Chapter 1: The First Crack
The dressing room smelled like failure and old secrets. Lily Hartley sat on the cracked vinyl bench, her fingers working the microphone stand's clasp with a mechanical precision that betrayed nothing of the storm raging behind her ribs. The air was thick with the ghosts of a thousand shows—stale whiskey soaked into the floorboards, cigarette smoke etched into every surface, the faint metallic tang of sweat and adrenaline that no amount of cleaning could ever fully erase. A single neon sign buzzed overhead, its glass cracked like a ribcage, spelling out "Bakery" in flickering pink letters that cast her face in alternating waves of light and shadow.
She caught her reflection in the shattered mirror propped against the wall. Pale. Haunted. Her long dark brown hair hung limp around her shoulders, the balayage highlights dulled by sweat and exhaustion. Her brown eyes, usually warm and alive when she sang, stared back at her with a hollow quality that made her look ten years older than twenty-eight. She barely recognized herself anymore.
Adam's voice still rang in her ears, sharp and accusatory, each word a small blade she couldn't stop turning over in her mind.
You think I don't notice? You think I'm blind?
She'd tried to explain. Tried to make him understand that the tour was just a tour, that Andy was just the opening act's frontman, that nothing had happened—nothing. But the look in Adam's eyes when he'd stormed out of her apartment three days ago told her he didn't believe a word of it. And the worst part, the part that made her stomach clench even now, was that she wasn't entirely sure he was wrong.
Not about anything physical. She'd never crossed that line, never even come close. But there was something about Andy Biersack that made her feel seen in a way that terrified her. The way he looked at her during soundcheck, like he could see straight through the carefully constructed walls she'd built around herself. The way his voice dropped low and intimate when he spoke to her, as if they were sharing a secret the rest of the world wasn't privy to. The way her heart raced when he entered a room, betraying her better judgment with every erratic beat.
She pressed her palm against her stomach, feeling the slight swell that was still imperceptible to anyone who didn't know what to look for. Five weeks. That's how long she'd known about the tiny life growing inside her. Five weeks of staring at the pregnancy test in disbelief, five weeks of lying awake at night trying to figure out how to tell Adam, five weeks of watching her carefully planned future crumble into uncertainty.
And now Adam was gone, convinced she'd been unfaithful, and she was here, in this grimy dressing room, about to go on stage and pour her broken heart out to a crowd of strangers who'd never know the real story.
Her hands trembled as she reached for her water bottle, the plastic crinkling loudly in the quiet space. She unscrewed the cap and took a long sip, hoping the cool liquid would settle the nausea that had been her constant companion for the past month. It didn't. Nothing did anymore.
The muffled thump of the bass from the main stage vibrated through the walls, a steady heartbeat that reminded her she had less than twenty minutes before she was due to perform. Her band was already out there, doing their final soundcheck, running through the opening chords of the setlist they'd rehearsed a hundred times. She should be out there with them. She should be focused, ready, professional.
Instead, she sat here, frozen, replaying Adam's accusations like a broken record.
I saw the way he looked at you. I'm not stupid, Lily.
No, Adam wasn't stupid. That was the problem. He was perceptive enough to notice the shift in her behavior, the way she'd started pulling away, the distracted quality that had crept into her voice during their phone calls. He'd sensed something was different, and his insecurity had done the rest, painting a picture of betrayal that she couldn't quite convince him wasn't accurate.
Because some part of her wondered if she'd already betrayed him in her heart. If the way she thought about Andy, the way her pulse quickened when he smiled at her, the way she found herself gravitating toward him during downtime—if all of that counted as a betrayal even without a single touch passing between them.
She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to massage away the tension that had taken up permanent residence there. The neon sign buzzed overhead, a persistent insect drone that seemed to mock her inability to find peace. The whiskey stain on the floor caught the light, a dark reminder of all the broken people who'd occupied this space before her, all the shattered dreams and fractured relationships that had played out against these dirty walls.
A knock at the door made her jump.
