by Jade Webb
I shake my head. “No, I wasn’t, Daphni. You used to love life. You used to have so much passion. But now?” I let the question linger in the air and before I say something cruel that I would regret, I turn and walk away, closing the door of the booth behind me.
Back behind the soundproof barrier, I look through the glass and watch Daphni continue to fiddle with the bottle in her lap before opening it and swallowing the rest of it. She looks so dejected, and half of me is screaming to go back, apologize for my words, make her feel better. The other half wants for my words to hurt, for her to get back some of her edge and fight back. But had she been right? Had I just chosen to see the version of Daphni I had wanted?
Before I can decide, I hear the door of the recording booth swing open and Daphni step through. Marching straight to the lead producer, she pulls up a seat and places her hand over his, pausing him from his typing.
“Okay, we need to talk,” she says.
“What’s up, Daphni?”
“I’m not recording this song.”
“Eh. What?” he asks, looking behind him at the two other men watching with equal confusion. Melissa perks up as well and watches Daphni with a mix of curiosity and concern.
“This song is not me. No offense, Leon, but it’s shit. I’m not recording this.”
“We already bought this song, Daphni. And you sound killer on it.”
Daphni remains firm, crossing her arms over her chest. “This song is ridiculous. It doesn’t mean anything, and I’ve decided I’m not recording it.”
Leon glares at me, pointing his pudgy finger at me. “Is this what pretty boy told you to do?”
“No, absolutely not,” Daphni says, shaking her head. “This is my decision. I don’t want to record this.”
Leon slams his hands on the table. “This is the next single. MacArthur told us to have this ready by the end of the week.”
At the mention of MacArthur, I catch Daphni’s body tense. She takes a deep breath. “Well, you can tell MacArthur I’m not recording it.”
Leon pulls out his phone and shoots off a quick text before dropping his phone on the table, causing a loud bang. “No, honey, you can tell him. He’s coming over right now.”
In an instant, I see the color drain from Daphni’s face. She keeps her arms crossed, but I can see her arms begin to turn red as she digs her long nails into her skin. She looks to me, and my breath hitches at the look in her eyes. She looks so anxious, and my guard instantly goes up. I fight the urge to peel her fingers off her arm, hold them in mine and take her away from here.
Melissa rushes to Daphni’s side and when she tries to talk to her, Daphni holds up her hand, silencing her. I can read the confusion on Melissa and she shoots me a questioning look. I shrug in return, keeping my face expressionless. I’m unsure of exactly what’s going on, or what Daphni’s next step will be, but I can feel the palpable tension in the room.
A tense minute later, the door to the booth opens and the man I assume to be MacArthur enters. Although I admittedly don’t know much about the music industry, even I know who MacArthur—“the hitmaker and the undertaker”—is. He earned his moniker by being one of the most powerful producers and label heads in the business: he could make your career, but he could just as easily end it. One of his most shining examples was Daphni Monroe. Before MacArthur signed her, the industry had written her off as a rich girl looking for a hobby. They underestimated her—and her talent. MacArthur hadn’t, though, and he had signed her at nineteen years old. Ironically, just a few months before she had broken up with me, choosing fame and celebrity. But how could I blame her? The guy had made her a household name: everyone knew who Daphni Monroe was.
“Well, well, if it isn’t my little Daphni Monroe,” MacArthur says as he saunters toward Daphni, his long arms open wide. She looks petrified, frozen in place as he wraps his arms around her stiff frame. He lingers a moment longer than I like and slings his arm over her shoulder. Her whole body tenses and my skin prickles. Something doesn’t feel right.
“So, what seems to be the problem here, gentleman?” he asks the three producers in the room.
“Ask her,” Leon spits as he juts his chin in Daphni’s direction.
“Daphni, my dear,” he says, as his dark charcoal eyes look down at her. “What is wrong?”
“I don’t want to record this song,” she answers, her voice soft, and missing the same strong determination she had when speaking to Leon just a few short minutes ago.
