Page 57 of Save Your Breath

Mia

Aleks’s words still rang in my head weeks later.

“Don’t let them steal your pen when you’re just getting to the good part.”

They were a source of inspiration, firing me forward into the next week of chaos. Every show I appeared on, the recording of the music video for our first single, tour practices… all of it was done with confidence buzzing deep within me.

He was right.

Iwasjust getting to the good part.

This album, while it was my fifth, felt like the first of a new era. It felt like stepping into a new persona, a new space, a new life. Even after just the first single, my fans were giddy with the possibilities of what the rest of the album could sound like. They were ready to hear this new version of me, the one who was older, wiser, and had more to say.

My label had high expectations. Our single had been number one on all the streaming platforms and on the Billboard Top 100 since the week it dropped. Pre-orders for the full album far surpassed my last one. The music video for the first single had been viewed more than fifty million times. We hadn’t announced the tour yet, but they had a feeling that when we did, we were going to set records. We were doing multiple nights at some ofthe biggest stadiums and arenas in the world, and they were forecasting us selling out every single night.

Everything about this just felt…larger.

And I was riding that high like it was a glitter-dusted cloud — right up until the album release party.

“Okay, Aleks should be here any moment now,” Isabella said, flying into the bathroom where I was currently pretending to reapply lipstick that didn’t need fixing. “Imayor may not have tipped off a few of our favorites to have their phones ready.”

She added that last part with a wink, and I knew byfavorites, she meant the fans who ran accounts that were mostly favorable when it came to me. It had been a bold choice to invite them to my private release party, but it had been on purpose.

Because no matter how the momentum climbed for this album, Garrett Orange was still running his mouth every chance he got. And we knew without confirmation from anyone that he’d influenced some of the other big names in the music critic game.

The album had been panned by nearly every music industry magazine and blog, and they were all hanging on the same tired reasons that Garrett was.

Based on those reviews alone, I was sure we were already out of the running for any awards. I was fairly certain that the label had a similar thought. And where all of the reviews had me second guessing everything, wondering if I was a sham who thought this album was great when it was really a massive flop waiting to happen, Isabella was convinced we could turn it around — and that tonight would be pivotal.

Because tonight, the whole world would hear the album for themselves.

They would be the real judges.

And clearly, Isabella wanted my new relationship with Aleks front and center in their minds as they made those decisions.

“He’s showing up with a whole posse, by the way,” Isabella informed me, typing away on her phone. Her hot pink hair was in a slicked back ponytail tonight, her neck tattoo on prominent display in the tiny, leather strapless top she wore with skin-tight jeans. “G and I both agreed it would be good to see your worlds blending a little.”

I nodded absentmindedly, blotting my lips and staring at my reflection.

My makeup was done to perfection, from the striking red lip to the bold smoky eye. Blush and lashes, bronzer and brows. My dress was custom-made by my favorite designer, hugging all the right places and mirroring the album’s colors — a shimmering yellow and coral and red, like a sunset.

On the outside, I looked like the pop star that I was.

On the inside, I felt more unsteady than I had in years.

I usually lit up for these things. I mean, it was myalbum release party, for fuck’s sake. This was what I’d worked so hard for, what I’d counted down to, what I’d dreamed of for more than a year now.

Thanks to all the bad press, for the first time in my career, I wanted to vomit at the thought of the world hearing my songs in just a few hours.

“Hey,” Isabella said, lifting her eyes and getting a good look at me for the first time. “You good?”

I smiled brilliantly — first at my reflection and then at her. This wasn’t a pathetic attempt at a fake smile. This was the kind of fake smile that saved me from breakdowns, that assured even those closest to me that I really was fine.

“Are you kidding? I’m fuckingperfect,” I lied, kissing both her cheeks. “I could use a glass of champagne, though.”

“Ugh, so cliché. I was kind of picturing us doing Jäger bombs,” she said with a teasing smile, looping her arm through mine. She continued chatting about all the people attendingtonight, the order of events, and other business-related things that I should have been giving my rapt attention to.

As it was, I just followed her and pretended to listen, all while fighting against the way my heart threatened to surge out of my chest.