"What are you going to do with all those bags, Ms. Faison?" Her boss had asked once, when she'd given him a tour of her newly purchased two-million-dollar mansion. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, oblivious to how ridiculous she must have looked. She was trying to show off to someone who had more money than she could ever dream of.
"What do you mean?" she shot back, a hint of attitude in her voice, thinking he was mocking her.
"This is a collection," she gestured proudly at the rows of bags. But he chuckled softly, quickly catching himself before offering her a reality check.
"They're nice, but... unless they're authenticated or part of a special collection, they aren't worth much on the resale market."
Her heart had dropped instantly. She felt stupid. He went on to explain in careful detail that without proof of authenticity or being tied to limited-edition runs, her bags were unlikely to hold any real market value, no matter the brand.
"Well… I'm sure they mean something to you," he'd added, trailing off as he changed the subject, perhaps sensing her embarrassment. But the damage was done. In that moment, she realized her prized collection had more personal than financial worth.
She never gave anyone a tour of her house after that.
He had been part of the reason why—
A light tap on her shoulder yanked her out of her thoughts. She blinked, disoriented for a moment, before Tae-Yang's annoyed huff and the flashing cameras brought her back to reality. They were still standing on the red carpet, facing the Extra reporter.
Brandy smiled brightly, microphone poised for the cameras.
"So, we just spoke to Cindy West, and she had a lot to say about female unity in the industry," Brandy's voice dripped with thinly veiled sweetness. Then, with a sharp edge, she added, "Do you see that happening between you two?"
She hadn't been listening at all. The words buzzed faintly in her mind, but before they truly registered, Tae-Yang gave her a discreet nudge.
"Yes," she blurted out without thinking.
Brandy's eyes widened, a flash of surprise sparking behind her professional demeanor.
"Really?" she asked, leaning in with a hungry curiosity, pressing the microphone closer to her than necessary. "So, you see yourself and Cindy uniting?"
Her lips curled into a sly smile as she regained her footing. She leveled her gaze at Brandy, tone sharp with an unmistakable edge.
"Unity?" she scoffed, letting the word linger.
"I mean, sure, when Marisol can keep up with me on the charts... maybe then we can talk about 'unity.'"
The air tightened as her words settled; onlookers and Brandy herself stared in stunned silence, shocked by the sheer audacity. She caught the flickers of astonishment but didn't flinch, pressing on with confidence.
"But let's be real for a second, Brandy," she continued, glancing deliberately toward the cameras.
"Last I checked, she hasn't come close to my tour numbers. Let alone Billboard numbers, which, let me remind you," she added, tilting her head slightly whispering into the microphone.
"I live in the top ten."
A flicker of shock crossed Brandy's face, her professional mask faltering for just a second. Tae-Yang's hand suddenly wrapped around hers, squeezing tightly—a silent but pointed warning to pull back.
Brandy's eyes glimmered with barely contained excitement, leaning in with the microphone a touch too close, the boldness of it not lost on her. Brandy was looking for a reaction, and she was never one to miss a beat.
"So," Brandy began, her voice light but her words pointed, "you're saying Marisol's got some catching up to do? I mean, she's getting her flowers already—some are even calling her the Princess of Rap. Sounds like a title with weight, don't you think?"
Her lips curved into a slight smirk, eyes narrowing as she pushed the microphone back with a manicured nail, giving Brandy a slow once-over.
"Princess, huh?" she said, letting her words linger, each one edged with derision.
"Cute. Let her wear her little tiara…"
"I guess." She shrugged, letting the words linger with a razor-sharp edge.
"But what's a princess to a Queen?"
Brandy replied, sounding confident as she added, "But she's still royalty."
"A pretender," She shot back, her tone ice-cold.
Brandy paused, confidence faltering for just a second. "So, you're calling her—"
"A fake. A fluke…" She cut in, her tone razor-sharp as she emphasized each word with a flick of her hand. "An imposter."
