Chapter 3: "You're not on his list."

On stage stood Derick Lingard,

popularly known as De.King—the billionaire celebrity singer and heir of the Lingard family,

the most powerful and wealthiest family in all of New City.

His name alone carried weight.

De.King had the widest fan base in the music industry, both in New City and across the world. His voice was said to melt one's hearts, to heal wounds, to make people fall in love with someone they would never touch.

Tonight was the De.King Arena Concert.

Thousands of fans packed inside the massive arena, while those who couldn’t get tickets gathered outside, screaming his name as his image appeared on giant projectors.

The crowd was already losing control.

Lights flashed wildly across the arena. Cameras were perfectly set. Security stood alert at every corner. And then when he finally came into view—the noise exploded.

“De.King! De.King! De.King!”

The sound was thunder.

At the center of the stage, Derick stood tall, sweat glistening on his skin beneath the blinding spotlights. His voice rolled over the crowd—smooth, deep, flawless just like it always did.

He gave them exactly what they wanted.

The smile.

The voice.

The illusion.

The crowd was electric tonight.

Derick stood in the middle of the stage, his black jacket glittering under the lights, his fingers gripping the microphone as he delivered the final line of the song.

“I’ll always be at your side, my love…

The voice you’ll never lose.”

The crowd erupted.

People screamed. Some cried. Hands reached out toward him as if he were something holy.

“I love you, De.King!”

Phone lights filled the air like stars.

Derick bowed slowly, a practiced smile on his lips, then lifted his hand in a graceful wave.

The stadium shook.

Girls fainted. Boys shouted his name with wild excitement.

one crazy top fan from the crowd, "said, I wish I could just fly to him and marry him and also he is a Lingard, O God bless me with him.

He was De.King—the man with the angelic voice, the idol people went crazy for.

But inside…

He felt nothing.

He bowed once more and gently placed the microphone back on its stand.

The lights dimmed. Curtains shifted. His bodyguards formed a solid wall around him as he walked offstage.

Backstage was chaos.

Staff rushed around. Dancers laughed loudly. Reporters begged for interviews. But the noise softened when people noticed him passing.

Derick didn’t slow down.

His personal assistant, Jerry, hurried up beside him with a towel.

“Great show, boss. The crowd went crazy tonight.”

Derick took the towel and wiped the sweat from his face. His jaw was sharp, his eyes cold.

“They always do,” he muttered.

His manager, Mr. Austine, followed behind, smiling widely.

“That was magic, Derick! Absolute magic. The sponsors will—”

“I’m tired,” Derick cut in. “Handle the sponsors. I don’t want noise.”

He pushed open the door to his private dressing room.

Silence.

Dim lights. A leather sofa. Velvet curtains drawn tightly against the night. A crystal glass of wine waited on the low table beside a silver ashtray.

Derick dropped into the chair heavily, leaning back—one leg stretched out, the other bent. He lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his sharp features. Smoke curled toward the ceiling, slow and dangerous.

“Tell everyone not to disturb me,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” Jerry replied, closing the door softly.

Derick inhaled deeply, letting the smoke burn his chest before exhaling.

The cheers were gone now. Replaced by silence.

Silence he preferred. Silence that felt safe than the noise out side.

He swirled the wine but didn’t drink.

Footsteps echoed faintly outside. Whispers. Equipment being packed away.

Then the sharp sound of heels clicked down the hallway.

Lisa Daniel.

Her perfume arrived before she did—heavy, sweet and suffocating as usual.

“Where is he?” she demanded.

“In his room,” Jerry replied carefully.

“Good. I’ll see him.”

“Mr. Derick doesn’t want anyone in.”

Lisa’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know who I am?

I’m his girlfriend." idiot so get the fvck out of my way, she yelled.

“You’re not on his list.”

Jerry replied, already annoyed because he knows his boss will not want her in, not even now when he needs silence.

She smiled mockingly. “Step aside.”

Austine appeared, ending a phone call abruptly.

“Lisa, not tonight. He’s exhausted. Give him space.”

She shoved past them, pushing open the dressing room door.

Smoke filled the air.

Her eyes found him instantly.

Derick sat like a king on his throne—one arm resting on the chair, cigarette glowing between his fingers.

His gaze lifted slowly to meet hers.

Cold.

Sharp.

Dangerous.

She walked closer, her hips swaying confidently as she move.

“Derick,” she said sweetly. “I missed you bby." have been trying to call you, you haven't been picking up, so I decided to come here.

But that PA of yours wouldn't let me in, she said it like a baby.

He exhaled smoke. “I told Jerry not to let anyone in.”

She sat on the armrest of his chair. “I’m not just anyone.”

He stubbed out the cigarette and poured the wine.

“You think you’re different?” His voice was calm. “You’re not.”

Her smile faltered.

“Your mother wants me. Everyone says I’m perfect for you.”

He laughed softly. Bitterly.

“My mother wants many things.”

She leaned closer. “You need someone like me.”

Derick stood, towering over her.

“Need?” His voice dropped. “I don’t need anyone.”

He picked up his phone.

“Get the cars ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

Derick brushed past Lisa without another glance. The door opened. Then closed.

She sat frozen, nails digging into her palm.

He didn’t look back.

Only silence—and the faint smell of smoke—remained.