to his workstation and pressed a few buttons. "The instrumental track will play through these speakers. You'll be able to hear me through them too if I need to give you any direction."
"Direction," I repeated. "Like… what should I be doing?"
"Honestly? Just feel the music," Marcus said. "Don't try to act or over-perform. The best content comes when people are genuine. Let the emotion of the lyrics show naturally on your face, in your voice. Trust me, you don't need to do much more."
I nodded, taking it all in.
"Let's do a test take first," Marcus said. "Just to get you used to the cameras and for me to check the audio levels. No pressure, this one won't even be used in the final video. It's just practice."
"Okay," I said, sitting in the chair and adjusting my posture. "Practice. I can do that."
Marcus went behind the main camera, checking the monitor. "Perfect. You're framed beautifully. Okay, I'm going to start the track now. Just… breathe and sing when you're ready."
The sound of the piano intro began to fill the studio—soft, melancholic, laden with emotion.
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over me. I took a deep breath, feeling the air fill my lungs, the breathing control technique activating automatically.
And then I started to sing.
The first words came out softly, almost like a whisper, but loaded with emotional weight. My voice—the Angelic Voice—caught each syllable and transformed it into something more, adding layers of meaning I didn't even know were there.
I sang about someone moving on, finding happiness with someone else. About still being stuck in the past while they built a future without you.
Across the cameras, Marcus had completely stopped moving.
He was frozen, one hand still on the monitor, eyes fixed on me with an expression I couldn't read because my eyes were closed.
As the song progressed, I let the emotions flow—not just Cassandra's, who had lost her family, but mine too. From my previous life, where I had been so common, so easily forgettable. Where no one would have noticed if I disappeared.
When I reached the chorus, my voice rose, filling the studio with pure, crystalline sound. It wasn't just technically perfect—it was felt. Every note carried years of loneliness, of not being enough, of watching other people live the lives you wished for.
I opened my eyes during the second verse, and that's when I saw it.
Marcus had his hand over his mouth. His eyes were visibly damp behind his glasses.
He was crying.
Or at least, on the verge of crying, blinking rapidly as if trying to hold back tears.
Something about seeing his reaction—seeing that my voice was actually affecting someone—made the emotion inside me intensify.
I sang the bridge, where the lyrics talked about showing up uninvited, remembering how things used to be. My voice broke slightly—not technically, but emotionally, on purpose—conveying that raw pain of having to let go.
Tears started to stream down my own face now, but I didn't stop. I didn't wipe them away. I just kept singing, letting the vulnerability show.
Marcus had placed his free hand over his heart, as if physically trying to hold something together.
The final chorus came, and I poured everything into it—all the regret, all the hope, all the painful acceptance that sometimes love isn't enough. That sometimes you have to let people go, even when it hurts.
The last note came out long and sustained, my voice vibrating through the studio before gently fading into silence.
For a long moment, nobody moved.
I was sitting there, tears streaming down my face, breathing slightly unsteady.
Marcus was behind the camera, still with his hand over his mouth, tears now visibly falling behind his glasses.
Finally, he cleared his throat. Tried to speak. Couldn't. Cleared his throat again.
"I…" he started, his voice hoarse. "I need a second."
He stepped out from behind the camera, taking off his glasses to wipe his eyes with his sleeve.
"Sorry," he said, still facing away from me. "That was… sorry, I didn't expect…"
"Marcus?" I said softly, wiping my own tears. "Are you okay?"
He turned around, and I could see his eyes were red. But he was smiling—that kind of smile that comes when something hits you deeply.
"Cassandra," he said, his voice still full of emotion. "That was… holy God, that was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard in my life."
I blinked. "Really?"
"Really?" He let out a wet laugh. "Girl, I've been in this industry for ten years. I've recorded hundreds of singers. Professionals, amateurs, everyone in between. And not one—not one—has made me feel what you just did."
He went back to the monitor, gesturing toward it. "Come see. Please."
I stood up, my legs a bit shaky, and went over to him.
On the screen, I could see the playback of the recording.
And… damn.
The lighting made me look almost ethereal, like I was glowing softly. But it was my face that really captured the attention—the way every emotion passed over it so clearly. The pain, the hope, the acceptance. All there, exposed and raw.
And my voice…
Even through the monitor's speakers, it sounded incredible. Rich, full of emotional texture, every word enunciated perfectly yet still sounding completely natural.
"That was the test take," Marcus was saying, his voice still slightly shaky. "That was you just warming up, and it's already… it's already perfect."