“And why is that, my dear?”
Her eyes dart to mine and I nod encouragingly. “It’s a stupid song. I don’t like it.”
“Daphni,” his voice hardens. “We bought this song for you to record. We are going to release it as your next single. We need you to record this single today.”
“But—”
“But nothing. Isn’t that right, Daphni?” He pauses and gives her a forced, tight-lipped smile. “Of course, if you feel more comfortable we could have you come record it in my private studio on the ranch. You remember that studio, right? Where we recorded your first album?”
Daphni’s face somehow manages to turn even whiter and I catch a shiver run through her thin frame. I push myself up from the wall, wanting to get this sleaze away from her.
“No,” she replies in a soft whisper as she shakes her head at me, warning me not to intercede.
MacArthur finally untangles his arm from her and claps his hands. “Perfect. So let’s finish the recording. Leon, send me the final cut when you’re done today.”
Daphni slinks out of the room, rushing back to the recording booth, as if she couldn’t escape fast enough.
When he sees that Daphni is perched back on the chair in the booth and sliding on her headphones, MacArthur turns to Melissa, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “What is going on with your girl?”
“She’s going through a lot right now,” Melissa explains, her voice tight. “We still don’t have any leads on her stalker and it’s been really upsetting for her.”
“Stalker?” MacArthur asks.
“She’s been getting some threatening letters. Pretty explicit and scary, talking about how they have been watching her, how they want to take her. It’s been a lot for her to deal with.”
“When did this start?”
“The first night of the tour, back in New York City. It was left in her hotel room. But it’s escalated recently.”
“How so?”
“Whoever it is broke into her house.” Melissa sighs and looks around the room. “Stole a pair of her panties,” she adds, lowering her voice.
A flicker of confusion crosses MacArthur’s face. “And are there any leads with the police?”
Melissa shakes her head. “Nothing yet, but we are hopeful it will all be over soon.”
He narrows his eyes at Melissa and shakes his head. “Keep her happy and keep her calm. I don’t want any more of these dramatics.”
Melissa balks under his aggressive tone and nods. The whole exchange is unsettling and when I catch Melissa’s eye, she quickly shakes her head, warning me not to interfere. Only when Leon and MacArthur are busy discussing the record, do I follow Daphni into the recording booth.
When I see her hands are shaking, I catch them in mine. “What was that, Daphni?”
“Nothing, Roman. Leave me alone,” she says, pulling her hands from mine.
“Daphni—”
“Roman, leave. Now,” she orders, her voice shaky.
“I’m not—”
“If you two little lovebirds are done, we’d like to start recording now,” Leon’s annoyed voice comes through the mic into the recording booth.
“Leave, Roman.” Her voice breaks and she forces herself to look me in the eyes. It’s then that I realize why she was avoiding my stare. Because when her glistening, pleading green eyes look at me, I see something that I’ve never seen there before: fear.
14
Daphni
“One hundred and three, one hun
dred and four, one hundred and five…” I whisper the numbers as I force myself to imagine a flock of fluffy sheep jumping on pillowy clouds. It’s a pathetic—and useless—endeavor, but I have pretty much lost all hope of getting any kind of sleep tonight, so I thought I would try it out.
Distracting myself is proving to be much harder than I realized. The image of Roman watching me as I recorded that stupid song will forever be burned in my memory. He had just looked so…disappointed. In truth, I was disappointed in myself as well. I hate how little control I have over my own music. I hate that scumbag MacArthur. When he touches me, I want to vomit. I shift again in bed, kicking off my sheets. His touch is not something I want to remember, especially before I fall asleep.
“One hundred and six, one hundred—”
I pause mid-count when I hear the soft sound of beeping. Three beeps all together, followed by one long beep. It sounds like my alarm system, but there’s no way someone would be using it right now. I look quickly at the clock on my bedside. It’s one thirty in the morning. Instantly the hair on the back of my neck raises. I quickly slide out of my bed and tip-toe to my closed door.
