The door to Martínez Records shut behind Liam with a soft click, leaving Sofia alone in the dimly lit shop. She stood there for a long moment, staring at the door as if waiting for something—an answer, a sign that she hadn't just made the worst mistake of her life. But all that greeted her was silence.
The street outside had grown quiet, the city settling into its late-night rhythm. Barcelona had a way of slowing down after dark, but Sofia's mind refused to follow suit. Her thoughts raced, circling around Liam's parting words and the key now missing from her hand.
She exhaled sharply and ran her hands through her hair. What have I done? This wasn't some fantasy she could just walk away from. She had willingly stepped into the chaos of a world she knew nothing about—a world that revolved around fame, secrecy, and the destructive pull of the spotlight.
Sofia turned off the lights and began locking up, her movements automatic, though her thoughts were elsewhere. She had agreed to help Liam, but a growing sense of dread gnawed at her gut. Helping a runaway rock star lay low was not exactly the kind of problem she had envisioned when she opened the shop.
As she grabbed her bag and headed for the door, the sound of footsteps echoed in the distance. Sofia's body tensed, her instincts kicking in. She quickly scanned the street through the glass window, her heart hammering. The paparazzi. Were they already here? She cursed under her breath and dimmed the remaining light.
For a long moment, nothing happened. The footsteps faded, and the street was once again quiet. But Sofia wasn't foolish enough to think she was in the clear. Whoever was hunting Liam would be back—and next time, they might not be so easy to avoid.
She stepped out into the cool night air, pulling her jacket tighter around her. As she locked the shop door, she cast a glance down the street, scanning for anyone suspicious. Nothing. The world felt eerily still. Too still.
Sofia began the short walk back to her apartment, her thoughts still tangled with what had just happened. Part of her wanted to call Carmen, to tell her everything and get it off her chest, but she knew she couldn't. If she dragged anyone else into this, it would only make things worse.
The wind picked up as she turned the corner onto a quieter street. Shadows stretched long under the streetlights, and the occasional car passed by. Sofia tried to shake the feeling of being watched, but every rustle of leaves or creak of a gate made her heart jump. She kept her pace quick, glancing over her shoulder more often than usual.
It wasn't until she reached her apartment building that she finally exhaled, grateful for the solid walls and the door that separated her from the outside world. She climbed the stairs to her small flat, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. The silence greeted her once again.
Sofia tossed her bag onto the kitchen counter and sank into the worn armchair by the window. She looked out at the city lights, her mind replaying everything that had happened in the past few hours. Liam Hawthorne, the whispers of fame, the men with the camera—all of it felt like some strange fever dream. But the key in his hand was real. The flat, the hiding—it was all real.
She rubbed her temples, closing her eyes for a moment. Sleep felt like a distant concept, but her body ached with exhaustion. Her thoughts drifted back to the shop. How long before the paparazzi returned? How long before this secret became too big to keep?
And what about Liam? Was he safe? He had seemed so confident, so sure that he could stay hidden. But even the most famous people couldn't hide forever. Sooner or later, the world would find him.
Sofia sighed and pushed herself out of the chair. She needed to clear her head. Maybe a shower would help. As the hot water hit her skin, she let her mind wander. There was still time to back out. She could call Liam, tell him she'd made a mistake, and wash her hands of this whole mess.
But deep down, Sofia knew she wouldn't do that. There was something about Liam's desperation, his vulnerability, that struck a chord with her. He wasn't just some celebrity trying to escape his own mess—he was a man in need of help. And for whatever reason, fate had brought him to her.
When she finally stepped out of the shower, the tension had eased from her muscles, but her mind was still racing. She wrapped herself in a towel and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her reflection in the small mirror across the room.
What are you doing, Sofia?
The question hung in the air, unanswered.
Meanwhile, across town, Liam stood in the dim light of the rented flat, his back pressed against the wall. He had drawn the curtains and double-checked the locks on the door, but the paranoia still gnawed at him. Every noise from the street below made him flinch, every car that passed sent a spike of anxiety through his chest.
He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, unrecognizable beneath the layers of exhaustion and the beard he had let grow wild. His eyes were bloodshot, his face gaunt. The man who stared back at him wasn't Liam Hawthorne, the rock star who had once commanded stadiums of adoring fans. He was just Liam—broken, burned out, and on the run.
He splashed water on his face and took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. The adrenaline was still coursing through his veins from the close call at the record shop. He had been careful, or at least he thought he had, but clearly, not careful enough.
His thoughts turned to Sofia, the woman who had, against all logic, agreed to help him. He hadn't expected that. She could have thrown him out, called the cops, or worse—tipped off the paparazzi. But she hadn't. Instead, she had given him a chance. And for that, he owed her.
Liam walked into the small living room and collapsed onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling. His mind swirled with memories of the past year—the tour, the headlines, the collapse of Blackhill Midnight. The noise had been too much, the pressure unbearable. The world had loved him, and then it had turned on him, just like it always did.
He reached for the old acoustic guitar that sat propped against the wall, the one piece of his past he had managed to keep with him. His fingers traced the worn strings, but he didn't play. Not tonight. The music had left him long ago, and he wasn't sure if it would ever come back.
Instead, he closed his eyes and let the quiet of the flat envelop him. It wouldn't last. He knew that. Sooner or later, someone would find him. But for now, for this moment, he was hidden.
But hiding was never enough. Eventually, the world would come knocking, and when it did, he had no idea if he'd be ready to face it.