Chapter Two – Shattered Notes

Adrian's POV

The cafe buzzed as I opened the glass doors, but nothing else came in. Just the buzzing in my head, the gruff sound of my manager's voice in his phone call: We need to talk. No music, no laughter, no clinking glasses. Now. Slouching over in the booth in the corner, his phone in his ear, his suit jacket still on, his tie loose, he could not be ignored.

He wasn't himself. The nervous drumming of his fingers on the top of the table took the place of the assured authority that preceded him wherever he went. "Yes. I heard it." He spoke in a rough, tight tone, and I saw something that made my feet lock as his snapped up and banged into mine: concern. Harsh, unforgiving concern. What's that all about?" He waved his hand hastily, slammed the telephone down on the desk, and hung it up. "Sit."

It constricted tighter around my chest. I sat in my chair, slick-hands, attempting to find normalcy in my voice. "What's wrong?"

He just stood there for a moment, quietly staring at me as if considering how exactly he was going to deliver the news lightly. When he finally did start speaking, the news struck me like a punch.

"Damian Knight's unit is calling. they require proof of authenticity."

I blinked. "Proof of authenticity? Why?"

His lip fell into a hard line, his jaw set. "For you. Your pieces of artwork. They wonder if even you are the individual you were to be."

My stomach dropped to the bottom of me. "What? That's"—why? Why in the world would they—"""

"They are charging you with theft," he cut in. His tone was smooth, but I could sense the anger seething below. "They are charging you with singing other people's songs and marketing them as your songs, that you have been penning songs that you have zero right to sing."

The room seemed to shudder. "That is a lie," I screamed, pounding my head. My chest constricted, breathing more than sufficient with rushed urgency. "That is not a lie, that is madness! You know me. You know the ways and means that I work, how long I've—" My voice was gruff and I closed my lips, holding my hammered fist in front of my face as the horror escaped.

"I do." His voice dropped, lower, but no less sincere. "They wouldn't care that you do, though. They don't play games, Adrian. Damian Knight doesn't play any games. Any shadow of a doubt, they'll burn you alive first before they'll let you near him."

I arose from the table, the chair squeaking on the floor. "I need to talk to him. To Damian. If I can get to him—"

My boss had tried to catch my arm, but I had been expecting it, already standing. "Adrian—"

"I have to," I told him, and I freed myself from his hold.

The recording studio office complex towered over me, the epitome of every dream I had ever had for myself. Under the oppressive, gray sky, steel and glass sparkled—the type of place something miraculous was bound to happen. My heart racing, I walked into the room with my notepad pop in my hand as if it were a token of pride.

When I gave my name, the receptionist's smile faltered. I tried to stay even-toned and detached as I declared, " I am here to meet Damian Knight." "It's of utmost importance." She cocked her head to the left, her eyes drilling into mine with icy hardness that filtered into my pores, making me feel dirty, small and insignificant . "And you are?"

“Cole, Adrian Cole. Please tell him I'm here. Please."

It was as if my name reminded her of someone she hated, cause a look of disgust and hate flashed across her face, at once she looked down, mumbling, "One moment."

Minutes passed, but those minutes seemed like forever. Two of the security guards accompanied her upon her return.

"Sir, you need to vacate the property."

My breath stopped. "No, wait—you simply can't understand. If I had had just five minutes—"

"Not gonna happen," growled one of the men, moving forward, huge shoulders shoving the light aside.

"Oh, please," I begged, my voice husky. "Just listen to me—"

One of my arms was being shoved toward the doors by one hand. The other was yanking on the back of my shirt. I staggered, almost collapsed, my notebook leaping off my hands and shooting across the floor.

I had already reached the street when I could even begin to chase after it. Behind me, the doors slammed shut with a harsh snap, the reflected glass revealing that I was---outside, unwanted.

I stood outside for what seemed like forever, even the dark sky and sign of heavy did not make me lose sight of what brought me here.

“Damien knight.” I kept repeating the name like it was a savor.

And then coming out of the revolving doors,

Damian Knight.

He glittered beneath the rain pounding down. Hands reached out and clutched him, paparazzi shouting his name, and flashes of camera. He strode as if he were immortal, bigger than life, king of the world.

"Damian!" I fought to reach him, notebook held in front of me, and my voice exploded out of my body.

"Just a minute, please!" I got so close to him. So close. His manager and a guard stood in my way, his face twisted in distaste as he skirted around me. He spoke tactfully, "You need to stop making a fool of yourself." I pleaded, "I just want to talk to him."

"Please. I write my music. Every lyric, every note is mine. You have to believe in me. Whoever called you is a liar, they… I do not know why they are doing this but I swear to you I am not a fraud.”

The eyes of the man went cold. "You don't sing, you steal them. And everyone's gonna know that." He advanced, his voice becoming a snarl. "You can't even sing with autotune holding you together from falling apart. How did you even trick Damien into believing you were worth such an opportunity?”

His words strike more intensely upon impact and hurt than any physical blow.

"I'm not—" I responded, my voice trailing off into nothingness. "That's not true. Damien had watched me perform and freestyle live in the bar that night, thats why he…. That’s why he made me that offer.”

"We don't require your services. We are not interested in scammers." The manager said, as a guard shoved me aside so he could sit in the car.

The car lurched, then sped quickly away,and as if on cue the  rain started to drip into my coat, notebook dangling off my hand. Everything started to fog.  I dragged myself to my my car and leaned into my driver seat, drenched, tears blurring my vision. My reflection in the rearview mirror was a stranger's: pale, sunken eyes, broken. "What did I do wrong?" I mumbled, my voice breaking with tears.