CHAPTER 36: POOR LEECH

The lounge was a warm low-lit space with deep gray couches, a few potted plants tucked into corners, and framed black-and-white photos of artists who had once recorded in the studio. The faint scent of roasted coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the soft hum of distant music from another room.

They settled across from each other.

"The person who was almost hit is a woman and her identity has been known for two days." She started.

"You have a best friend—Sierra Wrenford, right?" Nina asked carefully.

"Yes," Lyra answered, smiling at the name. "She helped me a lot during our college days. She’s a very good person."

"Well...I’m not so sure about that. Not after what’s on the internet. And definitely not after what people who’ve seen the video are saying."

Lyra frowned. "What do you mean?"

Sighing, Nina tapped on her phone. "You don’t check X or Insta much, do you? Anyway, the person who was almost hit was Erisia Wrenford—Sierra’s sister. And people are saying Sierra might be involved."

"What?" Lyra’s voice tightened. "That can’t be true."

"I know you won’t believe me if I just say it. See for yourself." Nina passed her the phone, the screen open to a Veritas Vault post.

"What is this?" Lyra asked.

"I’m sure you saw that post on CloutSleakz about Sierra being pushed into a pool by her family’s adopted daughter, Erisia, right?"

"Yes, Sierra told me about it."

"Well, there’s a saying—not everything we see is the truth—and this video proves it. Read the caption and watch."

Lyra’s brows knit as she read. Then she pressed play. From the start to the moment Sierra began speaking to Erisia, Lyra’s face showed only confusion. But when Sierra feigned being pushed and deliberately toppled into the pool—Erisia lunging to catch her and falling in as well—Lyra’s expression shifted from shock to horrified disbelief. In the video, when bystanders pulled Sierra from the water, she clung to her mother’s arms, weeping as if she were the victim.

Dazed, Lyra read the comments before Nina gently retrieved the phone.

"See what I mean?" Nina said quietly. "The kind, caring image you have of Sierra might be nothing but an act."

Lyra bit her lip, memories of Sierra’s kindness spinning against the ugly implications.

"And if she can do this to her sister, adopted or not," Nina continued, "who’s to say she wouldn’t do worse to you, her friend?"

She leaned back, her gaze steady. "Your first single is about to drop. The company—and Diane—won’t want any scandals during this period. It’s best to distance yourself. Or...sever the connection entirely."

Lyra nodded mechanically, thoughts racing.

Nina reached across the table and clasped her hand. "Listen. We’ve all heard your music. You’re incredibly talented, and this is your dream. Think of it as ending something so you can start something greater. Alright?"

Lyra forced a small smile. "It’s alright. I understand. And...thank you."

"Good. Weren’t you looking for Diane? He’s on the balcony."

Lyra exhaled slowly, schooling her expression into a calm mask. "Thank you."

She stepped out of the lounge and down the short hallway that led to the studio’s side balcony. The night air met her with a gentle, cool caress—clean and faintly metallic from the day’s earlier rain. Beyond the railing, Manhattan’s skyline shimmered like a field of scattered diamonds.

Agent Diane stood near the edge, phone pressed to his ear, his free hand tucked into his coat pocket. Diane was in his late thirties, clean-cut with average features—a man most would overlook if not for the amount of artists he has turned into stars. Single, no children, he carried the calm of someone who had spent years scouting raw talent and molding it into brilliance.

"...yes, the recording is done—it just needs final mastering. We’re scheduling the release for next Friday across all major platforms. Pre-save links will roll out mid-week, and the teaser campaign starts three days before the drop to build traction."

A pause.

"Yes, early analytics look promising. If momentum holds, this could be a breakout debut."

He turned slightly, noticing her. His face softened with a quick smile, but his voice remained brisk as he continued into the phone. "Yes, she’s right here. I’ll confirm the press schedule once I’m back inside."

Diane ended the call and slipped the phone into his pocket. "Perfect timing," he said warmly. "Congratulations, Lyra. The label just approved everything. Your single goes public next Friday—and if early analytics mean anything, we’re about to make a lot of noise."

The city lights flickered across her russet-brown eyes. For a heartbeat, the earlier storm of emotions threatened to return, but she steadied herself with a slow breath. "That’s...amazing news," she said softly.

Diane studied her, his expression turning serious. "Lyra, I caught a look on your face earlier when you arrived. Don’t tell me nothing’s wrong. I’ve been in this industry long enough to recognize when an artist is carrying something heavy."

Lyra lowered her gaze, a flicker of guilt tightening her shoulders.

"Listen," he continued, his tone firm but not unkind. "I know about the Wrenford situation—it’s all over the internet. This is the kind of mess that can drown a debut before it even surfaces. I’ve seen it happen. Remember Mia Callen? Her launch collapsed because she wouldn’t cut ties with a toxic friend. You can’t afford that."

His words hit, making Lyra’s cheeks warm with shame.

"This isn’t about controlling your life," Diane said, the edge easing from his voice. "It’s about protecting what you’ve worked for. You’re talented, but talent alone doesn’t survive in this business. You need clean ground to grow."

The sternness softened into something almost brotherly—an affection Lyra had never felt, as an orphan. "You have a gift, Lyra. Don’t let someone else’s chaos steal the future you’re building."

