The first offer arrived at noon.
It was wrapped in politeness, urgency, and a PDF that smelled like a trap.
Lyra stared at the email on her cracked laptop screen, scrolling past clauses she didn't fully understand but instinctively hated. Ownership of voice. Ownership of likeness. Creative "guidance." Silence agreements dressed up as protection.
Five-year term.
Optional extension.
Her stomach turned.
She closed the laptop and leaned back against the couch, ceiling fan ticking overhead like a countdown. This was supposed to be the dream. This was what she'd waited for through empty auditions and unpaid gigs and nights where dinner was whatever was cheapest.
And yet her hands were shaking.
Her phone buzzed.
Mara: DO NOT SIGN ANYTHING. I'M ON MY WAY.
Lyra exhaled slowly.
Across the city, Aurelian Cross was watching numbers bleed.
Not enough to alarm the public. Just enough to irritate him.
Helios Auto's stock dipped 1.3% within an hour—nothing dramatic, but surgical. A whisper of doubt slipped into the market, carried by anonymous analyst notes questioning "long-term brand volatility due to non-core reputational exposure."
Non-core.
He smiled without humor.
"Loxley again?" his assistant asked.
Aurelian didn't answer immediately. He was reading a second report—this one quieter. A luxury fashion house had withdrawn from a joint branding event scheduled for next quarter. No explanation. Just distance.
They were drawing lines.
"Track secondary movements," Aurelian said. "I want to know who flinches next."
"And the singer?"
Aurelian's fingers paused on the tablet.
"Leave her out of it," he said. "As much as possible."
His assistant hesitated. "That may not be your choice."
"I'm aware."
Meanwhile, Lyra's apartment filled with Mara's energy—fast, anxious, protective.
"They're circling," Mara said, pacing. "Labels, producers, even a film studio sniffing around. One of them asked if you'd consider a 'public association' to boost visibility."
Lyra frowned. "Association with who?"
Mara stopped pacing. "You know who."
Lyra's chest tightened. "I didn't agree to that."
"They don't need you to," Mara said grimly. "They just need a narrative."
As if summoned, Lyra's phone lit up with a notification.
TRENDING: Billionaire CEO's Muse? Mystery Singer Linked to Aurelian Cross
Lyra felt heat rush to her face. "This is insane."
"It's strategic," Mara said. "They're tying your rise to his power. If you fall, he looks careless. If he falls—"
"I get it," Lyra snapped, then softened. "Sorry. I just—this isn't my war."
Mara met her eyes. "Wars don't ask permission."
By nightfall, the internet had decided Lyra Vale was either a plant, a pawn, or a problem.
Clips were dissected. Her past gigs unearthed. A blurry photo from years ago—her laughing outside a dive bar—circulated with captions speculating about "humble origins" and "manufactured authenticity."
She stopped reading after someone commented that she'd "sleep her way to the top anyway."
The knock at the door startled her.
Mara froze. "Were you expecting someone?"
Lyra shook her head.
Another knock. Firmer.
She opened the door cautiously.
A man stood there in a dark coat, posture too straight, eyes too alert. Not a fan. Not press.
"Ms. Vale," he said calmly. "I'm here on behalf of Mr. Cross."
Lyra's jaw tightened. "He has a phone."
"He prefers distance tonight," the man replied. "May I come in?"
"No."
A beat passed.
"Fair," the man said. "Then I'll be brief. There's going to be a leak."
Lyra's heart skipped. "About what?"
"About you," he said. "Selective. Incomplete. Designed to provoke outrage without being actionable."
Mara swore under her breath.
"What kind of leak?" Lyra asked.
The man's gaze softened—just slightly. "One that suggests you were paid to perform last night."
"That's a lie."
"Yes," he agreed. "But it will be convincing."
Lyra felt cold. "Why tell me?"
"Because if you react emotionally, it becomes truth," he said. "If you stay silent, it becomes noise."
"And if I don't?" Lyra challenged.
"Then they escalate."
She folded her arms. "Tell Mr. Cross I don't appreciate being used as a chess piece."
The man inclined his head. "He anticipated that response."
He paused, then added quietly, "He also said to tell you this: you don't owe him loyalty. But you don't owe them your panic either."
With that, he turned and left.
The leak hit two hours later.
A headline with just enough ambiguity to stick. Sources claim mystery singer received undisclosed compensation from Helios-linked entities prior to viral performance.
Lyra stared at the screen, pulse roaring in her ears.
Mara grabbed her hand. "Don't respond. Please."
Lyra swallowed hard.
Across the city, Aurelian watched the same headline appear on his screen.
"So," he murmured. "They chose her."
He stood, shrugging into his coat. "Cancel my evening."
"Sir?"
"I'm going to lose something tonight," Aurelian said calmly. "I'd like to know what it feels like when it happens."
In a penthouse bathed in amber light, the man behind the leak raised a glass.
"Phase one," he said softly.
Back in her apartment, Lyra sat very still, the noise of the world pressing in from every direction.
She had done nothing wrong.
And yet, something precious was already being taken.
Outside, the city glittered—beautiful, merciless—as the first real crack spread through an empire of velvet and ash.