I’ve been called a lot of things online.
Heartless siren. Home‑wrecking muse. Autotune witch.
“Privately owned star” is a new one.
Mia paces my suite like a tiny, furious storm, phone in hand, bare feet thudding softly on the rug.
“They’re everywhere,” she says. “Not just gossip sites. Industry blogs. Forums. Even some music journalists are ‘asking questions.’”
“I told them not to rock the billionaire boat,” I mutter, flopping back on the bed. “They heard ‘billionaire’ and grabbed an oar.”
She ignores me, scrolling. “Listen to this. *‘Sources suggest the label’s breakout talent has been quietly financed by a single ultra‑wealthy backer, leading some to speculate she might be less self‑made than her image suggests.’*”
“Cute,” I say. “What else?”
She swipes to another tab. “This one
