"Forty minutes," she thought, darting through the maze-like corridors of the VMAs. The usual din of chattering celebrities and throbbing music engulfed her. Forty minutes since she'd slipped away from Tae-Yang's side. Her stilettos clicked against the glossy floors; each click amplifying her growing fear.
She brushed past stars and bustling stagehands, their faces blurring in her frantic haste. A shiver ran down her spine, dread coiling in her stomach like a snake ready to strike. The thought of his fury churned in her chest, each imagined accusation tightening her throat.
"Move!" she muttered, brushing past a group of stagehands. They shot her disapproving looks.
"Kay O!" A voice called out, halting her frantic pace. Bobby stood with a group of friends.
"Girl, where have you been? Tae-Yang's been looking all over for you!"
"Uh, just needed a moment to myself," she replied, trying to sound casual despite the tremor in her voice. "I'm heading back now."
"Alright, well don't keep him waiting too long! He seemed irritated!" Bobby grinned as she turned to continue her journey.
The clamor of applause and idle chatter swelled around her, drowning out the frantic symphony of her thoughts. She forced herself to slow down, smoothing a rebellious curl back into its place with a trembling hand as she scanned the sea of faces for Tae-Yang. Pressing a palm against the rapid drumming in her chest, she drew in a shaky breath before stepping into the buzzing hall.
Tae-Yang was there, his jaw clenched tight and eyes smoldering with an anger that made her heart skip a beat. His gaze bore into her like hot coals, silently accusing her before he even opened his mouth.
"Disappear like that again," he muttered, his voice low and slicing through the hum of voices like a razor. She stiffened under the weighty threat of his words, their ominous promise sinking deep into her bones. "You'll regret it."
She could feel his eyes on her, cutting through her like a blade. His anger wasn't just in his words—it was in his posture, the tightness in his jaw. She tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat. The tension between them thickened, a fragile thread holding them together, threatening to snap.
"I just needed space," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, a plea more than an explanation. Tae-Yang didn't reply, but his silence spoke louder than anything he could have said.
"Did they announce the Hip-Hop category yet?" she asked, desperate to change the subject.
Tae-Yang scoffed. " Cindy West already got them. You're not taking anything home tonight."
Her chest tightened at his words, a cold pit forming in her stomach. Her eyes found Cindy West on stage, radiant in the spotlight. The applause felt distant, as though it were meant for someone else. Her stomach lurched, but she couldn't tear her eyes away.
Her dress was a simple but striking silver number that shimmered with every movement. Each sequin formed a subtle pattern, like water flowing down a stream, hugging her figure and highlighting every gesture.
Her dark hair, smooth and glossy, cascaded down her back, an inky contrast to the light of the dress. Her features were flawless—high cheekbones dusted with bronze, almond-shaped eyes sparkling under the stage lights, and full lips painted a deep red. Her olive skin glowed under the harsh spotlight, adding to her allure. Cindy West was a captivating sight. From the shadows, her jealousy gnawed at her, making her feel small and eclipsed by Cindy's effortless magnetism.
Cindy West stood bathed in the spotlight, her spotlight. The applause, the laughter, every chuckle felt like a dagger to her heart. The whispers that fluttered around her, questioning her relevance, clawed beneath her skin, each comment festering like a wound. A cold knot of jealousy twisted in her gut as Cindy basked in her success, her every word a reminder of her fading place in the world. The weight of her own inadequacy pressed against her chest, suffocating her, but she couldn't escape it. She was small in Cindy's shadow.
"Wow," Cindy said, her eyes sweeping across the crowd.
"This is such an honor." She felt the blood drain from her face, her pulse pounding in her ears, trying to drown out the poison in Cindy's words.
"It's an honor to be recognized," Cindy began, her voice smooth as velvet. Her gaze swept the crowd, landing briefly on her. "I guess the crown can rest easy tonight… in good hands."
"Can you believe her?" a voice whispered nearby, sharp and mocking. Her heart skipped a beat, and she immediately stiffened, the murmurs around her punctuating her worst fears.
"She barely even charted this year," someone muttered. The words stung, fanning the flames of insecurity that had been smoldering within her all night. Each whisper felt like confirmation of her fading relevance, fueling the fire of doubt.
