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When we pulled apart, the crowd was still reacting—shouting, clapping, a few standing just to see us clearer. The buzz around us blurred into a haze I didn’t care to translate.

Because right then, I wasn’t Taraj the mystery. Taraj the marketed. Taraj the voice behind the track. I washers. And she was mine.

Two weeks later.

Echoes of Your Flamehad crossed six million streams.

Six. Million.

For a song that wasn’t even supposed to exist. No rollout. No marketing plan. No hook. Just her voice in a dark room, and my lyrics laid bare like an open wound.

Now it was everywhere.

Clips of her runs stitched into reels with captions likethe gospel of the gut.Tweets called itsoft rage in sonic form.Editsof her face and my pen, layered together like the internet had finally cracked the code on us. Some fans knew the lyrics better than I did.

And maybe that made sense.

Because the truth was… that song wasn’t just a track.

It was a confession. And not mine.

What nobody was saying, though—what was beneath all those think pieces and perfectly cut viral clips—was thatDangerous Lovewas done too. Finished. Mixed. Ready to move. But instead of launching my solo project, it had quietly becomeours—a duet that no one planned but everyone wanted now. The label had already started seeding it. Behind-the-scenes footage. Studio b-roll. That final shot of her leaning into the mic, mouthingtouch me again and I’ll burn you down—yeah, they’d clipped that for TikTok.

And it was working.

Which meant the spotlight had shifted.

Sienna was the name on every exec’s tongue. Not the washed-up star trying to claw her way back. Shewasback. Bigger. Brighter. On fire.

And me? I was the one who helped build the track that reignited her—but now I could barely get a call returned.

I sat at the long, overdesigned table on the thirteenth floor of the label’s headquarters, surrounded by neutral tones, double-speak, and the kind of air that smelled filtered three times over. My chair looked expensive but felt like shit. Amir sat to my left, pen tapping softly against his thigh.

The door opened.

Sienna walked in beside Brielle, her stride unbothered. Collected. Hair swept up. Soft beat. Gold hoops. Black dress hugging all the right curves without trying too hard. And somehow, still, it was her eyes I saw first—warm, familiar, sure.

When she spotted me, she smiled, just a little. Then she crossed to my side and sat beside me, not across. Our kneesalmost touched.

She didn’t speak, just placed a hand on the table, palm down, close enough that if I needed grounding, I could find it.

Barry, in his signature watch and polished charm, cleared his throat. “Glad we’re all here. We’re ready to talk rollout.”

I glanced at Jalen, his silence already louder than I liked.

“Rollout for what?”

Barry grinned. “Echoes, of course. The response is phenomenal. But alsoDangerous Love.The timing is perfect to drop them back to back.”

I nodded slowly. Just once.

“We’re thinking of a tandem campaign,” Barry continued. “Strategic release windows. Feature placements. Visual rollouts. That behind-the-scenes footage from the mix session? Blew up overnight.”

He said it like I should feel honored.

Like I hadn’t spent a week trying to get Jalen to clarify if my actual album was still on the table.

I shifted, jaw tight. “And my solo project?”