Camille.
The taxi ride back to her apartment was a nauseating blur of traffic and smog. The building was old, the paint was peeling, and the lobby smelled faintly of old garlic and damp carpet. It was a universe away from the polished marble of Apex Tower. It was home. For now.
She unlocked the door to apartment 2B, her hands still shaking. She just needed to grab her things and disappear before Linda or Sterling could think of a new way to ruin her.
The moment she stepped inside, a sickly sweet voice hit her. "Camille? Oh my god, there you are!"
Cassie shot up from the lumpy sofa, her phone clutched in her hand. Her face, usually a mask of vapid cheerfulness, was twisted into a caricature of concern. Cassie. Her roommate. Her best friend. The girl who would steal her songs, her career, and her future without a second thought.
"What happened?" Cassie rushed forward, grabbing Camille's arms. "Linda called me. She was hysterical. She said you threw a pen at Mr. Sterling and walked out!"
Camille let her shoulders slump, forcing the fire in her eyes to dim into a watery, defeated haze. She allowed her body to go limp in Cassie's grip. "I couldn't sign it, Cass."
"What are you talking about? Couldn't sign what? The contract?"
Camille nodded, summoning a tear to her eye. It wasn't hard. The grief was real, just not for the reason Cassie thought. "It was awful. They wanted to own me. Everything I ever wrote or will write. For almost no money. I panicked."
Cassie's grip tightened, her perfectly manicured nails digging into Camille's skin. "Are you insane? Camille, that was your one shot! Our one shot! What are we going to do now?"
There it was. Our. Not your. Camille pulled away, stumbling back a step as if she were about to collapse. "I don't know. I think I ruined everything."
"You did!" Cassie snapped, her mask of concern slipping to reveal the raw, ugly ambition beneath. She caught herself, softening her voice again. "I mean... no. No, we'll figure it out. We always do, right?"
"There's nothing to figure out," Camille whispered, looking at the floor. "I'm done. I'm going home."
"Home?" Cassie squeaked. "You mean back to Ohio? You can't be serious. You hate Ohio."
"I hate this more," Camille said, gesturing vaguely at the tiny apartment. "The rejection. The pretending. I'm not strong enough for it, Cass. You are. But I'm not."
She saw the flicker of calculation in Cassie's eyes. The little wheels turning. If Camille was gone, who would write the songs Cassie would sing? Her expression softened into one of pity. "Oh, sweetie. Don't say that."
"It's true," Camille said, her voice cracking. "I just... I need to get out of here. I can't think straight."
She walked past Cassie into their shared bedroom. It was barely big enough for two twin beds and a single dresser. Camille's side was neat. Cassie's was an explosion of clothes and makeup.
Her eyes landed on the worn, leather-bound notebook on her nightstand. Her songbook. Her soul. Everything she was, everything she had been, was written on those pages.
"What are you doing?" Cassie asked from the doorway.
"Packing," Camille said, pulling her worn duffel bag from under the bed. "I can't stay here tonight. Too many memories. I'm going to stay with my aunt in the valley for a couple of days. Just to... you know. Figure out how to tell my parents I'm a failure."
She didn't have an aunt in the valley. She didn't have anyone.
"That's a good idea," Cassie said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Take some time. Clear your head."
Camille turned her back, using her body to shield her movements. She opened her dresser drawer and pulled out a handful of shirts and a pair of jeans, stuffing them messily into the bag. Underneath the clothes, she grabbed a small wooden box. Inside was the two hundred and forty-seven dollars she had to her name, and a silver locket from her mother.
Then, with a swift, practiced motion, she snatched the songbook from the nightstand and slid it into the bottom of the duffel bag, covering it with a sweater. Her heart hammered against her ribs. That was it. The crown jewel. The only thing in this life, this second life, that truly mattered.
"Do you need any money?" Cassie asked. The offer was as empty as her promises.
"No, I'm fine," Camille lied, zipping the bag closed. "I'll be okay."
She walked back into the living room, slinging the bag over her shoulder. It felt heavier than it should, weighted with the gravity of her decision.
"Will you call me?" Cassie asked, doing a poor job of hiding her eagerness to get rid of her.
"Of course," Camille said, forcing a watery smile. "As soon as I get to my aunt's place. I'll just... I'll check bus schedules online from there."
A perfect little digital breadcrumb for them to follow. A fake search history leading to a bus ticket to a town she had no intention of visiting.
"Okay," Cassie said, pulling her into a stiff, awkward hug. "It'll be okay, El. You'll see."
Camille could feel her patting the outside of the duffel bag, probably searching for the familiar shape of the notebook. She pulled away before Cassie could get too curious.
"I'll see you, Cass."
"Yeah. See you."
Camille walked out, closing the door on her friend, her betrayer, her past. She didn't look back.
She didn't go to the bus stop. She walked three blocks in the opposite direction, her head down, her senses on high alert. She felt watched, a prickling on the back of her neck she couldn't explain. She ducked into the dark doorway of a pawn shop and hailed a taxi that was speeding past.
"Where to?" the driver asked, not looking at her in the rearview mirror.
"The Starlight Motel. Out by the airport," she said, naming the cheapest, seediest place she could think of. A place no one would ever look for a rising star. Or a falling one.
The room was exactly as grim as she expected. The carpet was stained, the air smelled like stale cigarettes and disinfectant, and the lock on the door looked like it could be opened with a credit card.
She dropped her bag on the floor and walked into the tiny bathroom. The face in the mirror was a stranger. Pale, haunted, but with a fire in her eyes that hadn't been there this morning. That hadn't been there for five years.
The reality of it all crashed down on her. She had died. She was back. She had a second chance, a terrible, beautiful, terrifying second chance.
She turned on the shower, cranking the knob to as hot as it would go, and stripped off her clothes. Stepping under the scalding spray, she braced her hands against the grimy tile wall and finally let go.
The sobs came from a place deep inside her, a place that had been silent for five years. They were ragged, ugly sounds of grief and terror and rage. She cried for the girl she had been, so full of hope and naivety. She cried for the woman she had become, who died alone and forgotten. And she cried for the person she had to be now: a fighter, a liar, a ghost bent on vengeance.
The water washed over her, plastering her hair to her face, mingling with her tears. It couldn't wash away the memories. It couldn't wash away the pain. But as she stood there, shaking in the steam and the gloom, the tears began to subside. The fire in her gut, the one she'd felt in Sterling's office, began to burn again.
She wasn't just burning a bridge with Cassie. She was burning the whole damn world she used to know. And from the ashes, she would build an empire.
