Chapter1
BLACKWOOD Chapter One — Six Years Later
Six years later, Blackwood still smelled the same.
Cold air. Wet pavement. Pine trees.
And somewhere beneath all of it, the faint smell of freshly baked bread drifting from the little bakery near the town entrance.
I lowered the window of my car and let the wind rush against my face.
I had forgotten how cold Blackwood could be.
Or maybe I had simply forgotten what it felt like to come home.
The town appeared exactly as I remembered it.
Small.
Quiet.
Almost painfully familiar.
The same narrow roads winding between old brick buildings. The same little shops with their faded signs. The same church tower rising above the rooftops. The same rows of houses tucked beneath the pine-covered hills.
Even the old wooden sign stood at the edge of town.
WELCOME TO BLACKWOOD.
I smiled despite myself.
Six years in the city had taught me that nothing stayed the same forever.
People changed.
Places changed.
I had certainly changed.
But Blackwood?
Apparently, it had decided to wait for me.
I turned onto the road leading toward my parents’ house.
My fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel.
I wasn’t nervous.
At least, that was what I had been telling myself since I left the city that morning.
I was simply going home.
That was all.
After six years away, I had finally decided to finish college in Blackwood.
I wanted to be closer to my family.
I wanted something quieter.
Something normal.
No airports every other week.
No hotel rooms.
No producers calling me at midnight.
No strangers following me through shopping centres.
No cameras flashing every time I stepped outside.
For the first time in years, I wanted to sit in a classroom and worry about exams instead of album releases.
I wanted to buy coffee without someone asking for a photograph.
I wanted to walk through town without wondering whether the person staring at me knew me from a billboard.
I wanted to be anonymous.
Just for a while.
My parents’ house came into view.
The white paint was slightly more faded than I remembered, and Mum’s flowerpots were still lined along the front steps.
I laughed softly.
Some things really didn’t change.
I parked in the driveway.
Before I could even turn off the engine, the front door flew open.
“Mum.”
She came down the steps so quickly that I barely had time to open my door.
“My baby!”
I laughed as she pulled me into her arms.
“Careful!”
“Careful?” She pulled back and held my face between both hands. “Look at you!”
“Mum—”
“Look at my daughter!”
“I’ve been sending you pictures.”
“Pictures are not the same thing.”
She turned my face from side to side.
“You’re too thin.”
I stared at her.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“Mum.”
“You need to eat.”
“I eat.”
“Proper food.”
“I eat proper food.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Are you sure?”
I burst out laughing.
She sighed dramatically and pulled me into another hug.
Six years.
Six years apart, and somehow my mother could still make me feel like I was sixteen.
“You’re finally home,” she whispered.
Something tightened in my chest.
“I’m home.”
She kissed my forehead.
Then my cheek.
Then my forehead again.
“I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
“You should have come sooner.”
“I know.”
“You’ve been too busy.”
“I know.”
“You never listen to your mother.”
I smiled.
“Some things never change.”
She pulled away.
“Exactly.”
Dad appeared in the doorway.
Unlike Mum, he didn’t rush toward me.
He simply stood there, smiling.
“Welcome home, sweetheart.”
I walked toward him.
He opened his arms.
I hugged him tightly.
Dad patted my back twice.
“Good to have you home.”
I swallowed.
“Good to be home.”
He pulled away and looked at me for a moment.
There was pride in his eyes.
And something else.
Maybe relief.
“You’ve grown.”
I laughed.
“Dad, I’m twenty-one.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t notice.”
Mum was already picking up one of my bags.
“Come inside. I made food.”
“Mum, I just drove for hours.”
“Exactly. You’re hungry.”
“I had breakfast.”
She stopped.
“You ate breakfast?”
“Yes.”
“What did you eat?”
I hesitated.
She stared at me.
“Coffee doesn’t count.”
I laughed so hard Dad started laughing too.
“See?” Mum said. “Your father thinks I’m funny.”
“I didn’t say that,” Dad replied.
“You laughed.”
“I laughed at her.”
Mum rolled her eyes.
“Both of you. Inside.”
I followed them.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t surrounded by assistants, security, managers or strangers.
Just Mum.
Dad.
Home.
And somehow, that felt more luxurious than anything money had ever bought me.
By evening, I was exhausted.
My old bedroom looked almost exactly the same.
Mum had changed the curtains, but everything else remained untouched.
The bookshelf.
The little desk beside the window.
The faded rug.
Even the small crack in the corner of the ceiling was still there.
I stood in the middle of the room and smiled.
I had spent six years building a completely different life.
Yet somehow, standing there made me remember the girl I used to be.
The girl who hated mirrors.
The girl who avoided photographs.