I place my ear against the door, but all that greets me is silence. Slowly I open the door and stick my head out into the dark hallway. I take one step out, and suddenly I feel the rush of a body hit me. Before I have the chance to let out a scream, a large hand covers my mouth. The man pulls me into my room, clicking the door shut. He uses his other arm to keep me from hitting him as I finally gather my wits and bite down on the hand covering my mouth.
“Shit, Daphni. Calm down,” Roman whispers as he pulls back his hand.
I step back to see Roman in his signature sleepwear: sweatpants and nothing else. I should have recognized him, but I had gotten too panicked. In the darkness, the light of the moon seems to capture him, highlighting every contoured muscle. Despite being convinced a second earlier that he was here to kill me, I feel my mouth water as I greedily drink in how good he looks right now. So unfair.
“Roman. What the hell?" I hiss. "Why would you scare me like that?”
“Shh! Keep it down,” Roman whispers. “I think someone is in the house.”
Instantly I feel ill and I clench my hands at my side. “What do you mean?”
“I think I heard someone messing with the alarm. I need you to hide in here while I go look.”
“No,” I say, grabbing his arm. “Let’s just call the cops. Stay with me.”
“I already called them. But if we want to catch this asshole, I need to find him. Just stay here, promise?”
I nod, and he quietly crosses the room and slips out the door. I follow and hold my ear against the door. I don’t hear anything, and each passing second feels like an hour.
Suddenly I hear something crash to the floor, and the sound of someone grunting. Then more crashing, then the unmistakable sound of a fist connecting with flesh. I hear Roman let out a curse followed by a moan and something snaps inside of me. Looking around, I grab the first thing I see and rush out of my room.
Though the lights are out, the full moon illuminates Roman on the floor, clutching his side. I want to run to him, make sure he’s okay. But when I see the intruder, covered in a hoodie and a black ski mask, standing over Roman with a knife in his hands, I react. Running off pure adrenaline, I rush toward him and slam the guitar in my hands over his head. Stunned, he drops his knife and I dive to the floor, grabbing it. Jumping back up to my feet, I wave the knife menacingly at him, letting my instincts guide me even though, in the back of my mind, I'm not entirely sure I even understand the mechanics of how to properly stab someone. The intruder stumbles back, still fazed by the hit to his head.
“You coward!” I shout. “Take off your stupid mask and tell me who you are!”
He takes an unsteady step toward me, and I swing the knife in warning. Roman groans as he pushes himself up, still clutching his side. Seeing Roman able to stand, the intruder turns and runs down the hallway, his steps loud on the stairs as he darts away. Roman runs, chasing after him, and I follow, the bloody knife still in my hands. As we round the corner downstairs, I can hear the sound of sirens in the distance.
The back door is open and I run toward it, cursing as all I see are the floodlights and the sprinklers over an empty backyard.
Behind us, the front door opens and I hear the sound of the police officers announcing themselves. I walk over, but before I have a chance to open my mouth, I see three officers pointing their guns at me and yelling at me to drop my weapon. Confused, I look down to see a bloody knife in my hand. Against the wall is Roman, still clutching his bloody side. Shit, this does not look good.
I quickly drop the knife and raise my hands over my head. “This is a mistake—” I begin to say, but the officers continue yelling as they rush toward me, pulling my arms behind my back.
“Stop! It wasn’t her!” Roman yells as my face gets pressed into the cold tile beneath me.
I hear muffled voices as the police officer’s knee rests over my head, keeping me from squirming. After a few long minutes, I feel the pressure relieve before I am being helped back to a standing position. The three officers look at me, a mix of guilt and embarrassment on their faces as they quickly help me out of the handcuffs. While there is nothing I want more in the world than to tell them off, I am more worried about Roman.
