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.

I decided to try it—not because I wanted redemption, but because, as an artist, I couldn't turn away from a piece of music that deserved to come to life.

Theo handed me the lyrics.

" The frosty leaves are redder than February flowers; deep in the white clouds, there are homes."

It was a spliced-together line from a poem.

Though my voice was damaged, I could still manage one line—it wasn’t as if I had to carry an entire song.

Facing the microphone, I waited for the instrumental to begin. When it did, I sang.

When I finished, Theo stared at me, stunned.

“Aria, you’re amazing. This is exactly the feeling I wanted!” His excitement bubbled over. “I’m calling the producer right now!”

“Wait,” I interrupted. “I have one condition.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t credit me for the vocals.”

He paused but nodded. “Deal.”

By the time I returned to my hotel, it was already five in the morning. As soon as I unlocked the door, Owen barged in.

“Aria, you’ve been out all night with that guy. We’re even now, okay? Let’s start over!”

His bloodshot eyes and desperation made him look less like a man and more like a cornered beast.

“If you agree, we’ll get our marriage license and make it public tomorrow. The whole world will know that I, Owen, love only you.”

He continued, “And after that, we’ll move abroad. I’ll build my career there and we’ll cut off everyone you don’t want to see. How about it?”

I still didn’t respond to his words, “Aria, I love you. I love you to the bone.”

He went on and on. It was my turn to respond.

“Owen, would you do anything I ask?”

“Yes,” he replied firmly as if to convince himself.

“Alright,” I said. “Cancel your appearance at this year’s gala. And don’t perform alongside Tessa again.”

The room went quiet.

After a moment, his voice softened. “Anything but that.”

I had expected this.

I opened the door and gestured for him to leave.

“Aria, without me, what can you even do? Your voice is ruined. Do you really think you’re worth anything anymore?”

I almost laughed at the irony. My damaged voice was his doing. This was a debt I’d make sure he paid one day.

“if you’re not leaving, I’m leaving!”

I grabbed my bag, ready to go, but I didn't expect Owen to lunge at me, shoving me onto the bed.

“You’re mine, Aria. You’re not going anywhere.”

He stroked my ear, his voice dripping with possessiveness.

“You always say that abstinence fuels creativity. Now that you don’t even have a job, how about we indulge for once?”

He buried his face in the curve of my neck, pinning one of my wrists above my head while his other hand lingered near my chest.

“Owen!” I shouted, forcing my voice to stay steady.

“If you so much as lay a hand on me, I swear you’ll be trending on social media tomorrow.”

He froze. Nothing mattered to him more than his reputation.

He shoved a pillow off the bed in frustration, grabbed his clothes from the floor and stormed out.

Not long after, my phone buzzed with a message from him.

It was a photo—of me and Theo leaving the karaoke room together.

I knew what this was: a threat.

His accompanying text read:

"Aria, let me remind you of the facts. Your voice is gone and your career is over. Staying with me is the best option you’ll ever have in this lifetime."

This was his attitude after cheating?

I didn’t reply. Instead, I posted our entire chat history on WhatsApp.

Within hours, it went viral.

#OwenJamesAriaMiller

#OwenJamesWife-lovingPersona

#OwenJamesChatsHistory

#OwenJamesExposed

The hashtags dominated the trending list.

By the next day, his PR team went into overdrive, accusing me of fabricating the screenshots to gain attention because I couldn’t find a job. They claimed I was just trying to sell products.

I didn’t bother responding. Instead, I gave a slew of interviews and every one of them painted a vivid picture of the truth.

While Owen’s career plummeted, Theo released his new song, "Melodic Journey."

It blew up almost overnight. Theo became the music industry’s rising star.

Speculation about the mysterious female voice in Theo’s new song spread like wildfire in the industry and among fans.

Music bloggers shared their theories, but not a single person guessed it was me.

That was precisely why I had insisted on staying anonymous. I wanted honest feedback, free from the shadow of my name or my past.

It didn’t take long for Tessa to capitalize on the buzz. She posted a video of herself gracefully writing on a piece of paper: “The frosty leaves are redder than February flowers.”

The internet erupted, declaring her the most likely candidate for the mystery singer.

But this spotlight wasn’t hers to claim.

A few weeks later, Theo and I appeared on a music show to perform "Melodic Journey" together. Before the show aired, the producers teased the performance with an announcement: a “mystery female singer” would join Theo on stage. Within three days, the episode racked up over 10 million reservations.

The performance was meticulously staged. Theo began singing solo under the spotlight. As my part approached, I rose from beneath the stage, my back to the audience. I panicked when Theo reached for my hand and led me toward the center of the stage.

“Aria, you’ve got this.”

Although I had practiced countless times, I was so nervous on stage that I lost my voice for a while.

I realized that this stage was too important to me. If I succeeded, I would rise again and if I failed, I would never get out.

I gripped the microphone and drew a deep breath.