The audience's chuckles swirled around her, each one affirming her insignificance. She dared to flicker her gaze towards Tae-Yang, who loomed beside her, his expression an impenetrable veneer of apathy. The space separating them was dense with unvoiced strain, her hands trembled subtly at her sides. A crease formed between her brows as she clenched and unclenched her jaw in a futile attempt to control the riotous emotions within. As weighty as the words that hovered over her like a storm cloud, stamping her as defeated.
"Congratulations, Cindy," someone shouted from the audience, their tone cheerful but laced with malice.
"LET'S GO CINDY!" Someone else shouted.
"WE LOVE YOU MARISOL!" Another voice chimed in, followed by more laughter. The sound grated against her nerves, her stomach twisting into an angry knot. Her nails dug into her palms as she fought to control her emotions.
A silent curse slipped through her clenched teeth, a quiet echo of the turmoil inside her. Her mind was a battlefield, strewn with the wreckage of self-assurance and littered with the artillery of doubt. The clamor around her faded into an inconsequential hum as she grappled internally. Each accusation of inadequacy, each whisper of irrelevance, clawed at her, refusing to be silenced or ignored.
"Can you believe it?" one person murmured; their words laced with derision. "They bought that shit, there's no way she won that. "
"She's slipping—it was bound to happen sooner or later," someone murmured, their tone laced with feigned pity.
"The industry's turning the page on her," someone whispered, their tone dripping with false sympathy. "She's had her time…"
Each cutting remark lodged itself beneath her skin, leaving her raw and exposed. The world around her seemed to close in, suffocating her under the weight of fear and paranoia that threatened to crush her spirit. They're all in on this, her mind screamed, the thought solidifying like a jagged shard of ice.
"Hey, Kay Olivia!" a familiar voice called out, momentarily jarring her from her thoughts. It was a reporter from Pop Vulture. "Care to comment on Cindy West's big win tonight?'
She forced a tight smile. "She's done great, and I'm proud of her."
The reporter's smirk widened. 'Are you ready to concede your Queen of Rap crown?'
Awards aren't the whole picture…" she shot back, her voice steel under the strain.
"Bold words," the reporter replied, smirking. "We'll see if you can back them up." As the reporter sauntered away, she fought to keep her composure. She could feel the eyes of the crowd on her, gauging her reaction, eager to watch her fall from grace.
" Stupid bitch," she murmured under her breath.
The night pressed on, a cacophony of laughter and clinking glasses enveloping her like a suffocating cloud. She navigated the sea of glittering gowns and tailored suits, her eyes flicking from face to face, searching for any sign of sincerity in the sea of predatory smiles.
"Olivia, darling," a woman draped in emerald silk cooed, sidling up to her with a sympathetic pout. "You were robbed tonight."
"Thank you," she murmured, forcing a smile that never reached her eyes. Every smirk felt like mockery, each laugh cutting through her thin facade. 'They're lying,' her mind whispered, 'They don't mean it.'
She wove her way through the crowds of people, catching snippets of whispered conversations that made her blood run cold.
Each glance pierced her like a dagger; whispered words sliced through her confidence. Something rooted itself deep within her psyche, tendrils of fear and suspicion sucking up through her thoughts until she could hardly breathe.
"Hey, Ms. Faison." A man in a crisp suit stepped into her path, his eyes cool and calculating.
"Tough break tonight," the man in the suit said, his smile razor-sharp.
"The spotlight doesn't linger forever. But who knows, maybe next year." His words lingered in her mind, their weight heavier than his mocking tone.
"Olivia!" Another voice sliced through her thoughts, anchoring her back to reality. The demand for her attention forced her to mold her features into another counterfeit smile. She felt the strain tug at the corners of her mouth, every muscle protesting against the lie.
"You looked stunning tonight," came the hollow compliment, each word laced with an underlying note of schadenfreude.
"Pity about the awards, though." The words hung heavy in the air between them like an uninvited specter.
"Thank you," she responded mechanically, her voice devoid of warmth or gratitude. Each breath she took was shallow and measured; an attempt to steady herself amidst this emotional turbulence.