Her throat tightened. Before he could say more, she blurted, "I promise. I won’t let you down. I’ll stay clear of it. I’ll never betray the trust you’ve placed in me."

Diane’s eyes warmed, a faint smile curving his lips. "That’s all I needed to hear. Now let’s get back inside before the producer drinks all the champagne."

—•—

The Wrenfords had finished dinner thirty minutes ago. The clink of dishes and the scent of roasted salmon still lingered faintly in the air. Only two people remained under the roof tonight—Sierra and her mother. Leander had left for a short business trip the day before, leaving the sprawling home feeling emptier than usual.

When the last plate was cleared, Sierra pushed back her chair and forced a small smile. "I’ll head upstairs, Mom. I need to finish something before bed."

Selena looked up from her wineglass, a crease of concern tugging at her brow. "Are you alright, sweetheart? You’ve been a little...off these past few days."

Sierra’s heartbeat ticked faster. She smoothed her expression into something bright and unbothered. "I’m fine. Really. I just have a few things to wrap up from earlier. I wanted to get back to it before I get too sleepy."

In truth, she couldn’t bear another minute at the dining table. The warm pools of light, the soft clink of silverware—all of it pressed on her like a weight. Upstairs, in her room was the only place where she could breathe, where she could keep clawing for a way to make everything perfectly fine again. Just like in the past, before Erisia came. The root of every problem, every anxious night, every horrible comment about her...was Erisia. Erisia, always Erisia. And yet, two full days of pacing and scheming had produced nothing—no plan, no solution. Only a restless energy that left her nerves raw and her temper frayed.

Selena studied her carefully, as if trying to read the thoughts Sierra kept hidden behind her practiced smile. For a heartbeat, Sierra feared her mother would push, demand answers, tear open the fragile lie she had told.

Instead, Selena simply nodded and stood, wrapping her daughter in a warm, reassuring hug. "Don’t worry," she said softly against Sierra’s hair. "Everything will be alright. I’ll make sure Erisia never harms this family again. Go upstairs and finish what you were doing."

The words should have soothed her, but they only deepened the twist in Sierra’s chest. She managed another forced smile. "Thanks, Mom."

She slipped from the dining room and climbed the stairs.

Upstairs, her room waited—perfectly arranged. She closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment as if to block out the world. Her mind churned with unfinished plots, every thought circling back to the same thorn: Erisia.

The vibration of her phone on the nightstand broke the silence.

Sierra flinched, heart lurching. Frowning in displeasure as she thought it was the same person who had been calling, the past three days, Adrian.

The caller ID lit up the screen.

Lyra.

For a fleeting second, she considered letting it ring out. But curiosity—and the expected promise of comfort Lyra always gave her even if she found them useless—won.

She swiped to answer.

"Lyra?" Her voice came out weak, surprised but her expression was totally different. "Hey...how are you doing?"

Lyra leaned back against the cab’s leather seat, the faint scent of rain seeping through the window. Midtown’s skyline flickered past in neon streaks as the car headed toward her upscale apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. She clutched the phone tighter, her heartbeat uneven.

"Sierra," she began, her voice low but steady. "I...I saw Erisia’s post on Veritas Vault. I couldn’t believe it at first, but even if I don’t want to, it’s still there. I just need to hear it from you—was anything in that video true, or was it all a lie?"

On the other end, Sierra’s fingers tightened around her phone until her knuckles whitened. A hot ripple of anger rolled beneath her skin, her chest rising sharply. For a moment her expression twisted, the mask of polite surprise cracking into disdain. She wanted to spit the words clawing their way up her throat:

’And so what? What if it’s true? What would you do—stay away from me? Who do you think you are to question me? If I hadn’t found your dumb innocence amusing, do you think I’d ever bother befriending a poor little thing like you?’

But she swallowed the venom, forcing her voice into a brittle calm. "No. That tape was edited," she said, each word clipped. "The real one is the one on Cloutsleakz."

"I see..." Lyra hesitated, her breath audible over the line. "Sierra, I’d rather talk to you face-to-face about this, but I can’t. I...I don’t know what to think yet. And I don’t think I’ll be able to contact you for a while."

"What?!" Sierra let out a short, incredulous laugh. "What are you even saying, Lyra?"

"My first single is releasing soon," Lyra explained, her tone careful, almost apologetic. "I’ll be really busy, so I won’t be available—"

Sierra cut her off with a sharp, mocking snort, her expression hostile. "Just get to the point, Lyra."

"I’m sorry," Lyra said quietly. "But I think we shouldn’t reach out to each other for a while. I need to—"

"Do you want to cut off our friendship, Lyra?" Sierra’s voice cracked like a whip.

"Sierra—"

"Wow." Sierra laughed again, a brittle, disbelieving sound. "Some friend you are. Aren’t you ashamed, saying this to me? After everything I did for you? You really are a leech just like Delisse said but an ungrateful one. Well, no problem. Do whatever you want—and I hope your single does wonderfully."

She ended the call before Lyra could reply.

The silence that followed was deafening. Sierra stared at the dark screen, her reflection like a vengeful ghost in the glass. Rage flooded her chest, choking and hot. Her breath came fast, uneven.

"Aargh! Fuck you all!" The scream tore from her throat before she could stop it. She hurled the phone against the wall with a sharp crack. It bounced to the carpet, screen still lit, mocking her with the last name displayed.

Lyra.