He looked at me, his eyes still damp. "You understand what you have, right? This gift you have?"
I shook my head slowly. "I… think I'm starting to understand."
"This is going to change lives," Marcus said with absolute conviction. "When people hear this, they're going to feel something. The same way I felt. The same way you clearly felt singing it."
He grabbed a box of tissues from the desk and offered it to me. I took one, wiping my face.
"Sorry for crying on you," he said, taking a tissue for himself. "That was deeply unprofessional of me."
"No," I said quickly. "Don't apologize. It was… actually it was good. Knowing it really affected someone."
Marcus gave a wet laugh. "Affected? Cassandra, I'm emotionally wrecked right now. I'm going to need therapy after that." But he was smiling. "In the best possible way."
He composed himself, putting his glasses back on. "Okay. Okay, I need to be professional. We need more takes, from different angles, but…" he paused. "Honestly? I don't know if you can top that. That was pure magic."
"Can we try?" I said. "Like, I want to make sure you have options."
"Yes, yes, of course," Marcus said, going back to the camera. "Let's do it. But I swear, if you make me cry again, I'm charging extra for therapy fees."
I laughed, going back to the chair.
We did five more takes.
And each one was equally intense.
At some point during the third take, when I opened my eyes during the bridge, I saw that Marcus had silently placed a tissue box near the monitor. By the fourth, he was discreetly wiping his eyes again. By the fifth, he had simply accepted that he was going to get emotional and let the tears fall while filming.
When we finally finished, it was almost two hours later.
"Okay," Marcus said, his voice hoarse from emotion and probably from holding back tears multiple times. "That… that's enough. Actually, that's more than enough. I have incredible material to work with."
I got up from the chair, feeling drained but in a good way. Like after an intense workout or an emotional therapy session.
Marcus came out from behind the cameras and walked over to me.
"I need to hug you," he said. "Is that okay? I need to hug you right now."
"Yes," I laughed. "Hug is good."
He pulled me into a tight hug.
"Thank you," he murmured into my shoulder. "For trusting me with this. For letting me be part of this journey. This is going to be special. I know it is."
I hugged him back, feeling that familiar tightness in my chest. "Thank you for believing in me."
When we separated, we were both a bit more composed.
"Okay," Marcus said, wiping his glasses one more time. "Now comes the boring part. Payment and logistics."
"How much?" I asked, grabbing my bags.
"Eighteen thousand as discussed," he said, giving me his bank details. "And I'll have this edited by Sunday. I'm going to work on it non-stop because honestly? I can't wait to see it finished."
I made the transfer, and he confirmed receipt.
"And Cassandra?" he said as he walked me to the door. "Seriously. Get ready. Because when this comes out, your life is going to change. And I'm not being dramatic. I genuinely believe this is going to go viral."
"You said that before," I said, smiling.
"And I'll keep saying it until you believe it," he replied. "Now go home, rest, and let me create magic."
At the door, he gave me one more quick hug.
"You were amazing today," he said. "And not just with the music. You're amazing, period."
I left the studio with my bags, my heart inexplicably lighter despite all the intense emotion.
On the subway ride home, I put in my headphones and just sat in silence, replaying the session in my mind.
Seeing Marcus cry—seeing how my voice had actually affected someone so deeply—had been… transformative.
Because for the first time, I truly understood the power of what I had.
Angelic Voice wasn't just about sounding good. It was about making people feel something. About reaching inside them and touching those soft, vulnerable parts they usually hid.
It was about connection. Real, visceral, human, emotional connection.
And if I could make Marcus—an experienced professional who had seen it all—cry?
Maybe, just maybe, I really could do this.
I got home, dropped my bags on the floor, and collapsed onto the bed.
My phone vibrated.
Marcus: Just started reviewing the footage. I'm already crying again. You've ruined me. In four days you'll be famous and I'll be an emotional wreck. Worth it. ❤️
I laughed, typing back:
Me: Sorry for ruining you? But also not sorry because apparently that's my superpower now 😅
Marcus: YOUR SUPERPOWER IS MAKING GROWN MEN CRY. I love it. You are officially my all-time favorite client.
Me: I'm your ONLY client at the moment
Marcus: DETAILS. I'll send you updates tomorrow. Now I need wine and a tissue box. You emotionally destroyed me and it's not even noon yet.
I put the phone aside, still smiling.
And for the first time since I arrived in this world, I felt… powerful.
Not in the way Cassandra had sought power—through status or family name.
But through something real. Something of my own.
My voice.
And soon, the whole world would hear it.