I caught the flu when delivering medicine to Owen James and it left me with permanent damage to my vocal cords. I went from being a pop diva to an unemployed nobody.
Luckily, Owen never gave up on me. He even wrote a song just for me as a confession of his love.
But something shattered inside me when I played it for the first time.
A woman’s soft moan came from the song's accompaniment, trembling with excitement.
This was the first time I listened to Owen's new song.
Since losing my voice, I started to resist anything related to music. The pain of hearing what I’d lost was too much. But Owen had written this song for me and I wanted to honor his love. So, I gathered the courage to turn on the stereo and Owen's song filled the room.
After all, he was so dedicated to his creative endeavors. I remembered how he once stayed in an ancient town for a week just to capture the sound of rain on a roof for a song. He always aimed for perfection.
This time, he still did.
In the backing track, I heard a chorus of female gasps.
I was struck by lightning.
A musician's sensitivity alone, this female voice was very familiar to me.
Doubt clawed at me, refusing to let go. I needed to know the truth.
I went to his studio and turned on his recording equipment. What I found confirmed my worst fears—a 23-minute audio recording, an unedited record of what had happened.
I sat there, paralyzed, as the sounds played through the speakers: a low grunt from Owen, the sharp crack of a slap, followed by her voice—clear and unashamed.
“Ah! Do you spank Aria’s ass like this when you’re with her too?”
My heart stopped. It was Tessa Carvert, my protégé, the very student I had mentored and brought into the industry.
“Don’t mention Aria,” Owen growled.
“Why are you still doing it with me if you love her so much?”
There was a pause. Then he said something that shattered me completely.
“This is for art. Aria will understand.”
I was so stunned I couldn’t move, my hand frozen on the mouse. It wasn’t until my phone rang that I snapped out of it, the sound rushing blood back into my limbs.
The call was from Owen, inviting me to watch his rehearsal with Tessa for the Spring Festival Gala.
I introduced Tessa to the singing world and after my voice broke, she replaced most of my work.
Onstage, their chemistry was undeniable. Their bodies moved as one, their closeness almost too intimate to bear. At the end of the performance, Tessa even nipped at his earlobe.
He shoved her away, irritation flashing across his face. “I told you, save that move for the actual performance. Don’t do it during rehearsals.”
Then he turned to me, his voice soft, his expression warm. “Aria, what do you think?”
If I hadn’t heard the recording, I would have believed him. I would have trusted his devotion, his tenderness.
I forced a smile and nodded. “It’s great.”
This song debuted during a New Year’s Eve performance three years ago. That was also the night Owen had confessed his love for me, shocking the entertainment industry.
We became the golden couple of the music world, performing together on countless stages.
Until he opened a concert abroad to catch influenza A, an acute asthma attack, I was the only one who knew where he kept his medication, so I took the earliest flight to his hotel.
That’s when I got infected. The illness left me with permanent damage to my vocal cords and I could no longer hit the notes I once could.
The public was merciless. My comment sections were filled with hate, telling me to quit and that I didn’t deserve Owen.
So, I left the stage on my terms.
But Owen fiercely defended me. He wrote long posts condemning the trolls, declaring he would stand by me, whether in the spotlight or behind the scenes. He claimed to love me more than life itself.
And yet, while he said he loved me, he was sleeping with someone else.
After rehearsal, Owen reached for my hand, ready to leave. But Tessa ran after us.
“Miss Aria Miller, you’re here too!” she chirped, all smiles.
A group of reporters trailing behind her immediately pounced.
“Miss Aria Miller, how do you feel about Owen and Tessa collaborating on this song?”
Another question followed, sharp and probing. “This song marked the start of your love story with Owen. Aren’t you jealous seeing them perform it together?”