As the night unfurled, she felt herself gradually morphing into a haunting reflection of Gina the Don, her once-idol and a legend in her own right. Gina had ruled the hip-hop and rap scene for an entire decade, an untouchable queen whose reign seemed eternal—until one hit song from her young challenger shattered the illusion of invincibility. The room swirled around her, a disorienting vortex of veiled motives and clandestine schemes that threatened to swallow her whole.
She was once the 'It' bitch, the reigning queen who had unceremoniously dethroned Gina from her pedestal. But now, she could feel the tides turning against her, an unsettling shift in the undercurrents of fame. She remembered the first time she stood in Cindy's place, clutching her own awards, the crowd screaming her name. She had been unstoppable—dethroning Gina the Don with a single hit song. Now, at just 23, she felt the weight of irrelevance pressing down on her, each cheer for Cindy a nail in her career's coffin. She had toppled the queen once, her name etched in flashing lights. But now, the tide whispered a truth she refused to face—every queen is only a placeholder for the next.
#######
"Excuse me," she muttered, pushing past a group of laughing guests who barely acknowledged her presence. She needed air, space, a moment's reprieve from the oppressive weight of their gazes and whispered words.
Stepping out onto a deserted balcony, she leaned against the cold railing, staring out at the city lights below. They were all conspiring against her, she was sure of it now. The industry, her so-called friends, even her fans—each one playing a role in her slow, humiliating downfall.
"Aw, poor little Kay O."
Her shoulders stiffened at the syrupy-sweet voice behind her. She didn't need to turn to know who it was—Cindy West.
"What, the crowd wasn't screaming your name this time?" Cindy purred, her heels clicking as she joined her on the balcony. "Couldn't handle the heat?"
She let out a dry laugh, finally turning to face her. "Oh, please. I just needed a break from all the ass-kissing. But I guess you'd know all about that, huh?"
Cindy's smirk widened, the glittering city lights reflecting in her eyes. "I do, actually. But unlike you, I don't have to beg for it. People just give it to me. Kinda like Hikaru." She tilted her head, feigning concern. "Oh, wait. He didn't tell you?"
Kay's stomach twisted, but she didn't flinch. "Tell me what, Marisol? That you're another notch on his belt? That man changes women like socks. Congrats on being his latest charity case."
Cindy's laugh was sharp, slicing through the air like a blade. "Charity case? Sweetheart, he wasn't exactly complaining last night. Or the night before that. I mean, you should know—you've been replaced before, haven't you? Or do you actually think he still gives a damn about you?"
She stepped forward, her smile venomous. "Oh, I see what this is. You're trying so hard to be me, and you think fucking my leftovers will make you relevant. Cute, Marisol, but it just makes you look desperate. High-end hussy vibes all the way."
Cindy's eyes narrowed, her mask of sweetness slipping to reveal the venom underneath. "Desperate? Honey, I don't need to be you. I'm already what you're pretending to be—desired, successful, and still standing at the top while your little empire crumbles beneath you." She leaned in, voice dropping to a taunting whisper. "But don't worry, Hikaru and I will toast to your downfall when he's done with me."
Kay let out a sharp laugh, though her nails dug into her palm. "Toast all you want, bitch. You'll be nothing but a phase, like every other girl who thought she could ride his wave. And when he's bored, just like the industry, you'll be tossed to the curb."
Cindy smirked, tilting her head. "If that's what it takes, I'll enjoy the ride while it lasts. Meanwhile, you're out here begging for a feature like some SoundCloud reject. How the mighty have fallen."
Her lips curled into a cruel smile. "Keep talking, Marisol. You're just proving you'll always be second best. Even your insults are knock-offs. I'd tell you to go back to the drawing board, but we both know you've never had an original thought in your life."
Cindy's expression darkened, but she only chuckled as she turned to leave. "Stay out here and soak it all in, Kay. Might be the last time you're this close to the top."
With that, she strutted back inside, leaving her on the balcony, chest heaving, her blood boiling at the bitter taste of Cindy's words.
Amid the chaos, a familiar figure emerged. Tae-Yang, his demeanor cold and impatient, cut through the sea of people with purpose. His eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, she felt an icy shiver run down her spine.
