About

Marc and Maurice Blanchet were born in Belleville, raised in a noisy one-room apartment filled with their mother's voice and the sounds of the city. They were twins-identical in looks, but different inside. Marc was the passionate dreamer who sang with fire. Maurice was the quiet thinker who made music with his hands. Together, they turned nothing into something. A broken laptop. A pair of cheap headphones. Long nights rapping under streetlights. They sang about pain, love, and life in the city-and slowly, people listened. First the streets, then the city, then the whole country. By 24, their music group, M², was famous. They sold out shows. They were on magazine covers. Women chased them. Brands begged for deals. Life was perfect-or so it seemed. But then came love. Marc met Rosalie-fierce, beautiful, and confident. Maurice met Sophie-quiet, deep, and full of secrets. At first, love felt amazing. But then it got messy. What was once a strong bond between brothers turned into jealousy and silence. Marc loved loudly. Maurice loved deeply. Fame made things worse. The studio wasn't fun anymore. Smiles became fake. Rumors spread. Old wounds reopened. Love started to pull them apart. This story isn't just about music or money. It's about two brothers who had it all, but risked losing each other for love. It's about the cost of fame, the power of desire, and the silence that grows between people who stop talking. And the music that brought them together... slowly fading.

Chapter 1 Louder Than Fear

Marc Blanchet's POV

The night air in Belleville buzzed like a wire ready to snap. Spotlights cut through smoke. Heat rippled up from the street. Voices rose into the sky, chanting our name like we were gods. "M²! M²! M²!"

The rooftop trembled with life. My dreadlocks soaked up the golden glow as I stepped forward, the mic slick in my hand. Maurice stood beside me, calm as water, guitar strapped tight like it was a part of him. He gave one sharp nod-and I knew we were in sync.

This was our kingdom. Belleville. Home. We'd left behind a one room flat with cracked windows and dreams scribbled on scraps of paper. Now, here we were, standing on top of everything we'd once been told we couldn't have.

But I wasn't thinking about the glory. I was searching the crowd. For her. Rosalie. Somewhere out there, watching. Or maybe not. Her curls wild, her red lips made to silence doubt and spark fire. I wanted her to see me now. Not as the boy she once held. As the man who survived. The beat dropped.

"From the gutter to the light!" I roared into the mic. Maurice followed, voice smoother than mine, cooler. It slipped into my verse like smoke into flame. We became one. The crowd howled. Their energy fed us. It made me feel like nothing could break us.

But when I turned, Maurice wasn't smiling.

His eyes were fixed beyond the lights. On her. Sophie. Standing backstage, arms folded, watching him like she owned the air he breathed. And he-he looked at her like he owed her everything. Something knotted inside me.

I had Rosalie. I shouldn't care. But I did. Because that look-that unspoken ache in his eyes-was something we'd promised to share only onstage. As brothers. As twins.

I felt it then. Distance. Maurice stepped into his verse like a king claiming his throne. The crowd screamed. But I wasn't hearing him anymore. I was watching. Trying to read between the lyrics.

Trying to understand what had changed. He entered the club like a ghost. Sophie just behind him, one hand brushing his back. A silent flag. A claim staked in whispers. It made my skin burn. I moved in. Fast. Hard. "You heard it?" Maurice gave me a nod. Careless. Cold.

"That's it?" I snapped. "Nothing to say?" "I heard a man desperate to stay relevant. That's all." "He dragged Rosalie. He dragged me." Maurice shrugged. "Maybe don't start a fire in a room full of gasoline." That's how he did it. Always the calm one. The smart one. Like emotion was beneath him.

"You knew," I said. "What?" "Don't act dumb. You saw the fallout coming. And you let it happen." He didn't blink. "I'm not your babysitter." That landed deep. Too deep. Rosalie appeared beside me. Her touch soft. Her voice softer. "Let's go." But I couldn't.

"You didn't defend her," I said to Maurice. "You didn't defend me." He exhaled like the weight of it all bored him. "I'm tired, Marc. Tired of cleaning up your firestorms." And just like that, I shoved him. He didn't fall. Didn't flinch. Just stared at me like I was a stranger.

"You think you're better than me?" I hissed. "You think being quiet makes you right?" No answer. Which was an answer. Rosalie tugged harder. Sophie stepped forward. "Don't," Maurice told her, voice like ice. And I knew. We were already falling apart. Hours later, I sat in the old studio. Alone.

Posters peeled from the walls. Coffee stains and static memories. This place used to be our temple. Our war zone. Our haven. Now it felt like a grave. I opened a demo Maurice had saved. Title: Silence Between Us. I hit play. His voice leaked into the room. Soft. Ghostly. Raw.

"We used to be louder than fear

Now we whisper like strangers near

I hear you in songs you don't sing anymore

My twin, my war, my mirror sore." I stopped the track. My throat ached. He'd been hurting too. And I hadn't seen it. My phone buzzed. A message from Korex. "Tell your girl I kept the photos."

Photos? What photos? The room spun. My heart punched my ribs. Rosalie? What the hell had she done? I walked Belleville's streets before sunrise. The silence felt cruel. And there he was. Maurice. Sitting on the hood of his car. Coffee in hand.

Waiting for me. We didn't speak. Didn't blink. We just sat in the tension. In the weight of everything unsaid. Maybe it was the kind of silence that comes before an explosion. Or maybe... ...the kind that comes before healing. Maurice finally speaks-but what he says changes everything.

The coffee in his hand was stone cold by the time I sat next to him on the hood. Not a word passed between us. Just the creak of metal under our weight and the unspoken ache growing louder in our silence.

We used to talk about everything. Music. Girls. Dreams. But now, words felt like landmines-we were afraid to step in the wrong direction. "You listened to the track," Maurice said, eyes still on the road. "I did." Silence again.

"It wasn't a diss," he added, voice low. "It was a goodbye I didn't know how to say." I turned to him, throat tightening. "Why didn't you say anything? Before things got... this bad." He shrugged. "You don't listen when you're hurt. You only fight." That stung. Because it was true.

"You kept Sophie a secret," I said. "You kept Rosalie a war." That hit deeper than I expected. I clenched my fists on my knees. "She believed in me." "No, she believed in the spotlight around you. You just never noticed."

We locked eyes. For a second, I didn't see my twin-I saw a stranger wearing his face. One who no longer trusted me. Maybe one I no longer trusted either. Then he added, almost like an afterthought, "Sophie's pregnant." Everything in me froze.

"What?" "She told me last night. I haven't told anyone else." A thousand thoughts crashed into each other-jealousy, betrayal, fear. A baby? Now? "Is that why you're pulling away?" I asked. "Because you're trying to build something new without me?"

"No, Marc. I pulled away because you were destroying everything we already built."

The words hit harder than any punch.

I stood, needing space, needing air. "I can't do this right now." Maurice nodded. "Then don't." As I walked away, my phone buzzed again. Rosalie: Come to the hotel. Now. It's urgent. I didn't hesitate.

When I got there, the door to her suite was wide open. Her purse was on the floor. The lamp beside the bed was shattered.

I called her name. Nothing. Then I saw it. One red heel near the bathroom. And on the mirror, scrawled in red lipstick:

"She knew too much." My heart dropped. Rosalie was gone. And someone wanted me to know it.