"Brandy," she continued, her tone still cool but unmistakably pointed, "there's levels to this. I'm not here to flaunt in pretty dresses—I'm here to reign and win." She let her gaze drift back to Brandy, the reporters, and the onlookers, knowing full well they were hanging onto every syllable.
Brandy, momentarily thrown off, scrambled to regain her composure. "So, you're saying Marisol still has work to do to earn the crown?"
She raised an eyebrow, as if the answer were obvious. "I mean, she can climb all she wants." She made sure every eye was on her. "But I'm kicking these non-rapping bitches off my castle's drawbridge."
Brandy's mouth fell open in an audible gasp, her surprise quickly shifting into a half-suppressed laugh. She shook her head, clearly both taken aback and, in some strange way, impressed by her unfiltered candor.
The tension in the crowd crackled, and Tae-Yang squeezed her hand in warning. But she met his gaze with a fire that said she'd said exactly what she meant.
As she finished her final words, she didn't wait for Brandy's response. She spun on her heel, her expression unreadable as Brandy called after her, desperation edging her voice. Ignoring the journalist entirely, she strutted forward, pausing at the edge of the carpet where the flashing cameras caught her in a final, powerful stance.
She struck a pose, chin lifted, a knowing glint in her eyes, letting the paparazzi capture her from every angle before she turned and disappeared into the entrance of the Kia Forum. The crowd's murmur followed her, a ripple of awe and scandal trailing in her wake.
As she walked with Tae-Yang at her right, clutching her hand tightly in his, she could feel his anticipation coursing through his blood. Darrick stood close to her, his presence palpable yet slowly fading. She could sense him retreating, about to slip into the background, a shadow she wished Tae-Yang would become instead. She was about to have some of the emptiest conversations of her life. It was going to be just her and Tae-Yang, hamming it up for the people, and they were about to play a game of complex social chess.
As they finally escaped the chaos of the red carpet and entered the grand lobby of the Kia Forum, she felt the atmosphere shift. Here, the air was thick with anticipation, electric with the murmurs of the elite and the flash of cameras catching private glances and hushed laughter. But beneath the polished veneer, she sensed a hollowness, an emptiness woven into the glamour. The laughter echoed around her, vibrant yet hollow, like applause for a forgotten act.
In this world of illusions, she played her part flawlessly, flashing smiles for the cameras and exchanging pleasantries with her fellow stars. But deep down, she knew what survival here required—the willingness to step on toes, to crush anyone who dared to stand in her way. Her journey to the top was paved with precisely those unspoken sacrifices.
Photographers continued their ritual, their cameras capturing every angle of the polished, fabricated perfection, but as they did, she felt a wave of disillusionment. This was the price of fame, the unspoken cost of the game. And tonight, she found herself wondering if it was a price worth paying.
As her gaze drifted over the sea of familiar faces, she took in the A-listers, their sense of entitlement heavy in the air. There was an arrogance to it all, a collective obsession with reputation and relevance. Still, beneath her disdain, she felt a glimmer of empathy for those newcomers still struggling to climb their way up. She saw them in their borrowed gowns, bright eyes filled with determination, clinging to the myth of Hollywood as they fought to make their mark.
But at the top, it was lonely and cold, she knew that all too well. The glitter, the allure—it was all surface-level. With every step forward, she felt the truth deepen: that fame's promises were empty, and that the cost was real, traded in moments of honesty and trust she might never get back.
Her gaze shifted to Bobby Sullivan. She quickly adjusted her dress and walked briskly, leaving Tae-Yang a step behind. As he reached for her hand to maintain their facade, she ignored him, her focus locked on Bobby, whose bright smile masked a familiar weariness.
As she approached, Bobby looked up, recognition lighting his face, and she felt herself slipping back into character, ready for whatever show was required next.
