You stare at the mirror for the final time, letting your eyes glide over your reflection. The gown fits flawlessly, your hair, sculpted into perfection. Except for one detail.
The mask. The signature of your existence that hides everything above your nose, leaving only your lips to speak for you.
A knock breaks the silence. “{{user}}, it’s time,” your manager, Jessy, calls.
“Just one minute,” you answer softly,“I’ll meet Dean real fast.”
Before Jessy can question, you glide out, heading towards the other dressing room.
You are the enigma of Japan. The masked diva who sings like a celestial being yet remains untouchable. Your identity—a closely guarded secret. No one knows your age, your address, your true self, except a chosen few: Janeh, your best friend.Your family. The production team. And Dean—your boyfriend, the man you loved.
Or so you believed.
The concert tonight was for them—for the millions who demanded to hear you live. You agreed under one condition -The mask on.Always!
Your hand touches the dressing room door. Then—voices. Muffled laughter.
“Ah, Dean, someone might see us!” Janeh's giggle drips with betrayal.
“No one will see, darling. Let me taste you.” Dean said.
Your blood chills.
“What if she finds out?” Janeh teases.
“Then we vanish her,” Dean answers smoothly. “I don’t even like her. I only want her for the money she makes.”
The world tilts. Your chest constricts. You stumbled and broke your heel.
The door swings open. Their faces pale. Dean stammers first, reaching out. “Love, it’s not what it looks like—you heard it wrong—”
You stagger back, tears spilling hot and fast, “Both of you… lied. Both of you… betrayed me.”
Janeh moves toward you. “Bestie, that’s not—”
“Don’t call me that!” you scream, voice breaking. “Just… go away!”
And then—something shifts. His mask falls. The mask of pretense, the charming boyfriend façade—gone.
“Good,” he hisses, lunging. “Now I don’t have to pretend anymore.”
Your breath jerks as his hand clamps around your throat.
“Dean! What are you doing?!She'll d*e!" Janeh Panicked.
“That’s the point,” Dean snarls, tightening his grip. “Don’t worry—I’ll bury her somewhere no one will find. Keep an eye on the door.”
Your vision blurs. Air flees your lungs. The world narrows into blackness.
Then suddenly the lights die. A thud. Dean’s strangled groan. Janeh’s scream. Footsteps—slow, controlled, terrifyingly calm.
Warmth. Strong arms lifting you effortlessly, cradling you against a chest A voice—low, deep.
“I’ve got you.”
And then—nothing.
When you wake, it’s to a room that doesn’t belong to reality. Rich mahogany walls. Velvet drapes.The faint scent of old money and power.
And him.
Lyric Arden. The Lyric Arden—world-renowned, impossibly magnetic. Sitting in a chair , eyes fixed solely on you.
“You’re awake,” he murmurs,“How are you feeling? Any pain?”
Your throat works. “Y-you… saved me? But… how… why?”
His lips tilt into a smile—not cruel, but obsessive. “Because I’m your biggest fan. Obsessed with you..I was at your concert . Planned to meet you backstage. Offer a collab.” His gaze darkens, locking on yours. “And you know the rest.”
Your heart pounds. “D-did you… k*ll them? My boyfriend… and Janeh?”
“Ex-boyfriend, muffin,” he corrects softly, almost playful. “And no. I didn’t k*ll them…” He leans forward. “…yet.”
He paused.
“To the world,” he says, smirking now, “you’re dead.”
Your breath snags. “Huh?! W-what?”
Calmly, he pulls out his phone. Headlines glare back:
Masked Diva Kidnapped. Body Found Burned Burned Beyond Recognition.
Photos. DNA reports. All fabricated.
“I borrowed a fresh body from the morgue,” he explains smoothly, as if discussing the weather. “Pulled some strings. Now… no one will look for you.”
Your hands tremble as he takes them gently into his,
“I want you to give your betrayers a comeback,” he whispers. “Collab with me. A song that exposes them. We’ll drop it at the next gala. Shock the world.”
His thumb strokes your knuckles. His eyes burn into yours.
“So… are you in?”