Chapter 3

"Lena? What are you doing here?" Blake asked, his voice feigning concern, but his eyes were cold, calculating.

She couldn't speak. The words wouldn't come. The mocking laughter still echoed in her ears. The image of her father's guitar in that collector's hands burned behind her eyelids.

Chloe stepped forward, her eyes glittering with malice. "Lost, little songbird?"

Lena finally found her voice, a choked whisper. "The money. The guitar."

Blake sighed dramatically. "Lena, we can talk about this later. You look upset."

"Upset?" She wanted to scream. "You lied. All of it. Your sickness."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his face smooth, unreadable. He was a good actor. She finally saw it.

Chloe let out a small, disdainful laugh.

Lena turned and fled, stumbling out of the clinic, the city air feeling thick and suffocating.

Humiliation. The video. Her birthday.

It was all a calculated plot to destroy her.

The next few days were a blur of pain and disbelief. She couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. The songs she'd written, the ones Blake sang, now felt tainted, stolen.

She had to quit her waitressing job at The Bluebird, a popular music venue. She couldn't face the sympathetic smiles, the questions about Blake.

She went in during the afternoon lull, hoping to just drop off her apron and leave.

But Chloe was there, holding court with her entourage at a prime table.

"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," Chloe sneered as Lena walked past.

Lena ignored her, heading for the manager's office.

"Not so fast," Chloe called out. One of her friends, a hulking guy with a vacant expression, blocked Lena's path.

"I heard you were looking for a new gig," Chloe said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "My Louboutins are a bit scuffed. Maybe you could polish them? With your tongue?"

Her friends snickered.

Rage, cold and sharp, cut through Lena's despair. "Get out of my way."

As she tried to push past, her arm bumped a drink on a nearby tray. It sloshed, dark liquid splashing onto Chloe's pristine white designer dress.

Chloe shrieked. "You clumsy little witch! This is couture!"

"It was an accident," Lena said, her voice tight.

"An accident you'll pay for," Chloe hissed. "Get on your knees and lick it off. Or maybe you can sing us a sad little song about your broke, pathetic life."

Lena stood her ground. "No."

She turned to leave.

"Don't you walk away from me!" Chloe screamed.

The hulking friend grabbed Lena's arm, spinning her around.

Before Lena could react, another of Chloe's friends, a guy with a cruel smile, smashed a glass bottle over the side of her head.

A blinding flash of pain.

The sound of shattering glass.

Chloe's triumphant laughter.

Then, darkness.