"Bobby!" Her voice bubbled with genuine excitement as she spotted him in the crowd. She loved him deeply; Bobby had been her first feature, a gesture she would always be grateful for. Besides that, he was her loyal friend—always with a case of Percocet's in a sleek, gold cigarette case.
"Ahhhhh!" he shrieked, his voice carrying across the lobby as he lit up, arms open wide. His big, bright smile was contagious, and he pulled her in for a tight hug, squeezing with the warmth only Bobby could. They hadn't seen each other since last Christmas, when he'd surprised her with a beautiful diamond necklace, one that had nearly made her tear up.
"Kay O..." Admiration and amusement twinkled in his eyes as he gazed at her dress. She playfully gave a little shimmy, reveling in the glamour of the moment. It felt like a silent competition of beauty, everyone vying to be the most radiant. Tonight, she knew she had triumphed. The dress fit her flawlessly, embracing her figure like a glove, and Bobby's grin confirmed his approval.
"Look at you, you little whore." He laughed, and the air changed in an instant. Her body stiffened, the smile slipping away as she recoiled instinctively.
She hated that word. She was not a whore.
'Breathe,' she told herself, biting back the sting of tears. She'd gotten herself into this world, but damn, it still hurt.
In her mind, her mother's voice whispered with that familiar disapproval: It still hurts, doesn't it?
She could almost hear her mom saying, "I didn't raise a hussy," the night she'd been pulled back by her collar, shaken so hard it made her vision blur. The grip on her shirt had been iron-tight, as if trying to shake the perceived sins from her body.
Had Bobby heard those whispers, too? That version of her—the one that the whole room, it seemed, believed in?
"Kay O?" His concern broke through the noise, his hand loosening around her as he studied her expression.
She forced a smile, patting his chest as if to wave off her reaction.
"Sorry…" She glanced beyond him, shifting her gaze to the crowd behind him. Tae-Yang, sensing her tension, had reached out and taken her hand, giving it a hard, almost possessive squeeze.
She ignored the pressure, letting out a quick, shaky laugh to cover her mini panic attack before taking a deep breath. She flashed Bobby her brightest smile with a playful huff, but his perceptive eyes narrowed slightly—he could tell something was amiss.
"How are you?" She asked Bobby, brushing a hand across the lapel of his lilac suit. The color was unexpected, bold against his smooth, dark skin.
'Who the fuck wears lilac in fall?' she thought with a hint of judgment. Dark colors were in; pastels were out. But Bobby was always different, always craving the spotlight in his own way, desperate to be the one everyone noticed.
Still, she couldn't deny he looked sharp—tall, self-assured, oozing charm. Charisma was his weapon, sharp and lethal. If he wanted, he could con a chicken out of its feathers.
Those dark eyes held a touch of mystery, secrets carefully guarded behind that knowing smile. It was easy to trust someone like Bobby, though she knew better. He was charming enough to disarm anyone.
But she could trust him. Bobby would never betray her—not with the secrets she held in her hands.
"Oh, I'm good," he said, finally glancing at the group behind him before gesturing for her to meet them. Then, he turned back to her, his smile softening.
"Let me introduce you to some important people!" Bobby's words dripped with heavy sarcasm, his smile almost mocking. He didn't give a damn about these people. And that was just how things went in this world.
You pretended. Always acting, they were all players on a massive stage, here to entertain the masses.
She wasn't in the mood to play the game right now. She wanted the Percocet's Bobby had, she needed something to numb her.
"You know who this is, I'm sure," Bobby said, gesturing to her with exaggerated flair. She smiled and leaned her head onto his shoulder affectionately, but Tae-Yang gave a small, sharp tug on the back of her dress—a wordless warning.
"The B.I.A. herself," Bobby clapped, giving her a round of applause, ever the showman.
"Nice to meet you," she said, a bit impatiently, before clearing her throat. Pulling back from Bobby, she cuddled up to Tae-Yang. They had to look perfect; after all, they were an It couple.