I rush over to him, still leaning against the wall. His hands are at his side, and I feel my stomach sink as I see his fingers covered in a dark crimson. His jaw is tense and I can see that the cut at his side is causing him more pain than he is letting on.
“Roman, are you okay?” I ask as I cover his hands in mine.
“Yeah, it just really hurts,” he says with a grimace.
Even as tears brim in my eyes, I laugh. “Well, I’ve heard getting stabbed can do that to you.”
“I’m so sorry, Daphni,” Roman says as he grits his teeth.
“What, why are you sorry?”
“I didn’t protect you. I didn’t get him.”
I press a kiss to his cheek. “Babe, you did protect me.”
Roman locks his eyes on mine and for a second, I swear all the oxygen leaves my lungs. He looks so pained, and I want nothing more than to cradle him in my arms, assure him that I owe him more forgiveness than he owes me.
“Daphni, I need to tell you—”
Before he can finish, an EMT arrives, dropping his medical bag down on the floor next to Roman. “Sir, can you tell me where you’re injured?”
Roman tears his eyes away from mine and removes his hand, pulling up his shirt and revealing a thick red line at his side. “It’s just a graze, but it hurts,” he tells them.
With a large white pad, the EMTs wipe away the blood, revealing a deep gash. “Sir, we’re going to need to take you to the hospital, have them stitch this up for you.”
Roman shakes his head. “No way. I can’t leave her.”
I blow out a huff of air. “Don’t be dumb,” I tell him. “I’m coming with you.”
15
Roman
“All right, baby boy, one more stitch and you will be good to go.”
The nurse smiles at me as she finishes stitching up my cut. The poor woman is doing her best to lighten my foul mood, but all I want to do is get out of here and find the asshole who attacked me tonight. I’m still pissed that he was able to escape and that I hadn’t been quick enough to stop him. I was stronger than him, I knew that for sure. But he had caught me by surprise and went straight for me with the knife. Even when he had stabbed me, I still had managed to land a punch to his face. But I had underestimated how deeply he had cut me and when he had come at me again, I had fallen. Only when Daphni came out, swinging her guitar, did I realize how badly I had been hurt. Tonight it had been clear that Daphni had been the one to save me. And I hated that. Because it was my job to protect her, and I had let her down.
When the nurse finally finishes, I manage to grunt out a quick “thank you.” Sensing
that I’ve reached my limit, she turns to Daphni and hands her a small brown bag with extra bandages and ointment.
As she instructs Daphni on how to clean and care for the wound, one of the detectives returns to the room, a somber expression on his face.
“Any news, detective?” I ask the detective.
“Actually, yes. Unfortunately, we were not able to capture him, but it looks like he did leave something at the scene of the crime.”
“He left something at my house?” Daphni asks, her head swiveling as she turns away from the nurse, her face pale with concern.
“Yes, it was a doll. But—and this may be a little upsetting to you—it was…modified.”
“Modified?” I ask.
“Yes. The head was detached from the body and there was a noose around it. This is a clear departure from his current MO. He is becoming more impulsive, and we have reason to believe you are in very real danger, Ms. Monroe.”
Daphni sinks down on the edge of the bed, her shoulders falling forward. Instinctively, I rub a comforting hand on her thigh.
“Any leads on how he even got into the house in the first place?” I ask.
The detective shakes his head. “It doesn’t appear as if the alarm was tampered with.”
Daphni straightens and looks at the detective alarmed. “What does that mean?”
“It means that whoever broke into your house knew the passcode to your alarm system.”
Daphni looks at me, her brow knit in confusion.
I shake my head. “That’s impossible. Less than a handful of people know that code. We change it weekly and send it out to the team. Everyone has been thoroughly vetted.”
The detective shrugs. “How do you send everyone the code?”
“We get it in an email,” Daphni answers.
A shadow crosses over his face as he furrows his brow in thought. “My guess is that maybe you got hacked. Could be that someone you don’t know has access to your email. My suggestion would be to change all your passwords.”