"Let's go," he hissed, barely audible over the conversation. His tone was clipped, leaving no room for argument.
"Alright," she whispered to herself, her thoughts spinning out of control. She glanced over her shoulder one last time, catching flickers of motion—the laughter, the chatter, the faces—but nothing concrete. Only shadows.
The valet area buzzed with movement, headlights slicing through the darkness. A distant laugh pulled her focus briefly before she saw him—Hikaru—standing aloof at the crowd's fringe like an apparition. His auburn hair seemed to catch fire in the artificial glow as he weaved his way toward a gleaming black Benz with calculated grace. As he disappeared into its plush interior without so much as a backward glance, dread surged through her, freezing her to the bone.
She swallowed hard, trying to push the image from her mind, but a sliver of longing crept in—a fragile hope for something better. A life beyond this chaos, if it even existed.
The low growl of an engine broke the silence, and moments later, Derrick pulled up in their sleek black Rolls-Royce Cullinan, its polished surface gleaming under the pale streetlights. The imposing presence of the car seemed almost out of place against the backdrop of her unraveling reality, a stark reminder of the life she had chosen.
'He's part of it too,' the thought came suddenly, sharp and cold. Her breath hitched.
"Kay," Tae-Yang said, snapping her out of her thoughts as they climbed into the back seat of the car. "I don't know what's going on with you, but you need to get it together."
"Nothing's wrong," she insisted, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance. "I'm just tired."
"Whatever you say," he replied, his tone flat, skepticism lurking beneath it.
The car hummed softly as it glided through the sprawling streets of LA, the city's neon lights casting fleeting patterns across the windows.
As they drove, her mind churned with fragmented thoughts. 'It could be anyone,' she thought, cycling through names. Cindy. Madison. Kiza Tatiago… even Hikaru. Her nails bit into her palms as she clenched her fists tighter.
Her gaze flitted to Tae-Yang, who scrolled through his phone with a blank expression, oblivious—or maybe indifferent—to her unraveling state.
"Man, what a night," Tae-Yang muttered, leaning back against the seat. He ran a hand through his hair before pulling out a small vial of cocaine. His movements were deliberate but casual, as though this were just another night.
She stiffened, nausea knotting her stomach as she watched him take a bump.
"You want some?" he asked, holding the vial toward her.
Her eyes flicked to it, then away. "No," she said firmly. "You know I don't do blow."
"Suit yourself," he said, pocketing the vial. "Might take the edge off, though."
Her gaze sharpened. "I said I don't need it."
Tae-Yang smirked faintly but didn't push, brushing her off with a careless wave. "Whatever."
Silence hung between them like a storm cloud, heavy and oppressive.
She turned to the window, her thoughts cycling back to Hikaru. The memory of his disappearing figure haunted her, feeding her suspicions.
'Hikaru could be lying to me,' she thought, unease settling in her chest like a weight. The city lights streaked past, the brightness blurring her vision.
Her voice barely audible, she whispered, "Is he orchestrating all this because of me?" Her gaze shifted to Tae-Yang again, scrolling on his phone, his apathy cutting deeper than his words.
'He was so mad about me and Tae-Yang…' Her teeth caught her lower lip, doubt eating away at her composure.
Her fingers unclenched, then curled into fists again. "He wouldn't do that… right? Not just to teach me some kind of lesson."
She glanced out the window, trying to shake the thought, but it lingered, sharp and relentless.
######
The cold night air prickled her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms as she stepped out of the car. The mansion's towering silhouette loomed before her, illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the trees. She shivered, not just from the chill but from the charged atmosphere vibrating around her like an unseen force.
Darrick rounded the car and stood by her side, his imposing figure blocking out some of the moonlight. His steady presence usually calmed her nerves, but tonight, it only highlighted the unease twisting in her stomach. Tae-Yang was already stalking toward the entrance, his impatient footsteps echoing on the cobblestone path.
"You good?" Darrick asked, his deep voice cutting through her haze of thoughts. His sharp eyes scanned her face, noticing the tension in her jaw and the way her arms wrapped tightly around herself. "You look… off."
She hesitated, biting her bottom lip. "I'm fine," she lied, her voice thin and unconvincing.
