The cacophony of the Video Music Awards slammed into her like a freight train. Strobe lights pulsed, cameras flashed, and the roar of the crowd reverberated through her bones. She blinked hard, trying to focus on the sea of faces surrounding her—fellow artists, industry bigwigs, all bathed in an ethereal glow that felt both magical and oppressive. The Percocet was still coursing through her system, dulling the edges of reality.
"Damn, girl, you look so good tonight!" The compliment came from a nearby starlet, her smile dazzling under the lights.
Kay nodded, her own grin feeling plastic. "Thanks, babe. You too." The words tasted hollow on her tongue. She shifted in her seat, the leather sticking to her skin. When did it get so hot in here?
As the host took the stage, her mind drifted. She thought of Hikaru, wondering if he was watching. Would he approve of her dress? Her performance? Her very presence here? The doubts crept in, insidious as smoke.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for..."
The announcement faded into white noise. her heart raced, her palms growing clammy. She'd been to countless award shows, but tonight felt different. The glitz and glamour that once exhilarated her now seemed to close in, suffocating.
"You good?" The question came from her left. A concerned face swam into view—another rapper, one she'd collaborated with last year.
She forced a nod. "Yeah, just... taking it all in, you know?"
But she wasn't good. Not really. The drugs were wearing off, and reality was coming into sharp, uncomfortable focus. The lights were too bright, the music too loud. Every laugh, every cheer felt like a personal affront.
I don't belong here anymore, the thought hit her with startling clarity. She gripped the armrests of her chair, fighting the urge to bolt. Her old self from yesteryear would have reveled in this moment, basking in the adoration. But now? Now she felt like an imposter in her own skin.
As another round of applause thundered through the arena, she closed her eyes, willing the world to fade away. But behind her eyelids, all she saw was Hikaru's face—impassive, judging. What would he think if he could see her now? The Queen of Rap, reduced to a trembling mess in a sea of her peers.
She opened her eyes, forcing herself to breathe. One moment at a time, she told herself. Just get through tonight. But as the show continued its relentless pace, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was watching her own relevance slip away, frame by glittering frame.
Her stomach churned as the announcer's voice boomed through the arena. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage... Cindy West!"
The crowd erupted, a tidal wave of adoration that threatened to drown her where she sat. She watched, frozen, as the spotlight swung towards the stage. The opening notes of Cindy's latest hit pulsed through the air, each beat hammering home her growing sense of displacement.
"God, she's incredible," the starlet next to her breathed, leaning forward in her seat.
her lips twitched in a reflexive smile, but her eyes remained fixed on the empty space in front of her. "Yeah," she murmured, "incredible."
Inside, her thoughts raced. How many times had she stood where Cindy was standing now? How many crowds had she commanded, leaving them breathless and begging for more? And now...
Now she was just another face in the audience, watching someone else live her dream.
her hand unconsciously moved to her purse, fingers itching for another pill. Anything to numb this ache, to quiet the voice in her head screaming that she was a has-been, a relic. Then she remembered that she had gotten them from Bobby, and she wouldn't dare go searching for him here.
"You okay, Kay?" The question came from her left, genuine concern lacing the words.
She turned, plastering on a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Never better," she lied, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. "Just... taking it all in, you know?"
But she wasn't okay. Not by a long shot. And as Cindy's voice soared over the crowd, Kay felt herself sinking deeper into the abyss of her own fading stardom.
The bass reverberated through her chest as Cindy strutted across the stage, her sequined outfit catching every spotlight. Each dazzling spin, each perfectly executed dance move was a knife twisting in her gut.
"She's really outdone herself this time," someone whispered nearby.
Her fingers dug into the armrests. I used to be that good. Better, even. The thought burned like acid.
Cindy hit a high note, arms spread wide as the crowd went wild. Her vision blurred, memories of her own performances overlapping with the scene before her. She blinked hard, willing away the sting in her eyes.
"You alright?" The concern in her neighbor's voice grated on Her nerves.
She turned, forcing a smile. "Just got something in my eye," she lied smoothly. "Probably all this glitter in the air."