The girl who learned how to make herself smaller whenever people looked at her.
I pushed the thought away.
Not tonight.
Tonight, I was home.
The next afternoon, my suitcase was lying open on my bed.
Half of my clothes were inside.
The other half were scattered across the floor.
Mum stood in the doorway with her arms crossed.
“You have too many clothes.”
“I don’t.”
“You’re going to college.”
“I know.”
“Not a fashion show.”
“I know.”
“You don’t need six pairs of shoes.”
I looked down at the shoes beside my suitcase.
“Seven.”
Mum stared at me.
I smiled.
“Technically, I need seven.”
She shook her head.
“I don’t understand you.”
“You gave birth to me.”
“That was clearly my first mistake.”
I gasped.
“Mum!”
She laughed and walked away.
I smiled to myself.
Then my phone buzzed.
I glanced at the screen.
Milo.
I answered.
“Hello?”
“If you tell me you’re still packing, I’m hanging up.”
I looked at the suitcase.
“I’ve been distracted.”
“By what?”
“My shoes.”
There was silence.
Then—
“You’re hopeless.”
I laughed.
Milo had always been dramatic.
Even at seventeen.
Especially at seventeen.
“I’m almost done.”
“You said that two hours ago.”
“You weren’t supposed to know that.”
“Because I know you.”
I smiled.
That was true.
Milo knew me better than almost anyone.
He had known me before the city.
Before the music.
Before the photographs.
Before the face everyone recognized.
Before everything.
“So,” he said, “are you nervous?”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You always say ‘I’m not’ when you’re lying.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Maybe I’m just tired.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Milo.”
“I’m listening.”
I smiled.
“I’ve missed you.”
His voice softened.
“I’ve missed you too.”
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
Six years ago, we’d been two awkward teenagers trying to survive Blackwood.
He was the boy who drew in the margins of every notebook.
The boy who kept his head down whenever people started talking.
The boy who was terrified of being different.
I had been terrified of being seen.
Somehow, we had found each other.
And became inseparable.
“I’m picking you up when you get here,” he said.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because you disappear when you’re overwhelmed.”
I smiled.
“I’m not going to disappear.”
“You say that now.”
“I’ve changed.”
“I know.”
Something about the way he said it made me pause.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Milo.”
“I’m just saying…”
He sighed.
“You’re not the same girl who left.”
I looked toward the mirror.
He was right.
I wasn’t.
Not anymore.
I had spent six years becoming someone completely different.
My fingers brushed my cheek.
The face looking back at me was nothing like the girl in my memories.
Long dark hair.
Clear skin.
Full lips.
Eyes that no longer hid behind thick glasses.
A face strangers recognized.
A face magazines had called unforgettable.
A face people had paid to see on billboards.
A face the fairy had given me.
My hand dropped.
“Milo?”
“Yeah?”
“Have you finished that drawing?”
He laughed.
“You mean the masterpiece?”
“The one of me?”
“Yes.”
“Send it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I haven’t finished it.”
“You said that last week.”
“Artists need time.”
“You’re drawing my face, not the Sistine Chapel.”
“That is exactly why I need time.”
I laughed.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I know.”
Then his voice changed.
“Hey.”
“Hmm?”
“You really okay?”
I looked at the suitcase.
At my clothes.
At the room I hadn’t slept in for six years.
“I think so.”
“That’s not a yes.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Better.”
He paused.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“I heard Roman is back.”
My smile disappeared.
The room suddenly felt colder.
I stared at the floor.
“Roman?”
“Yeah.”
I said nothing.
Milo sighed.
“I knew you wouldn’t like hearing that.”
“I don’t care.”
“Sure.”
“I don’t.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me.”
I swallowed.
Six years.
Six years since I’d heard his name spoken like that.
Roman Voss.
The golden boy of Blackwood.
The football star everyone worshipped.
The boy every girl wanted.
The boy who could walk into a room and make everyone notice.
And the boy who had once made me wish I could disappear.
I closed my suitcase.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Hey—”
“Goodnight, Milo.”
“Goodnight.”
I ended the call.
For several seconds, I sat completely still.
Then I looked at the mirror again.
The woman staring back at me was beautiful.
Confident.
Successful.
Wanted.
Everything the old me had never been.
But there was one thing the mirror couldn’t show.
What it had cost me to become her.
I had spent six years building a life where nobody knew her.
Tomorrow, I was going back to the place where everyone did.
I had returned for college.
For my family.
For myself.
Not for revenge.
Not for the past.
And definitely not for him.
I picked up my suitcase.
Outside my window, the evening sky had turned dark over Blackwood.
Tomorrow, I would move into my college apartment.
Tomorrow, I would begin again.
I only had one problem.
Roman Voss was already back.