Darrick's brow furrowed. "Kay, you've been acting jumpy all night. Did something happen back there?" He nodded subtly toward the mansion, where Tae-Yang was fumbling for his keys. "You know I don't leave until I know you're alright."
She shook her head quickly, glancing toward Tae-Yang, who seemed oblivious to their exchange. "No, I'm good. Just tired, that's all. It's been a long night."
Darrick exhaled; his skepticism evident. "Look, I don't need details if you don't wanna share, but if something's not right, you need to let me know. I can't help if you keep shutting me out."
"I appreciate it," she said softly, her voice cracking slightly. "But really, it's fine. You can head home. I'll be okay."
Darrick didn't look convinced, but he gave a slow nod. "Alright. Call me if you need me. I mean it, Kay." His gaze lingered for a moment, then he turned back to the car, pulling open the driver's door. "Don't let him get under your skin," he added in a lower voice before climbing inside.
The words hung in the air as Darrick drove off, his taillights disappearing into the distance. She stood frozen for a moment, letting the stillness of the night settle over her.
"Come on," Tae-Yang called impatiently, already standing at the front door. "It's freezing out here."
She quickened her pace, her heels clicking against the stones, the sound breaking through the otherwise quiet night. As the wrought-iron gates creaked shut behind her, she felt an irrational sense of entrapment, as if crossing that threshold sealed her fate.
Inside, the warmth of the foyer enveloped her, but it did little to dispel the unease sitting heavy in her chest. The familiar surroundings felt alien, the shadows cast by the dim lights seeming to stretch and shift with intention.
"Finally," Tae-Yang muttered, tossing his keys onto the nearby table with a clatter. He made a beeline for the kitchen. "Do you want a beer?" he called over his shoulder.
"No," she replied quickly, rubbing her arms as if to warm herself. Her voice wavered slightly, betraying the anxiety she fought to suppress.
Tae-Yang didn't press, disappearing into the kitchen, leaving her standing alone in the foyer. She hoped desperately that the haze of cocaine dulling his senses would keep him from questioning her any further. She needed time—time to think, time to breathe, time to unravel the chaos swirling in her mind.
"I'm... gonna take a shower," she murmured, her voice just loud enough for him to hear.
"Sure, whatever," Tae-Yang replied, his tone distracted.
She took the stairs two at a time, her hand gripping the polished banister tightly as if it could anchor her to reality. When she reached her room, she slammed the door shut behind her, the solid thud reverberating through the space.
Pressing her back against the door, she let out a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling erratically as she fought to keep the tears at bay. She sank onto the plush bed, burying her face in her hands. The memories of the night looped endlessly in her mind—Darrick's worried gaze, the sharp edges of Tae-Yang's dismissive words, and, most hauntingly, Hikaru's distant figure slipping away without a second glance.
She was safe, for now, locked inside her room. But the walls seemed to press in around her, the shadows whispering secrets she wasn't ready to hear. No number of locked doors would keep her demons at bay. She knew that all too well.
#####
The steam curled around her like a protective cocoon, an ephemeral barrier between her and the outside world. She tilted her face upward into the stream of water, letting it wash away the remnants of the disastrous evening. Lost in thought, she almost missed the soft creak of the bathroom door, followed by Tae-Yang's voice cutting through the fog.
"What are you doing Kay O?" he said, his tone slurred but calm.
Her heart skipped a beat, and she flinched at the dangerous edge of his question.
"I'm about to get out of the shower…" she stammered.
"I was going to shower with you" his voice slurred and light. He began to undress. His clothes fell to the floor in a disheveled heap as he stumbled towards the shower.
She watched him with a sense of relief mixed with dread. She could see the tell-tale signs of intoxication in his unfocused eyes and unsteady gait. The scent of alcohol clung to him like an unwanted shroud, mingling with the sharp bite of cocaine that lingered on his breath. His current state was a reprieve - a small window of happiness that dulled his usual aggression.
As he stepped into the shower, she followed him reluctantly, her body tensing as she braced herself for what was to come. The hot water cascaded down over them, steam rising around their bodies like a veil separating them from reality.
