Chapter 2

The lights of the "Tomorrow's Country Star" stage were blinding, just like before. The air crackled with anticipation, a sea of faces blurred beyond the footlights. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, a ghost of the terror I'd felt last time.

But this wasn't last time.

I clutched the small, smooth data stick in my pocket. My entry. An instrumental track, a carefully constructed demo of my song, "Heartland Echoes," with a session singer's guide vocals woven through about eighty percent of it. Enough to establish the melody, the structure, the soul of it.

My soul.

Brittany Sloane was up first. She glided onto the stage, a vision in white, guitar gleaming under the spotlights. Jake Myers, seated at the judges' table, gave her a subtle, encouraging nod. The cameras zoomed in on her innocent, hopeful face.

Then she began to sing.

My song.

"Heartland Echoes."

Every note, every lyric, identical to the version I had poured my life into. Her voice, technically proficient but lacking the raw ache I'd written into it, filled the auditorium.

The crowd was captivated.

When she finished, tears streaming down her face, the applause was deafening. She looked towards me, a flicker of something ugly – triumph? – in her eyes before the mask of wronged innocence slipped back on.

"Thank you," she sobbed into the microphone. "That song... it means everything to me. It came from my deepest heart."

She paused, then her voice hardened. "Which is why it's so painful... so shocking... that someone else in this competition, Emily Carter, would try to pass off my work as her own!"

A collective gasp went through the audience. Cameras swiveled to me. The live feed, I knew, was broadcasting my stunned silence to millions.

Jake rose from the judges' table, his expression a perfect mask of sorrow and righteous anger.

"Emily," he said, his voice booming with false gravitas. "As a judge, and as someone who once believed in your talent, I am appalled. This is a clear case of plagiarism. How could you?"

The online chat, visible on a side monitor, exploded.

"OMG, she STOLE it!"

"What a fraud!"

"Kick her out!"

Jake looked directly at me, his eyes cold. "I think it's best you leave the stage, Emily."

The old panic clawed at my throat, but this time, something else was there too. A cold, hard knot of determination.

They had no idea.