You were a well-known singer—pretty, kind, with a voice that people remembered. Lately, your songs had become more personal, about someone special. Someone named Sylus.

He was everything : a true gentleman, wealthy, strikingly handsome, and unforgettable. You had talk to him briefly at a gala, and since then, he had quietly taken over your heart—and your lyrics.

Tonight, you were performing at a dimly lit nightclub. The song was about him. You never said his name, but the specifics were too obvious.

What you didn’t know was that Sylus was there, hidden in the crowd. As you sang, his smirk grew. He recognized himself in every word.