As she faced the stage again, Her mind raced. How had it come to this? When had she become the one watching from the sidelines instead of commanding center stage?
The music swelled, and Cindy's energy seemed to fill every corner of the venue. She felt suffocated by it, by the adoration pouring from the audience – adoration that used to be hers.
"I need some air," she muttered, rising abruptly. As she squeezed past the other seated celebrities, their confused glances felt like accusation. You don't belong here anymore, they seemed to say.
She stumbled into the hallway, Cindy's triumphant voice fading behind her. She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes and taking a shaky breath. The space she once owned now belonged to someone else, and the realization left her feeling hollow and lost.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for her phone, scrolling mindlessly through social media. Her timeline was flooded with live updates from the VMAs, each post a stark reminder of her current position.
"Look at you," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the muffled music. "The great Kay O, hiding in the hallway like a rookie at her first red carpet."
She glanced at her reflection in a nearby mirror, scrutinizing every detail. The outfit that had felt so fierce and empowering earlier now seemed desperate, trying too hard to reclaim a spotlight that had moved on.
"You used to eat this shit up," She muttered, smoothing down her dress. "What happened to that girl?"
The memory of her conversation with Brandy earlier in the night surfaced, her own cocky words now ringing hollow. "I'm the fucking Queen of Rap," she had boasted. Now, those words tasted bitter on her tongue.
A notification lit up her phone – another post about Cindy's performance. Her thumb hovered over it, a mix of morbid curiosity and self-preservation warring within her.
"Fuck it," she growled, tapping the screen. The video started playing, Cindy's voice filling the empty hallway. She watched, transfixed, as the younger artist effortlessly commanded the stage she once called home.
"It's like looking at a goddamn time machine," She whispered, her eyes never leaving the screen. She saw herself in Cindy's moves, her attitude, her connection with the crowd. But it wasn't her anymore. Hollywood had moved on, leaving her grasping at the fringes of a world that seemed to be slipping through her fingers.
The weight of replacement settled on her shoulders, heavy and suffocating. She leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes as the reality of her situation crashed over her in waves.
Her mind drifted to Hikaru, his stoic face materializing in her thoughts. She could almost hear his measured, calculated voice, feel the weight of his gaze. The man who had lifted her to stardom now seemed poised to let her fall.
"He's probably already planning my exit strategy," she murmured, her fingers clenching around her phone. The thought of Hikaru, ever the pragmatist, coolly assessing her value against Cindy's rising star sent a chill through her.
She imagined him in his impeccably tailored suit, leaning back in his leather chair, that perpetual calmness masking his true intentions. "Kay," she could almost hear him say, "the industry evolves. We must adapt."
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Adapt or die, right, Hikaru?" she said to the empty hallway, her voice echoing off the walls.
For a brief, painful moment, Kay allowed herself to face the brutal truth. This industry, this glittering, merciless machine, cared nothing for past glories or loyalty. It was a constant churn of the new, the fresh, the next big thing.
"Everyone's replaceable," she whispered, the words cutting deep. "Even me."
The bitterness rose in her throat, threatening to choke her. She had clawed her way to the top, fought tooth and nail for every scrap of fame and recognition. And for what? To be discarded like yesterday's news?
Her eyes snapped open, a fire igniting within them. "No," she growled, pushing herself off the wall. "Not without a fight."
The throbbing bass from the main stage pulsed through her body, each beat hammering against her skull like a relentless jackhammer. She blinked rapidly, the once-dazzling lights now painfully sharp, slicing through her vision in nauseating streaks. The Percocet's comforting haze was dissipating, leaving her raw and exposed.
"Fuck," Kay muttered, pressing her palm against her forehead. The VMA crowd's roar, once a thrilling affirmation, now felt like an accusatory howl. She could almost hear them chanting Cindy's name, forsaking their once-beloved Queen of Rap.
A wave of dizziness hit her, and she stumbled, catching herself on the arm of her seat. The celebrity next to her—some up-and-coming actor whose name escaped her—shot her a concerned look.
