CHAPTER 6: THE MASK CRACKS
1002 Words
I should’ve walked away.
I should’ve slammed the door in his face the second he called me back like nothing ever happened.
But I didn’t.
Because deep down, I was still that girl with shaky dreams and no place to land.
So when Phil smiled like sin wrapped in silk and said, “Let’s talk,” I nodded.
He leaned against the edge of the piano in his studio, cool and in control, his Rolex catching the light as if to remind me he owned time. And maybe me.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I went too far last time.”
Too far? You stripped me down with words and left me hollow.
But I didn’t say that. Instead, I blinked, careful. “Okay.”
Phil’s voice softened. “I’ve booked you to perform at the West Coast Artist Gala. Big names, big press. This could shift everything.”
My heart stalled. That showcase was a launchpad. A-list producers, movie soundtracks, and label execs in tuxedos. If I killed it there, no one, not even Phil, could stop me.
“But,” he said, holding up a manicured finger, “you’ll need to trust me. Fully.”
There it was. The noose, knotted in smiles.
Still, I nodded.
Because I wanted out. And to get out, I needed power. Power came with visibility.
“Rehearsals start tomorrow,” he said, stepping closer. “Don’t be late.”
---
The rehearsal studio was a mirror-walled box of echoes and nerves.
Phil watched every move I made. If I missed a beat, he tapped his pen. If my voice cracked, he shook his head.
By the second day, I wasn’t sure whether I was improving or unraveling.
That’s when I saw her.
“Jessa?” I blinked at the girl adjusting the mic stand in the corner.
She looked up. Same brown eyes. Same dimpled smirk.
“Kim,” she whispered.
We’d harmonized in locker rooms and talent shows. She disappeared right after high school. No calls. No messages.
“What are you doing here?”
She glanced nervously at Phil, who was typing something on his phone. “Later,” she mouthed.
---
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
Something in Jessa’s face had rattled me. Haunted me.
The next morning, she slipped into the dressing room during a break. Her hands trembled as she closed the door behind her.
“You need to listen carefully,” she said. “Phil’s not just manipulative. He’s dangerous.”
My chest tightened. “What do you mean?”
Jessa looked at me like I was the last person she wanted to see but the only one who might still have time. “He destroyed me, Kim. After high school, I signed with him. He promised me everything. Instead, he shelved my music, locked me into a contract, and turned me into a background voice.”
My knees felt weak. “Why didn’t you leave?”
She laughed bitterly. “Because he has leverage. Photos. Messages. Even fake ones. He controls perception, and perception is reality in this business.”
I looked toward the hallway, paranoia blooming. “Why are you telling me this now?”
She hesitated, then whispered, “Because he’s setting you up.”
I froze.
“What?”
“You’re singing a cover at the gala, right?”
I nodded slowly.
“Well, that cover was just copyrighted by an artist under his label three days ago.”
I blinked. “So?”
“So if you perform it, he sues you for stealing intellectual property and destroys your name.”
My blood went cold.
A setup.
---
I left rehearsal early.
I needed air. Space. Logic.
Instead, I walked into Phil’s office. The door wasn’t locked.
On his desk was a folder labeled “Plan B – Kim.”
Inside: emails, legal letters, and even a fake blog post scheduled to publish the day after the gala.
Headline: “Rising Star or Rising Fraud?”
He’d prepared it all. The scandal. The fall. The humiliation.
I stepped back. The room spun. My breath caught in my throat.
“Looking for something?”
His voice cut through the air like a blade.
I turned.
Phil stood in the doorway, calm, cold, and dangerous.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” he said.
I tried to speak. Couldn’t.
“You disappoint me, Kim,” he sighed. “And here I was thinking we’d turned a corner.”
I backed toward the door.
“I didn’t sign anything,” I said. “You have no right.”
He stepped forward. “Don’t be naïve. This isn’t about rights. It’s about reputation. Mine.”
I bolted before he could say more.
---
Back at my apartment, I called George.
It rang. And rang.
Voicemail.
“George, I need your help. Phil’s setting me up. Please call me.”
I texted my sister.
No reply.
My fingers trembled as I sent a message to Jessa: “You were right. I found the files.”
---
The next morning, I showed up to rehearsal.
I had to act normal. Calm. Strategic.
But Phil was different too—sweeter, almost apologetic. The devil in disguise.
“Big day tomorrow,” he said, handing me a new arrangement. “You’ll be amazing.”
I nodded. Inside, I was dying.
During the final run-through, Jessa passed me a folded note.
“Meet me after practice. Loading dock.”
---
The sun was setting when I slipped out the back of the building.
The loading dock was quiet. The air smelled like sweat and steel.
I waited.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Then footsteps.
“Jessa?” I whispered.
No answer.
I turned
And that’s when I saw the message spray-painted on the brick wall in bold red letters:
“YOU’VE BEEN WARNED.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One message:
“If you perform tomorrow, your career ends. Just like hers.”
I looked up, and the alley was empty.
- Writer
