Signed In Deception

Chapter 4 The Voice In The Dark

The lights from the stage still shimmered behind my eyelids as I stepped into the hallway backstage. My body buzzed with the adrenaline of the performance, but something else clung to my skin like a second layer. It wasn’t joy. It was tension. Cold and thick. Even with the crowd’s cheers still echoing in my head, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was just a puppet dancing to someone else’s song.

My heels clicked quickly against the polished floor as I hurried to my dressing room. Just as I turned the corner, a voice came from the shadows.

"Nice show, kid."

I froze. A woman leaned against the wall near the emergency exit sign. She had sunglasses on—at night—and a leather jacket that looked like it had seen too many truths. A cigarette hung lazily between two fingers. Her face was older, lined with years, but striking. A face I’d seen on old magazine covers in my dad’s vinyl collection.

"Thanks," I said, cautiously.

She stepped into the light a little more, flicking ash on the floor. "You’re with Phil Carter."

My smile twitched. "Yeah. I am."

"Yeah," she said, almost like a curse. "I was too. Once."

Silence stretched between us. Then it clicked.

"You’re Lena Royce."

She gave me a dry smile. "Glad someone still remembers."

She took a long drag from her cigarette. Her eyes, now visible beneath her lowered glasses, were razor-sharp. Not full of regret or envy. Just something colder—a warning.

"Listen, kid. You’ve got talent. But you’re on a leash. And Phil? He’s the one holding it. You know that, right?"

I folded my arms. "He’s helping my career. He’s made me a star."

She laughed, bitter and quiet. "No. He made you a product. Same thing he did with me. Until I stopped selling."

I shifted. The hallway suddenly felt too narrow.

"I appreciate the advice, but—"

"No, you don’t," she snapped. "You’re not ready to hear it. You think you’re different. I thought the same thing. You’ll find out."

She turned, but before walking away, she added, "When you do—and it hurts bad enough—come find me. I’ll be around."

And just like that, she vanished into the dim corridor.

I stood there for a moment, heart tapping faster than it should. I didn’t want to believe her. But something inside me already did.

---

Back in my dressing room, I spotted a bouquet of roses on the vanity. They were beautiful. But no card.

That wasn’t like Phil. He always signed his gifts.

I picked up the bouquet and saw a sealed envelope underneath. My name was written on the front.

In my dad’s handwriting.

My fingers trembled. I opened it slowly.

"Kim, if you’re reading this, then I’ve failed to protect you."

My chest tightened. I sank onto the edge of the vanity chair, heart thudding as I read the words I knew too well. It was the same letter. The one Phil claimed he’d found in a box from my old apartment. He said he was keeping it safe.

Why was it back? And why tonight?

I grabbed my phone and called him. He picked up on the second ring.

"Where did you get my father’s letter?" I asked, voice tight.

A pause. "What letter?"

"Don’t play dumb. It’s here. In my dressing room. The same letter."

Another pause. Too long.

"I don’t know anything about that. Maybe one of your fans found it or something."

I hung up.

Staring at myself in the mirror, I didn’t recognize the eyes staring back. They were afraid. Uncertain. Suspicious.

And still—deep down—I knew I wasn’t losing my mind. Someone was leaving me signs. Clues.

Reminders.

---

Later that night, I found Lena behind the building again, exactly where I’d first seen her.

"You're back," I said.

"Told you I’d be around."

I hesitated. "Can I ask you something?"

She nodded once. "Only if you're ready to know."

"Phil—did he ever hide things from you? Like messages. Letters."

She exhaled smoke slowly. "Everything. Calls. Contracts. People. He keeps you wrapped up until you forget who you were before."

I looked away. "He has one of my father’s letters. Said he was protecting me."

Her expression changed. Hardened. "Then he’s worse now."

A silence settled between us.

"I need help," I whispered.

Lena nodded slowly. "Then you're not too late. But he won’t let you go quietly."

I opened my mouth to respond—but then a sharp crack echoed through the alley.

Gunshot.

We both hit the ground. A bottle shattered nearby, glass raining across the pavement.

Lena pulled me behind a dumpster. My heart thundered.

"What the hell was that?" I whispered.

She peeked out carefully. "A message. He knows we talked."

I stared at her, ice spreading through my veins. "You’re saying Phil—?"

Her voice dropped to a growl. "Welcome to the other side of the industry, sweetheart. Time to decide who you want to be. The puppet—or the one who cuts the strings."

I couldn’t answer.

Not yet.

But I knew one thing for sure.

I wasn’t walking away. Not now. Not ever.