"You okay, Kay?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the cacophony.
She forced a brittle smile. "Never better," she drawled, her Southern twang slipping through. But inside, her thoughts raced.
'Get it together, girl. You can't let them see you tweaking.'
She straightened, willing her body to cooperate, but the sensory assault was relentless. The flashing cameras, the pungent mix of perfumes and sweat, the constant chatter—it all crashed over her in overwhelming waves.
This used to be your world, a voice in her head taunted. Now look at you. Can't even handle a damn awards show without falling apart.
Her eyes darted to the exit, longing for escape, but she knew she couldn't leave. Not now. Not when Hikaru might be watching, analyzing her every move with those calculating eyes of his.
'I won't give him the satisfaction,' she whispered fiercely to herself, gripping the armrests until her knuckles turned white. But as another surge of nausea hit her, She couldn't help but wonder how much longer she could keep up this facade before she shattered completely.
Her resolve crumbled as Cindy West's voice soared through the auditorium, each perfect note another dagger in her heart. She couldn't bear it anymore—couldn't stand to watch someone else living her dream, basking in the adoration that was once hers.
"I need some air," she muttered, rising abruptly.
The actor reached for her arm. "Want me to come with you?"
She jerked away, her eyes flashing. "I said I'm fine," she snapped, immediately regretting the harshness in her tone. Damage control, she thought. Always damage control.
She softened her voice, mustering a semblance of her trademark charm. "Don't you worry about me. I'll be back before you know it."
As she squeezed past the row of seated celebrities, she felt their eyes on her—curious, judgmental, pitying. Each step was a battle against the urge to run, to flee from their scrutiny and her own spiraling thoughts.
They're all watching, she thought, her heart racing. Waiting for me to stumble, to fall. I won't give them the satisfaction.
The hallway beckoned like an oasis, promising temporary reprieve. As soon as she cleared the auditorium doors, Kay's carefully constructed facade began to crumble. The muffled sounds of Cindy's performance pursued her, a taunting reminder of everything she'd lost.
Get it together, she chided herself, willing her breathing to slow. You're the Queen of Rap, for God's sake. Act like it.
But in that moment, alone in the dimly lit corridor, she felt anything but royal. She felt small, vulnerable, and terrifyingly mortal.
She leaned against the wall, her designer dress scraping against the textured surface. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as she tried to steady herself. The cool air of the hallway kissed her flushed skin, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere she'd left behind.
"What the hell am I doing here?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Her mind raced, a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. Images flashed before her closed lids: the adoring crowds she used to command, the awards that once lined her shelves, the respect that had been hard-won and so easily lost.
You're a has-been, a cruel voice in her head taunted. Washed up at twenty-three.
Kay's eyes snapped open, her gaze falling on a nearby mirror. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her – eyes wide and haunted, makeup slightly smudged.
"No," she said aloud, her voice echoing in the empty hallway. "I'm Kay fucking Olivia. I've fought harder battles than this."
But even as the words left her lips, doubt crept in. The muffled bass from Cindy's performance vibrated through the walls, a constant reminder of her replacement. Each beat felt like a nail in the coffin of her career.
Kay slid down the wall, her dress bunching around her as she hit the floor. She hugged her knees to her chest, a gesture so vulnerable and child-like it made her want to scream.
"I used to own that stage," she murmured, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Now look at me. Hiding in hallways, popping pills just to make it through the night."
The isolation hit her like a physical blow. She longed for the days when a sea of fans would have rushed to comfort her, when her name on a billboard was enough to make her feel invincible. Now, in the echoing silence of the hallway, she felt more alone than ever.
'Hikaru,' she whispered, her thoughts turning to the enigmatic man who held her future in his hands. 'What are you thinking right now? Am I just disposable to you?'
The question hung in the air, unanswered and terrifying in its implications. She closed her eyes again, fighting against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. In that moment, surrounded by the ghosts of her past glory, she'd never felt more lost.
A shadow fell across her huddled form, and she jerked her head up, startled out of her spiral of self-pity. The hulking figure of Eijihama loomed over her, his broad shoulders blocking out the dim hallway light.