"This is Tae-Yang Huang," she began, but her words were interrupted by a bald, white man in a crisp button-down and black slacks. His authoritative stance hinted at his background as a renowned fashion critic. Beside him, a young Hispanic woman linked arms with him, dazzling in a gold gown from the Baptiste summer collection.
Her eyes traveled from the woman's knees to her neckline. A knockoff, she thought, noting the frayed stitching—an inconsistency an original Baptiste would never have.
They just want to fit into the box, she chastised herself, though she knew that feeling all too well.
"No way!" the man said, his voice laced with excitement. "I just watched your fight." The mention made Tae-Yang's brown eyes light up, his face barely containing his giddy thrill. He loved being recognized.
Urgently, the bald man motioned Tae-Yang over to a quieter corner away from the crowd. Tae-Yang followed eagerly, always ready to talk about himself when given the chance.
"Madison…" her voice carried a note of scorn. "I almost didn't see you there."
Madison Baker.
America's green-eyed, blond-haired sweetheart.
Oh, they loved this bitch.
The masses eagerly gobbled up everything Madison did, hanging on her every word as if it were the ultimate truth. Madison was a superstar in her carefully crafted realm of white media, adored by fans who believed she could do no wrong.
She and Madison were like night and day. Madison basked in adoration, shielded by her privilege, while she faced unrelenting scrutiny despite her hard-earned success. They were polar opposites: Madison, an untouchable deity with wealth and connections, and she, constantly held to impossible standards.
Instead of being celebrated, She was often misunderstood, her achievements overshadowed by judgment and prejudice.
"Ms. B.I.A." Madison smiled curtly.
"You look stunning," she added, gesturing to her dress. "What is it? Mica?"
"Versace," She corrected, her voice a tad colder.
"Ohhh~ Versace," Madison cooed. "Very nice; the red is so iconic," she hummed in feigned admiration, her smile widening as she brushed blonde hair off her shoulder, wine glass in hand.
"We haven't seen you for such a long while." How dare she even say that?
"We didn't expect you to pop out looking so stunning." Her voice was sugary-sweet, each word dripping with mock surprise. Bobby shifted uncomfortably, casting glances between the two of them.
"Well…" She chuckled coolly, forcing a smile. "I had to show up. It wouldn't be a show if the star didn't pop out."
"Oh, but I heard you turned down performing tonight," Madison responded, her face lighting up with a mock gasp. "Why…"
She held her expression steady, feeling her pulse quicken.
"I can't believe they replaced you with Cynthia Westin!" Madison clapped her hands to her mouth in exaggerated shock. "Your sworn enemy!" She raised her arms, giving a theatrical shake to emphasize her words.
"How could they do that to the Baddest In America?" Madison's eyes darted to Bobby, a pitying expression smeared on her lips.
This was Madison in her true form.
A fake-ass bitch.
A fake-ass white bitch who made her climb with daddy's money, relying on her beauty and privilege.
Madison's smirk lingered, her gaze cool as she took another sip from her wine, relishing the flicker of anger she saw flash across her face. For a brief moment, she considered all the responses she could throw back, each one harsher than the last. She could tell Madison exactly what she thought of her, here and now, in front of all these people.
But just as she opened her mouth to respond, she caught a glimpse of something—or someone—familiar in the crowd behind Madison, a figure moving with purpose toward her. Her breath hitched, and her hands clenched at her sides.
It was him.
Out of the glitz and fake laughter, he emerged, a ghost from her past, eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that cut through the noise. She felt the blood drain from her face, her polished exterior faltering for the first time tonight.
Madison followed her gaze, her curiosity piqued, and a sly grin curled at the edges of her mouth.
"Oh," she purred, a wicked glint lighting her eyes. "Isn't this just... interesting."
Her heart pounded in her chest as she met his gaze, her mind racing.
What the hell was he doing here?