Chapter 2
The quiet was fucking killing me.
After all that chaos, all that broken glass and sparking equipment, the studio just sat there like nothing happened. But Bliss's voice kept playing in my head on repeat: "Miles said my voice is purer than anyone else's..."
That word - "pure" - hit something in my brain like a sledgehammer. The studio walls started glitching out, flickering like a busted TV.
"No... don't make me remember that night..." I muttered, but I already knew it was too late.
The broken equipment around me faded to black, and then the memories crashed over me like a fucking tsunami.
One year ago. Chateau Marmont Hotel, Los Angeles.
The Grammy after-party. I could taste the champagne again, hear that mix of clinking glasses and pounding bass. Smell the expensive perfume and money.
God, I'd been so fucking happy that night.
There I was in my silver Versace dress by those huge windows, grinning like an idiot while some Atlantic Records kiss-ass told me Miles and I were "music royalty."
"Power couple of the decade!" he'd said.
I'd touched that promise ring, so sure of everything. "He's gonna propose after the ceremony..."
Miles had been across the room in his uncomfortable tux, but when our eyes met, he winked and mouthed "Love you."
That look. Even in this painful memory, it made my heart do that stupid flutter thing.
I'd thought it meant forever.
Some server had appeared with champagne. "Specially crafted for you, Miss Rivera."
The bubbles looked weird - too golden, moving too slow. But I was drunk on happiness and grabbed it without thinking.
"Thanks," I'd said, knocking back half the glass.
It tasted off - metallic and bitter. But I brushed it off. Everything felt perfect that night.
The next twenty minutes were a blur of congratulations and industry small talk. I was still riding high from my nomination, shaking hands and posing for photos.
Then it hit me.
First came the headache - sharp and sudden, like someone driving nails into my skull. The room started tilting, and faces around me became blurry smears.
What the fuck is happening to me?
I stumbled toward the bathroom, my legs feeling like jelly. The party music sounded like it was coming from underwater, and every step felt like walking through quicksand.
The bathroom mirror showed me the truth. I looked like death - pale, sweating, shaking like a leaf. My pupils were huge, and I could barely focus.
Someone drugged me. Holy shit, someone actually drugged me.
Panic hit harder than the poison. With trembling fingers, I managed to dial Miles's number. The phone felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.
Ring... ring... ring...
"Miles... help me..." My voice came out broken and desperate. "Someone put something in my drink... I'm in the Chateau bathroom... I can't... please come..."
Dead silence. Then a female voice, sharp and annoyed: "He's busy right now. Stop calling."
My heart stopped. "What? Who is this? Where's Miles?"
"I said stop calling," the voice repeated, colder this time.
"MILES!" I screamed into the phone, but my strength was draining fast.
But the call didn't end. Through the speaker, I could hear chaos in the background.
"Did you find her yet? Where the hell is she?" A man's voice, panicked and urgent.
That sounded like Miles. Relief flooded through me even as darkness crept in.
He's looking for me. He's trying to find me.
Then another man's voice cut through the noise - calm, controlled: "Relax. Everything's going according to plan."
Plan? What plan?
"Miles..." I whispered, but my legs gave out and I hit the marble floor hard.
My phone skittered away, the voices becoming distant echoes as everything went black.
The memory faded, leaving me gasping in the destroyed studio.
Even now, I didn't understand what I'd heard that night. Miles sounding frantic, looking for me. But then who answered his phone? And that woman talking about a plan...
The radio had gone completely silent now, but my torment was far from over.
None of it made sense. If Miles was really looking for me that night, why did he move on so fast? Why was he posting happy couple shit just weeks after I died?
The questions were eating me alive - or whatever the fuck you call it when you're already dead.
I needed to see Miles. Right fucking now.
Before I knew it, I was flying through walls and streets, my spirit moving faster than I could think. Next thing I knew, I was floating in Miles's apartment - our apartment.
He was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone with a satisfied smile. The same smile he used to give me after a perfect recording session.
I drifted closer, my rage building as I saw what was on his screen.
Instagram. His own fucking profile.
The first photo made me want to scream.
Miles and Bliss on some beach. He was looking at her the way he used to look at me. She wore his letterman jacket - MY jacket that I used to steal after studio sessions.
The caption read: [With my soulmate Bliss. She makes every day feel like music. #NewBeginnings #ForeverYoung]
"Soulmate..." I choked out. "One month after I died... soulmate..."
He kept scrolling, and each photo was worse than the last.
Miles taking Bliss to Republique - our first date restaurant. Miles holding Bliss at this same apartment - the one we picked out together. Miles and Bliss at the Hollywood Bowl in our seats.
But the one that really fucked me up? Some fancy gala where Bliss looked perfect in red, and Miles was wearing the Rolex I bought him. The one engraved with "Time stops when you're creating magic - L.R."
MY watch. On his wrist. While holding HER.
"You piece of shit," I whispered as he liked his own post, still grinning like an asshole.
Fury exploded inside me like a bomb. The coffee mug on the table next to him started rattling. The TV screen flickered.
"While I was dying, you were screwing her!" I screamed, but he couldn't hear me. "When I needed you most, you were planning your future with daddy's princess!"
Miles kept scrolling through more photos, completely oblivious. Each picture was another punch to my gut.
The lamp next to him started swaying. The temperature in the room dropped fast enough that he actually looked up from his phone.
"What the hell?" he muttered, rubbing his arms.
"You chose her over me? Fine!" The windows started fogging up. "Don't blame me when I choose revenge!"
But I needed more answers. Like what the hell happened that night at the party?