Chapter 4 Smoke Without Fire

Marc Blanchet – POV

I watched the video five times. Not because I wanted to.

Because I needed to know if what I was seeing was real. And each time... it got worse.

The smirk on Korex's face.

The way Rosalie touched his arm.

The sound of her laughing-the exact laugh she gave me in the studio, in the car, in my bed. It was her. Clear. Sharp. Undeniable. There was no editing that could excuse what I saw. No angle that made it harmless.

I sat on the studio floor.

The same place we turned brokenness into beats, loneliness into lyrics.

And I watched it all unravel.

Our story. Our music My heart. The phone kept buzzing. Fans. Blogs. Friends-turned-gossips.

Fake support drowning in emojis. But no message from her. No apology. No explanation.

Just silence.

Maurice walked in holding coffee like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't just watched me get burned alive by a woman I thought I'd finally trust. He stopped when he saw me-eyes glassy, jaw tight, phone still glowing in my hand. "What happened?" he asked. I didn't speak. I just turned the screen toward him.

He watched. His lips pressed into a line. "Damn," he muttered. That was it. No outrage. No you'll be okay. Just damn. I stood. "That's all you've got?" He looked at me, calm as always. Too calm. "What do you want me to say, Marc? I warned you. You didn't listen."

"Please don't," I said, voice flat. "Don't talk like you're better than me." "I'm not," he said, sipping his coffee. "But I didn't hand my heart to someone I barely knew." I stepped forward. "And you think Sophie's a saint?" His eyes narrowed. "Leave her out of this." "Why? Afraid someone's gonna dig up her secrets too?"

His voice sharpened. "Stop projecting. Your heartbreak isn't my burden." I shoved him. Just once.

Not hard-but enough. He barely reacted. Just stared at me like I was beneath him.

"Get a grip, Marc," he muttered. "You're spiraling." I laughed. Hollow. Bitter. "You think I don't know that? You think I want to be this guy?" Silence.

Then he looked away. "We have an interview. Radio France. Don't ruin it." "Cancel it." "We can't." "I'm not going." "You will." "I said" "Marc," he snapped, eyes suddenly sharp. "We. Need. This." I went. Not because I cared about the fans or the label. But because I didn't want Maurice to look at me like I was weak again.

The station was clean and cold. Lights too bright. Smiles too fake. The host greeted us with a grin too wide. "Welcome back, M². Big week, huh?" "Big enough," I said, sitting stiffly. He smirked. "Mind if we talk about the elephant in the room?" I didn't blink. "You mean the distraction?"

Maurice shifted in his seat beside me. Like he already knew where this was going.

The host chuckled. "Right. Distraction. But... it's everywhere. People are asking."

"They always ask," I said. "Doesn't mean they deserve an answer." "But for clarity's sake-was Rosalie with Korex before she was with you?"

I opened my mouth-but Maurice beat me to it. "She was," he said. "But that's the past. We move forward." I turned to him, stunned. What are you doing? He met my eyes. Calm. Measured. Like we'd rehearsed this. We hadn't. I stood. "Interview's over." The host fumbled. "Wait-Marc-come on"I walked out.

Outside, the cold slapped me. A crowd had gathered near the exit. Fans. Reporters. Trolls with smartphones. Some screamed my name. Others screamed hers. "She's trash!" "You're better off!" "Korex warned you!" I pushed through the crowd, deaf to it all.

I kept walking until I found myself on the bridge near our old school-the one we used to cross every day, dreaming of arenas, awards, respect. Now? It just felt like a ghost walk. I sat on the ledge, wind tugging at my jacket, breath fogging the air.

For a moment, I wished I could go back.

To when music was pure.

To when Maurice was my brother-not my competitor.

To before her.

My phone buzzed. Rosalie: Please pick up. I stared at it. Then again. Sophie: Marc, I need to talk. Alone. Urgent. That was unexpected. I called, She answered immediately. "Thank God." "What's going on?"

"It's not what you think." "Really? Because that video looked exactly like what I think." "There's more. Things you don't know." "Then say it." "Not over the phone. Meet me? Rooftop in Belleville. The old one." I didn't text Maurice.

Didn't call Rosalie. I just went.

The rooftop was quiet. Windy. Familiar in a painful way. Sophie was already there. Hair tied back. No makeup. Just her eyes-dark with fear. "I'm only here because you said it was important," I said. "It is." "Then talk." She didn't flinch. "Korex planned everything." I folded my arms. "Start talking."

"He got close to Rosalie on purpose. Months ago. Before you ever met her. It was all calculated. He knew who she was before you did."

"Why?" "Because of what happened in 2020." I tensed. "You mean the record deal?" She nodded. "He never forgave you for winning it. For being chosen. He blames you for his career going nowhere."

"He didn't show up to the showcase." "But he doesn't care. He wants revenge." "And you know this... how?" She hesitated. Swallowed hard. "Sophie." She exhaled. "Because I helped him." Time stopped. "You what?"

"Before I met Maurice... Korex and I were close. Not romantic. But close. He trusted me. He told me things. And when I found out what he was planning... I didn't say anything." "Why?" "Because by then, I'd fallen for Maurice. I didn't want to risk it." "So you stayed quiet. And let it all happen." "I didn't know it would get this bad."

I looked at her like I'd never seen her before. "There's something else," she said. "A second video. Worse than the first." My pulse slowed. "What kind of video?" "It's you. From a party. Five years ago. You were drunk. Angry. Saying things you don't remember. Things that could kill your career." I took a step back. "No."

"He's going to release it. Unless you give him what he wants." "What does he want?" She looked me dead in the eye. "Your downfall." Marc returns to the studio, silent and shaken. He opens his laptop and finds an anonymous message: You made the stage your throne. Now watch it burn. Uploading: "Marc_Blanch3t_RawFootage_2018.mp4"

Countdown: 27 minutes.

Marc's hand trembles over the keyboard.He has 26 minutes left...

To stop a war. Or burn with it.