The city was sleeping when Luna Reyes slipped into the studio. Midnight bled into the streets outside, neon flickering against rain-slick pavement, but inside the walls of the converted warehouse Adrian had opened to her, it was silent.Too silent.She let the door shut behind her with a whisper of sound, her fingers trailing along the cool glass as if to steady herself. She didn’t know what was worse, that Adrian had arranged this, or that she had accepted.The space smelled faintly of cedar and electronics, that strange blend of warmth and sterility that came with studios. The control booth sat dark behind its window, shadows swallowing the mixing board. Beyond it, in the recording room, a single lamp spilled soft golden light over the microphone, the stool, the cables coiled like sleeping serpents on the floor.Her chest tightened. She hadn’t been in a studio like this in months, not without producers breathing down her neck, executives timing her every note, managers telling her w
The night skyline of Manhattan burned in glass and steel outside Adrian’s penthouse, the city stretched beneath them like a glittering kingdom he owned. Inside, silence pressed against Luna’s skin like a storm waiting to break.She stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, arms crossed, body wound tight. Adrian had returned only minutes ago, his presence filling the space before she even heard the door. He carried tension in the deliberate precision of his movements, shrugging out of his coat, setting his watch on the marble counter, pouring himself a drink. Controlled, calculated, but Luna could see the storm underneath.She hated that she noticed. Hated that her body reacted to him at all.“You’re shutting me out again,” she said, her voice low but steady.Adrian looked up, crystal tumbler poised at his lips. His dark gaze pinned her. “Correction..." his tone was cool, laced with the kind of steel that bent others into silence, “I’m protecting you.”“Protecting me?” she laughed, shar
The sky had bled into a muted gray by the time Luna realized she hadn’t moved in what felt like hours. The penthouse was quiet, the city beneath them stirring awake in distant hums and flashes of headlights, but inside Adrian’s world, the silence carried weight.She sat curled into the corner of the sofa, the blanket he’d draped over her shoulders earlier still resting there, though she no longer needed the warmth. It was something else she clung to, a symbol of safety, of patience. Adrian was a few feet away in an armchair, his posture straight but unforced, as if he could sit like that indefinitely, a silent sentinel keeping watch.His restraint was unnerving. Most people filled silence with noise, with questions, with demands. Adrian filled it with presence, and that was exactly what unsettled Luna now, because silence left her nowhere to hide.Her fingers twisted the edge of the blanket, knuckles blanching. She could feel his eyes on her, not pressing, but aware. He was giving her
The city below Adrian Cross’s penthouse pulsed with lights and movement, oblivious to the fragile stillness that occupied the space above it. Luna leaned against the expansive floor-to-ceiling window, the glass cool against her palms, as if it could somehow absorb the tension coiling in her chest. She had rehearsed composure for decades, learned how to smile through the scrutiny of millions, but tonight, in this vast, silent space, the weight of everything she’d been suppressing pressed down on her like a physical force.Her breaths came fast, uneven, shallow. She had tried to keep it together during the quiet moments with Adrian, the brief conversation over wine, the polite small talk about schedules and label demands, but the second the door closed behind them, the pretense crumbled. Her knees weakened, her fingers trembled, and a visceral panic clawed through her chest, leaving her feeling raw and exposed.Adrian watched from a few steps away, silent. Not the calculated, commanding
Luna sat at the edge of the couch, her sequined gown from last night discarded in favor of something softer, a simple silk robe clinging lightly to her frame. Her hands trembled slightly as she scrolled through the latest headlines, though she had long since stopped reading. They all said the same thing: broken, unstable, past her prime.The words pressed down on her like weights she could neither shrug off nor ignore. She had clawed her way back last night, she had reclaimed the song, the stage, the moment, and still, the world wanted to reduce her to a hashtag.“You shouldn’t do this to yourself,” came Adrian’s voice from the doorway, calm, precise, unwavering.Luna looked up, meeting his eyes, and for a moment the tumult outside didn’t exist. He was leaning against the frame, one hand tucked casually into his trouser pocket, the other brushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear. The contrast between him and the storm of her life was jarring. He was composed, untouchable, a man who
The morning came not with sunlight but with the acidic glare of headlines.Luna Reyes sat curled up on the wide hotel bed, knees pulled to her chest, her phone screen glowing in the half-dark. The curtains were drawn tight, but nothing could keep the world out now.#LunaFalls#ShatteredSongbird#BrokenStarrisesThe hashtags screamed back at her, accompanied by grainy screenshots from last night’s performance. A frozen image of her wide eyes when the lyrics slipped. A shaky fan video where her voice cracked on the high note. A thousand opinions in bold letters:“Past her prime.”“Unstable. Embarrassing.”“She needs to step away before she humiliates herself further.”Her hand trembled as she scrolled, but she couldn’t stop. Every comment was a dagger, reopening wounds that had never fully healed.The performance had been raw, vulnerable. To her, it had felt like climbing out of the wreckage of herself, but the media didn’t want survival stories, they wanted blood.The sharp rap of knuc