Chapter 2

The day the new album dropped, I was the first to open the streaming platform. Liam was credited as both lyricist and composer on all three songs.

I stared at his name. My eyes didn't sting, and my fingers didn't tremble.

I took a screenshot and saved it to a folder. That made seventeen.

Ethan poked his head through the doorway. "Julian, have you seen the new album?"

I closed the page. "Yeah."

"Everyone's praising Liam for his songwriting." His voice dropped. "Don't let it get to you."

I opened the project file.

"Let's get back in the booth. We've still got another track to record today," Ethan said.

…

By the third take, my throat had started to feel raw.

I took off my headphones and reached for my water bottle.

Someone had left a bottle of warm water on the table. Three words were written on it: [Don't stay up.]

I recognized Lena's handwriting.

Ethan noticed the bottle and gave me a knowing smile. "Lena left you water again?"

I pushed it aside. "Let's record."

He scratched his head. "Oh."

As I slipped my headphones back on, a memory of the recording studio three years ago suddenly resurfaced.

Back then, Lena hadn't made it big yet. During the recording of her first solo single, she'd stood before the microphone and sung the opening line more than 20 times without getting it right.

She looked at me through the glass, panic written all over her face.

I pressed the talkback button. "Lena, stop thinking about singing."

She froze.

"Just pretend you're talking to me," I said.

She nailed it on the very next take.

Afterward, she rushed out of the booth and pressed her in-ear monitors into my palm.

"These are yours from now on." She was breathless, her eyes shining. "Julian, you're my voice."

…

That afternoon, the team held a meeting.

Danson had filled an entire page with Liam's interview schedule. "The music magazine wants to ask about your creative process tomorrow. Liam, don't improvise."

Liam nodded. "I know what I can and can't say."

Danson turned to me. "Julian, help him get his story straight."

I lowered my head and took notes. "Sure."

Liam reached across the table and brushed his fingers against my wrist. "I'm always making you go out of your way for me."

I withdrew my hand beneath the table.

His smile never wavered. "You know my songs better than anyone."

He said it so naturally, as though those songs had truly come from him.

After the meeting, Lena was the last to leave. She handed me a folder. "Liam gets nervous during interviews. Keep an eye on him."

I looked at her.

"He's going to talk about songwriting. It's just a division of responsibilities." Her tone was indifferent. "The company will handle the credits."

"What about mine?" I asked.

Lena glanced at me. "Don't make a simple matter complicated."

I nodded. "Understood."

A year ago, I'd heard something similar.

-

One night, a music critic pointed out striking similarities between the chorus of Liam's new single and an anonymous demo. I'd recorded that demo late one night and uploaded it to a tiny platform, where it had received barely 20 plays.

Lena showed up at my door with a grim expression and got straight to the point. "Julian, help me deal with this."

I looked at her. "That's my song."

She paused for two seconds.

"I know." After another pause, she continued, "Tour tickets stop selling today. If this gets confirmed, all the contracts could fall apart."

"What about me?" I asked.

She avoided my eyes. "Put out a statement saying the melody was licensed for internal use."

I did as she asked. By the next day, the controversy had died down.

Liam posted a photo of us together.

The caption read: [Thanks, Julian. We're family. No need to stand on ceremony.]

-

That evening, after we wrapped up recording, a notification appeared in the work group chat. It was an announcement about next month's brand music gala.

Lena would perform a treasured love song that had never been released, and Liam would be her duet partner.

I stared at the announcement, muttering, "A treasured love song that had never been released."

Lena had only one song that fit that deion: Lost in the Fog. It was the first song I'd ever written for her.

Back then, after hearing it for the first time, she'd pressed the handwritten lyrics against her chest. "Don't give this song to anyone else. Save it for us."

…

When I got home, I dug out that old notebook.

Lost in the Fog was on the very first page. Beside the title was a little musical note Lena had absentmindedly doodled.

I opened my email. The message from the record label in Norvale was still there.

The reply box remained empty. I stared at it for a long time before closing it again.

…

At 2:00 a.m., I heard a car pull up downstairs.

Through a gap in the curtains, I spotted Lena's black car.

A few minutes later, I heard a faint sound outside my door.

I waited a long time before finally opening it. A cup of warm soup sat on the floor, still warm to the touch.

I brought it inside and set it on the table. Slowly, the steam faded away.

My phone lit up beside it. Lena had sent me a message.

Lean: [Drink it.]

I didn't reply.