"Miss Faison," Eijihama's deep voice rumbled, devoid of emotion.
Kay scrambled to her feet, smoothing her dress with shaking hands. "Jesus, Eijihama. You scared the fuck out of me."
His impassive face betrayed nothing as he regarded her. "Mr. Hitachi-"
His name made her stomach churn. "Tell Mr. Hitachi he can kiss my black ass!" she spat, anger flaring to mask her vulnerability.
Eijihama remained stone-faced.
Her mind raced. Why was Hikaru's personal bodyguard here? Had he been watching her? The thought sent a chill down her spine.
"Well… Go tell him." she said, chin lifted in defiance. But even as the words left her mouth, doubt crept in. Was she really where she needed to be? Hiding in a hallway while her replacement owned the stage?
Eijihama's presence seemed to fill the narrow space, making her feel even more trapped. She fought the urge to shrink back, to show any sign of weakness.
"Mr. Hitachi wants to speak to you, Ms. Faison" Eijihama stated flatly.
Her fists clenched at her sides. "Perhaps Hikaru should come tell me that himself," she retorted, even as her heart raced at the thought of facing him.
Eijihama's stoic expression didn't waver. "Mr. Hitachi requires your presence immediately," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "He's waiting in a private lounge."
Her breath caught in her throat. Immediate. Private. The words echoed in her mind, setting off alarms. Her earlier bravado crumbled, replaced by a gnawing dread.
"About?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. "I'm supposed to be receiving an award later."
Eijihama remained unmoved. "He didn't provide details. He simply said it was urgent."
Her mind raced. Urgent? Was this it? The moment Hikaru would cast her aside for the next rising star? She thought of Cindy on stage, basking in the adoration that was once hers.
"No…," She stammered, her earlier high giving way to a sickening clarity.
Eijihama's eyes narrowed slightly. "Mr. Hitachi…"
Her heart pounded. She knew Hikaru's impatience, his expectation of immediate compliance. But the thought of facing him now, with her insecurities laid bare, terrified her.
"I said No... Tell him to kiss my ass, and that he's a no good, pretty-eyed, evil asshole and that I fucking hate him." she managed.
Eijihama studied her for a moment, then gave a curt nod. As he turned to leave, she called out, "Eijihama, wait!"
He paused, looking back at her.
"Don't tell him that!" she yelled, hating the tremor in her voice.
Eijihama's face remained impassive. "Okay..."
"I need five minutes." She sighed, with that, he strode away, leaving her alone in the hallway, her mind swirling with possibilities and fears.
She leaned against the wall, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The muffled roar of the crowd and the pulsing bass from the main stage seemed to mock her indecision. She closed her eyes, trying to steady herself.
"Get it together," she muttered, clenching her fists.
But had she? The thought of Hikaru's piercing gaze, his carefully measured words that could build her up or tear her down with equal precision, made her stomach churn. She could almost hear his voice, calm and controlled, delivering her fate.
"Dammit," she hissed, pushing off the wall. She took a step towards where Eijihama had disappeared, then hesitated. What if this was it? The end of everything she'd worked for?
A small voice in her head whispered, "Or what if it's not? What if he needs you?"
She laughed bitterly. "Yeah, right. When has Hikaru Hitachi ever needed anyone?"
Still, the possibility, however slim, ignited a spark of hope. She thought of the rare moments when Hikaru's mask had slipped, revealing a glimpse of vulnerability beneath his stoic exterior. Those moments had been fleeting, but they'd been real.
Taking a deep breath, she smoothed her dress and ran a hand through her hair. "Okay," she said softly. "Let's do this."
She strode down the hallway, her heels clicking against the floor with renewed purpose. As she rounded the corner, she saw Eijihama waiting, his expression as unreadable as ever.
"I'm ready," she announced, hoping her voice sounded more confident than she felt.
Eijihama nodded silently and began to lead the way. As they walked, her mind raced with possibilities. Would this be the end of her career or the beginning of something new? The uncertainty was agonizing, but there was no turning back now.