All Chapters of Encore with the Devil: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

Luna doesn’t sugarcoat.She listens, asks smart, brutal questions, and then lays out every way my plan could go sideways—and how to sandbag against each one.“We built the foundation so girls like you don’t have to do this alone,” she says at one point. “Use it. Use us. But don’t hand your whole life to any savior. Not me. Not your wolf. You’re the one who pays for every choice with your body.”Her words echo in my head all night.By morning, they’ve hardened into something like resolve.If I’m going to stand on a stage with a target on my back again, I’m not doing it as the same girl who signed away her rights on a folding table.I’m going to know how to hit back.Not just with songs.With fists.With lungs.With my whole body.So after breakfast, when Sofie is busy making Play‑Doh “pizza” with Bianca, I track Kael down in the gym.The space is all black mats, free weights, and sleek equipment, with one wall of mirrors and one entire corner dedicated to various forms of making violen

The plan looks worse on paper.Which, in this house, is saying something.We gather in the war room again—one of the smaller conference spaces off the main hall that’s somehow become our “let’s invite chaos in” hub.Mariah is on video from her office, hair in a sleek twist, glasses perched low.Priya from the Lira Foundation is in a small tile beside her, calm and precise.Luna joined the call earlier to offer broad strokes and emotional triage—“tell the truth, but don’t let them bait you into bleeding for free”—then ducked off to “go keep Dante from pacing a hole in our floor.”Now it’s the core crew.Me.Kael.Jace.Ava.Screens full of spreadsheets, venue specs, and more redline marks than a murder board.“Okay,” Mariah says, tapping her pen against her pad. “One more time from the top, so everyone’s clear.”She ticks off points with the pen.“Intimate live performance,” she says. “Acoustic. You perform two songs: the lullaby that started this and the new verse you wrote to reclaim

The theater looks smaller from the stage.When we arrived, empty and humming with techs and cables, it seemed manageable—rows of red seats, a modest balcony, acoustic panels catching stray sound.Now, with bodies in every chair and four cameras staring at me like dark, unblinking eyes, it feels…bigger.Heavier.The house lights are down.The spots are low and warm, trained on the little circle of carpet where my mic stand waits.Behind it, the stool with a bottle of water and a small folded towel.Beside it, the piano.Mine for tonight.A simple black baby grand, its lid propped half‑open.There’s a tiny wolf figurine perched on the edge of the music stand.Jace’s idea.Bianca said it was “for luck.”Kael said nothing.He just took it from Jace’s hand and set it there himself.Now he’s in the wings, three steps offstage.I can’t see him if I look straight ahead; the lighting doesn’t reach that far.But I can feel him.A dark, steady presence just beyond the wash of light.I can also f

The next twenty‑four hours are a blur of “we’re fine” statements and internal aftershocks.The venue issues a bland press release about “technical difficulties.”The foundation posts a carefully worded note about “safety protocols” and promises the stream will be rescheduled.My socials drown in concern and speculation.Are you okay? Was that a gunshot?? I heard something—please tell us you’re safe. I film a thirty‑second clip in the family room, in front of a neutral wall, hair pulled back, hoodie on.“I’m okay,” I tell the camera. “There was…an incident. No one died. One crew member was hurt and is recovering. We cut the feed because safety comes first. Thank you for caring. We’ll talk more when all of us have caught our breath.”I post it.Turn the phone off.Then the house closes around us.Tighter.Heavier.Kael doubles security again.Guards I don’t recognize appear at doors and on balconies.A new layer of cameras pops up along the inner courtyard.The perimeter hums like

By the next morning, the estate feels like a loaded gun.Guards at every doorway.New cameras in corners I used to think were just pretty architecture.Voices are low and sharp behind half‑closed doors.Rosa finds me in the kitchen, staring blankly at a half‑buttered piece of toast.“Come on,” she says. “You’re called.”“I didn’t sign up for summons,” I mutter.“You signed up for survival,” she says. “Turns out it comes with meetings. Dining room. Ten minutes. Wear something you can breathe in.”I drag on leggings and a clean T‑shirt.My hair goes up in a knot because I don’t have the energy for anything more.The dining room is full when I step in.The long table is bare except for one laptop, a few folders, and a small speaker.Jace sits at the far end, fingers flying over keys.Kael stands behind a chair near the head, arms folded, eyes on the screen.Luka and Tomas—two of his lieutenants I’ve only seen in passing—occupy spots along the side.Ava hovers near the doorway with a mug