Owned by the man I hated

Do you know what betrayal feels like?

Not the small kind… like someone eating the last slice of cake you saved in the fridge. I mean the big one. The kind that steals your breath, leaves your chest heavy, and makes your stomach twist like it’s been tied in knots.

That was me. That night.

The hall smelled like perfume and expensive champagne. Lights flashed, music thundered, the crowd buzzed with energy. Everyone was there to celebrate music, to fall in love with voices, to cheer for their idols.

And in that moment, their idol was him.

He stood under the spotlight, tall and confident, sweat glistening on his forehead as his voice rolled through the speakers. The crowd screamed his name, cried his name, like he was some sort of god they’d been waiting for.

And me? I stood in the shadows. My palms sweaty, my notebook digging into my hands so hard it hurt.

Because every word he sang… was mine.

My song. My melody. My story.

But his glory.

Do you know what it feels like to disappear even though you’re standing right there?

Like being a ghost at your own funeral.

The applause was deafening, and with each cheer, I felt myself shrink smaller and smaller. But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even cry. I just stood there, staring, remembering every lie he’d whispered when we wrote that song together.

It was late that night, I remember. His guitar resting on his lap, my head on his shoulder, scraps of paper scattered everywhere. His fingers traced over my lyrics like they were gold. He told me I was his muse. He kissed me like he meant it. He promised we’d rise together.

And I believed him. God help me, I did.

But here he was, rising. Alone.

And I was choking on the fall.

“Beautiful, isn’t he?”

The voice startled me. I turned, and there she was, his manager. Her perfume hit me first, sharp and sweet, mixed with cigarette smoke. She leaned against the wall like she owned the place, red lipstick shining under the lights, eyes cutting into me with amusement.

“Don’t look so shocked, sweetheart,” she said smoothly, tilting her head. “He was never going to share the spotlight. Did you really think he’d let you shine?”

Her smirk was sharp enough to slice me in half. My throat tightened, but no sound came out. My tongue felt heavy. My eyes stung. She smiled wider and walked away, her heels clacking against the marble like cruel laughter.

And me? I ran.

Out of the hall, into the cold night, the winter air biting at my skin, burning my lungs with every breath. My heels clicked against the pavement as I stumbled into the street, tears blurring the lights until they smeared into streaks of gold and red.

That night, I cried until I couldn’t anymore. My pillow was wet, my chest hollow, my body heavy. And yet, when the sun rose and the birds sang outside my window, something inside me shifted.

The girl who believed in him was gone.

The girl who loved him was gone.

And in her place stood someone colder. Harder. Someone who swore never to be used again.

---

Five Years Later…

“Over here! Over here! Look this way!”

The shouts hit me the second I stepped out of the car. Flashes blinded me, popping one after another, the air thick with perfume, hairspray, and too many voices calling my name at once.

My name. Not his.

I smiled, tilting my head just enough for the cameras to catch my good side. My gown shimmered under the lights, heavy and smooth against my skin. My lipstick was perfect, my hair flawless, but the fire in my chest was what held me up.

“How does it feel to rise so fast?” a reporter yelled.

“Feels like destiny,” I said, my voice steady, my smile sharp.

And maybe it was. But not the kind of destiny they imagined. Mine wasn’t golden or sweet. It was sharp, jagged, and built on scars.

I walked into the hall, the familiar smell of cologne and champagne wrapping around me. Music thumped, laughter bubbled, glasses clinked. For a moment, it almost felt like home. Almost.

Then I saw him.

Across the room.

He hadn’t just aged, he had sharpened. Taller, broader, more magnetic than ever, as if he owned the very air he breathed. His dark eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on me, and for a second, the noise faded. It was just him. Just me.

My heart stuttered. My body remembered what my mind hated. His laugh, his touch, the way he whispered my name like it was a song.

But then I remembered the betrayal. The night he stole my voice. The night he left me invisible.

And I stood taller.

He smiled. That same damn smile. The one that ruined me once.

“Well, well,” he said, his voice smooth, dripping with arrogance as he stepped closer. “Look who finally learned how to fly.”

I tilted my head, my lips curling. “Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t fly because of you. I flew so I could crush you when I landed.”

His eyes darkened, but instead of anger, I saw something more dangerous. Hunger. Possession.

“Careful, cariño,” he whispered, leaning close enough that his breath brushed my ear. “You were mine once. And I don’t lose what’s mine.”

My chest tightened, but I laughed softly, the kind of laugh that carried every scar he left behind.

“Then you’d better get used to losing.”

Lol, He doesn’t know it yet… but the man who once owned me is about to learn what it feels like to be owned in return.

Because this time, I’m not the girl who cried in the shadows. I’m the woman who knows the power of her voice, her scars, and her silence. And when I’m done with him, the world won’t just remember my name..... they'll remember his fall.