Page 33 of Siren (The Enigma Affairs #1)

THIRTY

Philadelphia, PA, Three Days Before Tour Launch

T he scent of sweet potatoes hit me first—brown sugar and cinnamon curling through the air like memory. Jasmine must’ve been baking that sweet potato pound cake she only made in the summer, rich and golden, like holidays showed up early.

“Sienna Ray! Girl—get in here!”

I laughed, dropping my bag near the stairs and slipping off my heels. This house had always been a soft place to land. The kind of space that never changed, even as everything else around me did.

The living room was warm and well-lived, the kind of cozy that had its own heartbeat. Wedding photos, school portraits, framed drawings, a scripture framed in gold leaf: Let love be genuine. Hold fast to what is good.

Jasmine’s voice floated from the kitchen. “Grab a glass, superstar. You ain’t company.”

I followed the sound and walked into what had to be the happiest kitchen in all of Philly. Yellow walls, cream cabinets, and a wooden island covered in flour like someone had thrown a celebration.

Her youngest, Savannah, was licking batter from a spoon. The oldest, Mariah, braided a doll’s hair with expert precision.

“Auntie Enna!” Savannah squealed, running straight into my legs.

“Hey baby,” I said, scooping her up. “You been baking?”

She nodded, serious. “I poured the vanilla.”

“Brave woman,” I teased Jasmine.

“I try,” she said dryly, wiping her hands. “Dinner’s almost done. Darnell’s outside doing the most with the grill.”

Right on cue, her husband walked in, carrying a tray of ribs like it was gold. He pulled me into a one-armed hug and said, “We’ve been praying over your tour.”

“Pray my voice holds,” I said with a grateful smile. “And that I don’t lose my mind.”

Fifteen minutes later, we were gathered around the table, plates heavy with food and stories.

Darnell played one of my old tracks on the Bluetooth speaker and two-stepped behind his girls until Jasmine made him sit down.

Savannah showed me her drawing of a unicorn.

Mariah asked if she could come on stage with me one day.

There was joy. There was peace. There was ease. And God, I needed it more than I knew.

After the girls were tucked in, Jasmine and I sat out on the porch swing under a velvet sky, wine glasses in hand, our legs covered in a knit throw.

“You ready?” she asked.

I nodded. “As ready as I can be. I saw Mommy and gave her my hugs and kisses, and she wanted to know why I was acting like I ain’t never done this before. I shook my head because she was right. I’m used to this.”

She sipped. “And Raj?”

My chest pulled tight. She knew how to get to the heart of a matter.

“We’ve been… together. Like, really together. Ever since the proposal night.”

“You love him?”

“I do.”

“Then hold onto that. Tour’s a beast, but it don’t last forever. Love’s the only thing that can out-sing the noise.”

I rested my head on her shoulder. “I needed this.”

“I know.”

What I didn’t say was that the quiet moments were getting harder to come by. The last couple weeks with Taraj had been intense. Beautiful. And quiet in all the right ways.

We’d been inseparable—laughing, writing, laying around half-naked and talking about everything and nothing. He took me to meet his people, and I met the baby they all adored—his nephew, who reached for me with those fat fingers and laid his cheek on my chest like I was already part of the family.

I didn’t cry. But I thought about it later. In bed. In his arms. How I’d always loved children, even if I’d never said it out loud.

But the last two days before I left, we spoke less and felt more. Made love slow. Hummed to each other between breaths. Wrapped around each other like the world was trying to tear us apart and we were holding the line.

Most people didn’t understand what fame did to you. What it took to keep a spotlight burning. It wasn’t just the travel or the schedules. It was the giving. Of your voice. Your presence. Your image. Your time. Your body.

On tour, you were both product and producer. It chipped away at you, one show at a time. And love—new, tender, unfinished love—didn’t always survive the distance.

Taraj hadn’t said it, but I knew he felt it too.

I could still hear his voice that night before I left.

“I’m scared,” he’d whispered. “Not of us. But of time. Of how fast everything moves. You’re leaving soon, and I keep thinking… what if I don’t know how to keep you when the world keeps trying to claim pieces?”

And I wanted to believe we were unshakeable. That time couldn’t ruin us. But in the quiet parts of me—the ones I didn’t show often—I was scared too.

We were still learning how to be stars and stay in love at the same time. Still figuring out how to move in sync without one of us losing momentum.

He’d been good for me. Better than good. He saw me—not just the performer or the polished image. He heard the music in my heart and found a way to sync his rhythm with mine.

I had spent so long convincing myself that being alone was the cost of my dreams. That reaching my goals would be enough. That standing on the biggest stage in the world could fill every crack.

But once you find someone who matches your frequency… who knows how to pull truth from your throat, how to meet your words with his voice and his hands and his body?—

You don’t ever want to let that go.

He hadn’t asked me to stay.

And I hadn’t asked him to come .

But we both knew what we were walking away from.

The tour was real. Eight weeks. Back-to-back shows. Europe. U.S. stops. Sold-out cities and dreams I deserved.

So I flew solo.

Berlin, Germany, First Stop on Tour

The lights were hot. Not warm. Not flattering.

Hot.

They pressed into my skin, made my satin cling and my glitter shimmer. The crowd was loud but distant. Thousands of people, hands raised, mouths open, waiting for the sound they came for.

But inside me, it was quiet. Still.

I stepped forward, letting the spotlight catch me in its grip. One golden beam. One moment. One mic.

The chords began.

I exhaled.

I sang More Than A Moment , the proposal song. Wishing he was here to complete the melody…

I didn’t know what forever looked like

'Til you held me like it already lived

I was all walls and late goodbyes

But you taught me how to stay and give

The crowd moved as one. Like water. Like memory. Like breath.

But I didn’t see them. I saw him.

His jaw tightening in the studio. His hand gripping my thigh after we laid the track down. His voice thick when he whispered that he loved me into my mouth.

I missed him.

Not the sex. Not just the intimacy .

I missed our quiet.

Our stillness.

Our home we created in our hearts. In our souls.

I held the final note until it cracked something in my chest.

The audience erupted.

I bowed.

But I didn’t smile. Because my heart wasn’t on stage.

Later in my empty suite, the room was colder than it should’ve been. Bigger than it needed to be. I peeled off the stagewear piece by piece until I stood in nothing but one of Taraj’s old T-shirts.

The water scalded me in the shower. Still, I didn’t move. And then I cried.

Not the pretty kind. The ugly, gut-deep kind that made your knees tremble and your soul ache.

Because I was tired and the tour had just begun. But I missed him and that seemed to pull everything out of me.

I didn’t want to be the woman who left love behind for lights and applause. But the world didn’t slow down just because you found something real.

Wrapped in a robe, I sat at the edge of the bed, phone in hand, his name lit up on the screen.

I wanted to call. To say I couldn’t do this without him.

Instead, I whispered to the dark, “Something has to give.”