Tae-Yang's arm snaked around her waist, pulling her closer to him. It was meant to be a romantic gesture - one that should have made her heart flutter with anticipation - but instead, it filled her with revulsion. His touch felt invasive and unwelcome against her skin.
His lips found the nape of her neck, trailing kisses along its curve while murmuring words meant to charm and seduce.
"I love you," he whispered against her skin, the warmth of his breath sending chills down her spine.
She swallowed hard at each kiss, feeling sickened rather than elated by it. But she knew better than to show any sign of resistance or displeasure; she had learned that lesson all too well over time.
"I love you too," she replied automatically, forcing herself to sound convincing despite the bitter taste those words left in her mouth.
The sensation of Tae-Yang's hands roaming over her body was nauseating. He snaked his hands down to the junction between her thighs and grabbed her mound of flesh. She let out a sharp moan, leaning forward to catch herself against the tiled wall of the shower. His fingers cupped her flesh as he made rough circular motions against her clit. She bit her lip hard trying desperately not to groan.
'Just get through this,' she thought. 'Five more minutes, and you can be free.' His fingers navigated her body, pinpointing every tender spot. She battled conflicting sensations of pleasure and revulsion under his touch. His hands journeyed upwards, eliciting uncontrollable moans as he stoked her arousal. Her body betrayed her discomfort, responding despite herself. She attempted to resist him, but his persistence silenced her protests. The mounting tension within her broke free in a wave of release she couldn't suppress. Even as she sought refuge in her thoughts, the overwhelming sensations held her captive. All this was preferable to triggering his cocaine-fueled fury.
Tae-Yang's body pressed against her, forcefully pushing himself in her making her knees buckle. She braced herself against the shower wall, the steamy air intensifying their grotesque dance of flesh. His voice, gravelly with lust, commanded her to look at him. The menace in his eyes turned her stomach.
His weight bore down on her, each thrust a violation she felt helpless against.
"Stop," she whispered, but he silenced her with a savage kiss that stole her breath away. His grip on her hands was ironclad, pinning them to the cold tiles.
Time stretched out as she endured his brutal rhythm; each plunge sent waves of pain through her body. His taste was metallic and bitter, nothing like Hikaru's sweetness earlier that night.
With a final guttural sound, he jerked unevenly before finally stilling. She felt the hot rush of his release inside her - an unwanted reminder of their twisted intimacy. Exhausted, he sagged against her back as silence descended upon them like a blade.
This was just another stark reminder of the toxic cycle she was trapped in.
Stepping out of the steamy shower with a heavy sigh, she caught sight of her reflection in the mist-covered mirror. The harsh lighting accentuated the shadows under her eyes, making them seem deep and haunted. She knew all too well that this cycle of despair and exhaustion would repeat itself.
Draping herself in a soft, lavender-scented towel that enveloped her like a comforting hug, she shuffled towards the bedroom, leaving Tae-Yang's lingering scent of alcohol behind. The silence of the empty room seemed to press down on her like a heavy weight as she collapsed onto the edge of the bed.
Her face twisted into a grimace, the manifestation of an inner turmoil that was both monstrous and agonizing. She gripped the towel with a desperate intensity, not as a shield against impending darkness but as an anchor to a reality that seemed to be slipping away.
Beneath the murky luminescence, phantoms pirouetted on the plastered canvas of her surroundings, morphing into ominous specters. Her voice, frail and trembling like a leaf in the wind, murmured into the echoing silence,
"I've gone so far astray…" The confession lingered in the room, a haunting prediction.
With a heavy heart, she dropped to her knees on the cold floor. Her hands clasped together tightly, as if holding onto her last shred of hope. A desperate prayer slipped past her cracked lips,
"God…please shield me from this malevolence I've ushered in," she implored quietly.
"I remember when all I wanted was a song on the radio, a crowd singing my words back to me. I promised myself I'd never lose who I was." Her voice cracked, the weight of her own broken promises nearly suffocating.
"In my pursuit of fame and fortune…I've invited this darkness into my life. I've pushed away the ones who cared and let the wrong ones in. Protect me. Guide me back to the light before it's too late."
The whispered plea resonated in the hollow emptiness around her, the raw vulnerability carving itself into the silence like a fragile lifeline.