Page 29 of Siren (The Enigma Affairs #1)
TWENTY-SIX
A month later…
T he studio was dark. Not empty, just quiet—the kind of quiet that pressed its weight into your chest if you let it. But the screen in front of me glowed with a thousand voices I didn’t ask to hear.
“Sienna Ray is the moment. The music, the image, the voice—all her.”
“Taraj Ferrell is dope, but let’s be real… she doesn’t need him.”
“The track gave her wings. He just happened to be there when she took flight.”
“This comeback is all Sienna. She’s the headline.”
Scroll.
Scroll.
Scroll.
Then came the reel.
Soft gold lighting. Velvet shadows. Her gown clinging like the universe had been fitted to her form. Lips parted, not in performance—but in presence. Like she was thinking and singing and daring the world to keep up.
She looked like someone who belonged to no one.
Not even me.
The caption read:
The siren herself. No co-star needed.
My jaw tensed. I didn’t even know I was holding my breath until I heard the door swing shut.
“You good?” Amir asked.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
Even I didn’t believe it.
He dropped a USB on the console and leaned against the board. “Final mix of Heavy Soul is in. Numbers look good. But I need you locked in for the next one.”
I stared at the screen. Didn’t move. Didn’t blink. When would be the next one? The label was quiet and seemed to be over a second album coming from me.
He waited a beat. Then, “This about Sienna?”
I didn’t answer right away. Not because it wasn’t. But because it was too much of her and not enough of me all at once.
“It’s about the silence,” I said, voice low. “That strange quiet after people start clapping… for someone else.”
Amir tilted his head. “You knew she was fire, man.”
“I did. But I didn’t expect her light to be this bright without me.”
I hated sounding this… unsure. That wasn’t who I was. Not in the booth. Not in the streets. Not when it came to my name.
But love? That shit leveled you.
I knew how tough I could be. Knew the world read me like a hardback—hardcover, hard edges, unflinching spine.
But an artist? A real one? We got soft spots. Gooey, bleeding, untended soft spots. You had to. To write ballads and whisper heartbreak through a mic. To croon to women around the world.
To croon to her .
Amir looked at me—hard. But not with pity. With truth. “That woman’s been fire since before either of us had a damn studio to step into. You didn’t light her. You just didn’t dim her. And that? That matters.”
I swallowed thick, fingers tightening around the edge of the chair.
“It’s like they forgot I existed.”
“They didn’t,” Amir said, calm. Cutting. “You did.”
I turned, finally. Met his eyes.
He shrugged. “You watching edits and reels and headlines like they’re scripture. That’s not God, Raj. That’s marketing.”
“But it’s working,” I muttered.
“So?” Amir stepped closer. “Let it work. Let her shine. But don’t forget—you built the sound.”
I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Not with the lump rising in my throat, thick as a hook that hadn’t dropped yet .
Because it wasn’t about the credits. Or the press. It was about her. I loved her.
Not just in the spotlight. But in the shadow. In the silence.
In the way her voice made my chest tighten.
In the way her absence made my pen dry up.
In the way I still heard her moan in the middle of a song that wasn’t even about sex.
I’d tried writing about other things—other women. Other sounds. But she kept showing up.
In the metaphors. In the melodies. In the margins.
Sienna Ray lived in my music now.
She was the music.
My phone buzzed.
I glanced down.
Sienna: I know they’re loud right now. But you’re not invisible to me.
You were the first one who heard me when I thought I had nothing left to say.
That’s not noise. That’s memory. That’s truth.
My breath stilled.
I typed slow, fingers tight.
Me: I don’t want to be a part of your past.
I want to be beside you in every room you command.
Three dots pulsed.
Paused.
Then returned.
Sienna: Then come to the listening party.
You helped build this sound.
Don’t act like it’s not yours too .
I stared at the message.
The choice wasn’t just about pride. It was about healing something deeper. About deciding if I could let love be louder than ego.
Amir watched me with that same look he’d given me back when we first started this project—like he was waiting for me to stop shrinking and remember who the fuck I was.
I took a breath. Not the kind that settles you. The kind that steadies you.
“Send me the next beat,” I told him.
He smiled. “Already did.”
And in that moment, I didn’t feel like a shadow. I felt like the one who shaped the light.