Chapter 1
New York’s traffic is sometimes too much.
By some miracle, I arrived before the event ended. The Aurelia Grand Hotel — the venue Logan had chosen for our album’s listening party — gleamed like something out of a movie. Expensive, polished, perfect. I was eager to meet the fans, to hear their reactions to the songs I had poured my heart into. Most of the lyrics were love letters to them, just as much as they were pieces of me.
As I was about to step into the hall, I noticed a cluster of reporters gathered tightly around Logan. Cameras flashed. Microphones shoved in his face. He loved attention — even when he pretended to be humble. Three years of working with him had taught me that much. Or maybe, three years of forcing myself to adjust to his ways.
Then he spoke.
“I know you’re all waiting for Isabella to show up,” he began, his voice smooth and unshakable, “but I should tell you… she won’t. Not after what she’s done all these years.”
The words stopped me cold. I froze just outside the doorway, my pulse thudding in my ears.
“I can’t keep the truth from you any longer,” he continued, looking every bit the picture of sincerity. “Isabella, the one you worship as a pure goddess, is nothing but a hideous slut. She’s slept with every producer we’ve worked with just to make our songs hits. She forces me to write all the lyrics and demands my silence so fans won’t suspect her. But I love my fans too much to keep lying. Why would I lie about this? I had to tell you the truth.”
The crowd erupted into shocked murmurs, cameras clicking furiously.
I felt heat rise in my chest, my hands curling into fists. He spoke with the confidence of a man who had never been questioned, each syllable wrapped in honey — but only I could taste the poison underneath.
I turned on my heel before the reporters could swarm me. Sliding into the backseat of my car, I pulled out my phone and opened the North & West official account. My fingers flew over the screen as I typed my post:
I denied every one of his baseless lies. Attached proof — photographs of his affairs with backup dancers, my handwritten lyrics for every track we’d released. I exposed how 24/7 Music, the label we were signed to, was tied to Brooks Finances, his father’s investment empire. They had ordered me to stay silent to protect him.
I refused. I resigned. I ended my career in one night.
If Logan wanted to destroy me with lies, I would burn everything down with the truth.
By the time I got back to my apartment, the decision was made. I packed my luggage, booked a ticket, and prepared to leave the United States for good. I was going home to Italy — back to the only place I thought I could find peace.
Or so I believed.
