Owen pulled me close, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "What’s there to be jealous of? I only belong to Aria."
Tessa’s laugh was light, sweet and calculated. "Then, could you sing for me? I’d love to learn from you."
Before I could answer, Owen cut in. "Aria’s voice is still recovering. It’s not the right time. But soon, we’ll perform together on an even bigger stage."
His fingers intertwined with mine as he led me away without looking back. He had risked offending the event organizers just to shield me.
But no matter how perfectly he played the role of a devoted partner, he couldn’t fool me anymore.
Later that night, I contacted the producer. I wanted to release a new song on New Year’s Day. It wouldn’t just be a project—it would be my farewell to him.
Kaia Smith, the producer, quickly arranged for a recording studio.
But as soon as I began to sing, my throat betrayed me. A violent cough wracked my body and the harder I tried to stop, the worse it got. Tears streamed down my face, my body finally processing the reality I’d been trying to ignore—Owen’s betrayal.
Kaia rushed to my side, alarmed and helped me into a chair. "I’m calling Owen to come get you."
"No... cough... no, please don’t..."
Ignoring me, she stepped outside to make the call. Left alone, I buried my head in my lap and sobbed until I had nothing left.
When I finally looked up, I realized I wasn’t alone. A paparazzo stood silently a few feet away in front of me.
I wiped my tears, forcing calmness into my voice. "What you saw here—don’t publish it."
To my surprise, he nodded without hesitation.
When Owen arrived, his tailored pants were speckled with mud and his usually immaculate hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat.
"Aria, why are you at the studio? You..."
"I came to listen to someone record," I interrupted, unwilling to let him know about my plan to release a song. That would only make me look pathetic. I pointed toward the paparazzo.
The man caught on quickly. "Yes, I’m a fan of Miss Aria Miller. I invited her here."
I offered him a faint smile, allowing Owen to help me out of the studio.
As we reached his car, the paparazzo ran after us. "Miss Aria, my name is Theo Knox. I am really your fan."
Owen frowned as he started the engine of his sports car. We drove in tense silence until he suddenly stopped.
"Aria, you can’t keep going to recording studios in your condition. It’s too much for you. I’m worried."
"Worried about what? Worried I might hear your new song?"
He froze for a moment but quickly regained his composure. "Everyone knows that song was written for you."
"So you’re having sex with someone else for me too, huh?"
His head snapped to the side as if struck. Panic flashed in his eyes.
"Aria, it wasn’t like that. It was just... just mechanical action. It meant nothing. I wanted the song to be perfect."
‘Mechanical action, he said.’ I laughed bitterly, tears spilling once more. "Owen, let’s break up."
I unclasped my seatbelt and opened the door to leave, but his hand shot out and grabbed my hand.
"Aria, I will never do it again. I won’t ever do anything you don’t like again."
He continued, “I swear it was just that one time! It is just for the sake of art. Aria, please, don’t leave me!"
He began to cry, his tears falling onto my hand. Then, in a shocking move, he slapped himself hard across the face.
"I’m sorry. I was wrong."
I pulled my hand free, stepped out and snapped the car door, but his voice stopped me.
"Aria..."
Owen covered his chest as he desperately tried to breathe.
"I can’t breathe..."
I realized, horrified, that his asthma had been triggered. Frantically, I searched his bag for his medicine.
"At home..." he rasped.
With no other choice for this urgent situation, I drove him back to the home we had shared for three years—a place that now felt cold and empty to me.
Once he was stable and resting, I packed my clothes. The sound of my suitcase hitting the floor woke him.
Owen stumbled out of the bedroom, his knees buckling as he knelt before me.
"Aria, please..."
