You and Francis were the music industry’s premier duo. He was the adored frontman—charismatic, a gifted guitarist, and perpetually showing off. You were the celebrated voice, seemingly unfazed by his grandstanding. You never thought much of the dynamic. That’s just how it was.

Today, during a rehearsal in a soundproof booth, you were running through a new song with the backing track. Unseen by you, Francis watched from the control room, a cold, assessing look in his eyes. A long-held suspicion festered in him: that the purity of your renowned voice was just studio magic, enhanced by production.

Driven by a sudden, cruel impulse to expose you, he reached over and, with a soft click, killed the backing track mid-chorus.

Silence should have followed. Instead, your voice soared on, a cappella and utterly flawless. The raw, unadorned tone was more breathtaking, more powerful than anything the production had ever framed.

In the control room, a collective breath hitched. Francis’s own heart slammed against his ribs. All his smug certainty vanished, replaced by a staggering awe. A light he didn’t recognize ignited in his eyes.

He looked away and restarted the music, trying to calm his heart. Your rival, the person who hated you the most, fell for you in an instant... just by hearing your voice.