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?”

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..."

This was likely the first time Owen had ever knelt. Years ago, when he was building his career abroad, his sponsors demanded that he kneel as a gesture of respect. He risked being blocklisted by the industry to stand his ground.

Even when his father passed away and we returned to his hometown for the funeral, he only bowed deeply in front of the portrait.

But now, he was kneeling before me.

"Aria, I can’t live without you."

Could I not forgive him?

It was just one time.

I reached out, tempted to touch him, but then my eyes landed on the bruises on his knees.

A sudden thought struck me. I grabbed his phone and sent a message to Tessa.

Owen: [Don’t contact me anymore. Aria found out.]

As expected, she took the bait.

She invited me to meet her in a private karaoke room. When I arrived, she was mid-song, singing "Delightful."

Her lips curled into a smug smile as she raised the microphone to her mouth. "I knew you’d come."

She stood, placing both hands on the table. "Did he tell you it only happened once? He lied."

Tessa lit a cigarette, the smoke curling lazily around her.

"Remember when he went to the countryside to record the sound of rain? He spent those nights with me. We got so carried away one day that the recording equipment picked up the sound. Later, Owen had to buy a replacement audio track."

Her words struck like a thunderclap, each one louder than the last.

"You’ve seen that viral joke online, right? The one about how Owen’s knees are as strong as steel? What they didn't know was that we used that position a lot."

"I'm not interested in what you're saying." I forced myself to remain calm, turning away to hide the storm of emotions raging inside me.

"Aren’t you curious how it all started?”

She chuckled, moving closer to drape an arm around my shoulders. “Remember that overseas performance of his? I waited for him at his hotel and was the only one there for him in that foreign country. I didn’t expect to give him the A-flux, though."

She exhaled another puff of smoke, her voice dripping with mock sympathy.

"That’s why I've been bothering you and you had to fly over to take care of him. Sorry about your voice, by the way. Didn’t mean to ruin it."

Her fingers tapped lightly on my shoulder as though dismissing me.

So that was how my voice had been damaged.

I calmly lifted my phone. "Owen, did you hear all that? It’s clear there's really no way I can make up with you now."

From the speaker came his furious voice. "Tessa, are you looking for death?"

Tessa froze, the confidence she had just shown vanishing in an instant.

I slipped my phone into my pocket and mimicked her earlier gesture, patting her shoulder. "Smoke less, Tessa. It’s bad for your voice."

Her composure cracked as I turned to leave.

"Aria, don’t get too full of yourself! You can’t let him go either, can you?"

I paused at the door and glanced back, my voice steady. "I almost forgot to tell you—meeting you here was just a coincidence. No one’s interested in garbage except you."

Tessa came out after me. “No way!”

Her shouts of disbelief followed me as I rounded the corner and saw Theo, who was on the phone around the corner. Gently, I took the phone from his hand.

"No need to call. I’m here."

Tessa’s stunned expression burned in my peripheral vision as Theo and I walked away together.

"Uh, Miss Aria Miller, I was just calling my mom," he said, looking slightly sheepish.

"...Sorry."

I had misjudged him. Theo wasn’t a paparazzo. That day at the studio, he was there to record his own song.

I intended to end our interaction there, but he surprised me by asking for a favor.

He took me to the recording studio.

“Sorry, I can't help you.”

As I turned to leave, "Just listen." Theo brought headphones to my ears.

The track began and I was greeted by a smooth R&B melody. His voice was highly recognizable, magnetic and soft, just like a treasure in the singing world that filled my ears.

"This is a song I wrote. It’s almost complete, but I need a female voice for one short operatic line. Would you try it?"

He even emphasized, "Just one line."

I looked into his earnest eyes and for the first time in a long while, I felt a spark of curiosity stir within me.