Chapter 4:THE PRICE OF GOLD
1160 Words
Fame sparkles brightest when you’re standing in the dark.
A month after Aurea’s world tour announcement, Alessia woke to the sound of her phone buzzing — endless notifications, mentions, and tagged photos. She blinked against the light, the room spinning slightly. It wasn’t just exhaustion anymore; it was something heavier, something that wrapped around her chest and refused to let go.
Hailey’s voice echoed from the living room. “You’re up? Hurry, the press dropped the new teaser!”
Alessia dragged herself up, brushed through her hair, and joined the others on the couch. The five girls were gathered around the TV, the video playing on loop.
There they were — Aurea, draped in gold and black, walking through a burning stage. The world had labeled it “iconic.”
But the comments below stung.
“Isla carried this comeback.”
“Hailey’s stage presence >> Alessia’s boring aura.”
“Why is the leader so stiff lately?”
Alessia’s fingers trembled as she scrolled. Sophie gently took the phone from her. “Hey, stop. You don’t need that poison in your head right now.”
Alessia sighed. “I just… wish they’d see how much we work. How much we give.”
“Fans see what’s shiny,” Sophie said softly. “Not what bleeds.”
Training that day was chaos. The choreography had been changed — again — just three days before their recording. Isla was the first to explode.
“This is impossible!” she snapped, tossing her towel aside. “Marcus keeps changing the formation like we’re robots!”
Hailey shot back, “It’s called professionalism, Isla. Maybe try it?”
“Excuse me?” Isla’s eyes flashed.
Anya stepped between them. “Stop it, both of you. We’re all tired.”
Sophie looked at Alessia for help. But Alessia just stood there — frozen — because she didn’t know how to fix this anymore.
“Enough,” Alessia finally said, voice calm but trembling. “We’ll make it work. We always do.”
Hailey muttered under her breath, “That’s what you said last time.”
That night, after everyone had gone to their rooms, Alessia lingered in the practice hall. The mirrors stretched endlessly, reflecting her every doubt. She played the instrumental of their upcoming track and began to dance — alone, barefoot, hair undone.
Each move felt heavier than the last.
She stumbled once, then again, until she finally stopped and sank to the floor. Tears spilled quietly, no audience, no lights — just her and the silence that had been waiting to catch up.
“Rough night?” a deep voice asked.
She turned, startled. A tall man leaned against the doorframe — messy hair, worn leather jacket, and a quiet presence that felt like both shadow and warmth.
“Tobias Fischer,” he said, walking closer. “Producer from Zenith Studios. Marcus asked me to help with your next track.”
Alessia wiped her eyes quickly. “I—sorry, I didn’t know anyone was still here.”
He smiled slightly. “Most people aren’t. But I heard the music.”
She tried to stand, but he waved a hand. “Don’t. Sit. You look like you’ve been running from a storm.”
Alessia chuckled weakly. “Maybe I have.”
Tobias crouched beside her. “You’re the leader, right? That means you carry everyone’s thunder and pretend it’s light rain.”
She blinked. “How do you know that?”
He shrugged. “Worked with enough artists to recognize the look.”
Silence stretched between them — not awkward, just thick with unspoken understanding.
Then Tobias stood and offered his hand. “Come on. Let’s start over. I’ll play you something.”
In the dim recording studio, Tobias queued a soft melody — piano and strings, slow and melancholic. It wasn’t the flashy pop they were used to.
Alessia closed her eyes. The music felt like breathing for the first time in weeks.
“That’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“It’s called Falling Backward,” Tobias said quietly. “I wrote it years ago. Never found the right voice for it.”
“Why not?”
He glanced at her. “Because it needed someone who knows how to sound strong while breaking.”
Their eyes met — and for a moment, the room stilled.
Alessia looked away first. “I don’t know if I’m that person.”
Tobias smiled faintly. “You already are.”
By morning, word spread that Tobias Fischer had been officially assigned as Aurea’s co-producer for the album. The members had mixed reactions.
Hailey frowned. “We don’t need another producer breathing down our necks.”
Isla smirked. “He’s kinda cute though.”
Sophie gave Alessia a knowing look. “You met him first, didn’t you?”
Alessia tried to play it off. “He just… happened to be there.”
But Sophie noticed the way Alessia’s tone softened when she said his name.
A week later, Aurea gathered for their recording session. Tobias stood behind the glass wall, adjusting the controls.
“Alessia, let’s start with verse two,” he said through the mic.
Her voice carried through the speakers — smooth, trembling with emotion.
When she finished, Tobias pressed the intercom. “That— that was perfect.”
The girls cheered lightly, but the warmth in Tobias’s gaze made her chest tighten.
Outside the booth, he handed her a bottle of water. “You sing like you’re trying to hide the truth inside every note.”
Alessia laughed softly. “Maybe I am.”
He tilted his head. “Then keep hiding it that way. It sounds honest.”
But not everyone was happy.
Marcus started noticing the quiet tension — the late-night sessions between Tobias and Alessia, the subtle shift in her tone during meetings, the spark she hadn’t shown in months.
He cornered Tobias one night after practice. “You’re getting too close,” Marcus warned. “She’s the group’s leader. Not your muse.”
Tobias met his gaze evenly. “Maybe what she needs isn’t control. Maybe it’s someone who listens.”
Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Don’t confuse sympathy with saving. We don’t need saving — we need perfection.”
Later, Alessia overheard them — the sharp tone of Marcus’s voice cutting through the hallway.
She froze behind the wall, guilt and confusion tangling inside her. Tobias’s words from earlier echoed in her mind. “You sound strong while breaking.”
Maybe he saw the parts of her she’d tried so hard to bury.
That night, the lights of Seoul looked colder.
Aurea was winning awards, topping charts, making headlines — and yet Alessia lay awake, staring at the ceiling, her mind looping through every fight, every fake smile, every headline calling her perfect.
And somewhere between exhaustion and longing, a thought took root — dangerous but real.
What if Tobias is the only person who actually sees me?
- Writer
