Chapter 1
The first thing I heard that morning wasn’t my alarm.
It was Evan.
“Milano,” he called from somewhere beyond my bedroom door, his voice carrying easily through the hallway. “Come on. If we miss this flight, I’m blaming you.”
I laughed despite myself.
“You’ve been saying that for the last hour.”
“Because you’ve been getting ready for the last hour.”
“I’m almost done.”
“You said that twenty minutes ago, chicka.”
I rolled my eyes as his footsteps retreated down the stairs.
Some things never changed.
I took one last look around my bedroom before disappearing into my walk-in closet. Three months.
Three whole months away from Los Angeles.
Most people would have called it excessive. My manager certainly had. Three months was an eternity in my industry—too many appearances declined, too many interviews postponed, too many opportunities left waiting.
I called it breathing room.
I pulled on black skinny jeans, a white tank top, my favorite leather jacket, and a pair of worn sneakers that had traveled with me to more countries than I could count. Comfortable. Familiar. Mine.
After adding a touch of mascara and smoothing volume through my chestnut-brown hair, I studied my reflection.
Good enough.
Not perfect.
Just me.
Exactly what I wanted.
My passport, phone, and handbag were already waiting by the door. Downstairs, the house buzzed with conversation and the unmistakable smell of fresh coffee.
“Morning,” I said as I stepped into the kitchen.
Evan looked up first, dramatically checking an imaginary watch.
“Look who’s finally decided to join the living.”
Jacky snorted into her coffee.
“We’ve only been waiting... what? Two hours?”
“Forty minutes,” Ariana corrected.
“Same difference.”
I smiled, grabbing a packet of chips from the counter before anyone could comment on my questionable breakfast.
“You all act like the plane was leaving at dawn.”
“It practically is,” Jacky muttered before taking another sip of coffee.
Scott and Vanessa had already decided to fly out later in the week, claiming they wanted “a proper holiday entrance.” I suspected they simply didn’t want to endure Evan’s constant countdown to departure.
Our luggage had been loaded into the cars the night before, leaving only one last task.
I armed the security system, glanced back at the quiet house, and pulled the front door closed.
Three months.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t leaving for a concert, an award show, or another press tour.
I was leaving because I wanted to disappear.
The airport was already alive by the time we arrived.
Suitcases rolled over polished floors, departure boards flickered overhead, and the scent of coffee drifted through the terminal.
We checked our luggage before making our way to the airline counter.
The woman behind the desk greeted us with a warm smile.
“Good morning. How may I help you?”
“Reservation for Milano Fernández,” I replied.
Her fingers danced across the keyboard before recognition softened her expression.
“Of course.”
While she printed our boarding passes, I absently scrolled through my phone. Notifications flooded my screen—mentions, interview requests, fan edits, headlines, invitations.
A life that somehow never seemed to slow down.
Until now.
“Here you are, Ms. Fernández,” she said, handing over the tickets. “Enjoy Mauritius.”
“Thank you.”
Gate Twenty-One wasn’t far.
As we walked, a melody drifted quietly into my mind.
It started with only a few notes.
Soft.
Melancholic.
The kind of tune that arrived without permission and refused to leave until it became something more.
I reached for my phone before the melody escaped me, humming quietly as I recorded the idea.
Maybe this trip wouldn’t just give me peace.
Maybe it would give me music again.
The first-class cabin was already boarding when we stepped onto the aircraft.
As we made our way down the aisle, whispers spread through economy like ripples across still water.
“It’s her.”
“Oh my God...”
“Milano!”
Someone called Ariana’s name too, followed by a chorus of excited greetings.
We smiled, waved, and offered apologetic expressions to the passengers hoping for photos.
“Next time,” Evan promised with an easy grin.
The flight attendant guided us toward the front of the aircraft.
“Here we are,” she said warmly. “It’s a pleasure having you on board.”
“Thank you.”
I settled into my seat beside the window, letting out a quiet breath as the bustle of boarding continued around us.
For the first time in months, no cameras.
No interviews.
No rehearsals.
Just the steady hum of the aircraft and the promise of somewhere new.
The teenager seated beside me glanced up from the novel in his hands.
Recognition flashed briefly across his face.
Then, instead of asking for a selfie or fumbling for his phone, he simply smiled.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” I replied, smiling back.
It was oddly refreshing.
For once, someone looked at me like I was just another passenger waiting for takeoff.