"Five minutes, Lily!" The stage manager's voice was muffled through the wood, tinny and distant.
She called back a confirmation she didn't feel, her voice steadier than she expected. Five minutes. She could do this. She'd performed through worse—through the devastating breakup with her first serious boyfriend, through the crushing weight of her mother's illness, through nights when she'd wanted nothing more than to curl up and disappear. Music had always been her salvation, the one thing that made sense when everything else fell apart.
But this felt different. This felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing the ground beneath her was about to give way.
She stood, smoothing down her black stage dress, the fabric cool against her overheated skin. The mirror showed her a woman she barely recognized—shadows under her eyes, a tightness around her mouth that hadn't been there a few months ago. She looked like someone carrying a secret too heavy to bear, someone waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The door opened behind her.
She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. The air changed, charged with an electricity that made the fine hairs on her arms stand up. Perfume—expensive and dark—mingled with the scent of leather and something uniquely, unmistakably him.
"Well, well. Look who's hiding back here."
Andy's voice was a low rumble, intimate as a whispered confession. She watched his reflection approach in the shattered mirror, his tall frame cutting a imposing silhouette against the harsh backstage lighting. He moved with the confidence of someone who owned every room he walked into, his black hair falling in artful disarray around his pale face, those piercing blue eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
"Just getting ready," she said, her voice carefully neutral. "We're on in a few."
"Mmm." He stopped directly behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body, smell the whiskey on his breath mixed with something sweeter. "I saw you talking to your friend earlier. The one who came to watch soundcheck."
Her stomach dropped. She'd hoped he hadn't noticed. Adam had shown up unannounced, a peace offering of her favorite coffee in his hand, his eyes pleading for forgiveness even as his words carried an edge of accusation. She'd tried to keep the conversation brief, professional, but Adam had a way of lingering, of making his presence known.
"He's not my friend," she said quietly. "He's—"
"The father of your child."
The words hit her like a physical blow. She spun around, her heart hammering against her ribs, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to find words that wouldn't come. How did he know? She hadn't told anyone. The only person who knew was her sister, sworn to secrecy with a pinky promise and the threat of a lifetime of guilt.
Andy smiled, a slow, predatory curl of his lips that didn't reach his eyes. In the flickering neon light, his features seemed sharper, more angular, like something carved from shadows and intent.
"Surprised, Lily?" He stepped closer, forcing her to crane her neck to meet his gaze. "You think I don't notice everything about you? Every glance, every sigh, every time you touch your stomach like you're protecting something precious?"
Her hand flew to her belly automatically, a betrayal of the secret she'd guarded so carefully. "How—"
"I saw you in the pharmacy three weeks ago. And I saw the way your face changed when you looked at that little plastic stick." His voice was soft, almost tender, but there was something underneath it that made her skin crawl. "You looked so scared, Lily. So alone. And I thought—here's a woman who needs someone to take care of her."
"I don't need anyone," she said, but her voice came out weaker than she intended.
"Don't you?" He reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the intensity in his eyes. "You're standing here, about to go on stage, radiating distress like it's a perfume. And that man—Adam, isn't it?—he's out there somewhere, fuming with jealousy, convinced you've been cheating on him. He's not going to take care of you. He's not going to protect you."
"And you would?" She hated how breathless she sounded, how her body leaned toward him even as her mind screamed at her to step back.
"I would do more than protect you." He moved closer, his body a solid presence against hers, his breath hot on her neck as he bent down. His lips brushed her ear, and she felt the words vibrate through her entire being. "You belong to me now, Lily. You belong to me, and no one—not Adam, not anyone else—is going to take you away from me. I've waited too long for you. I've watched you from the shadows, memorized every curve of your body, every shade of your voice. You're my obsession. You're my everything."
She should push him away. She should tell him he was insane, that she was having another man's baby, that she wanted nothing to do with him. But her body wouldn't cooperate, frozen in place as his hands settled on her waist, his thumbs tracing small circles against her hipbones through the thin fabric of her dress.
"You rejected me once," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that was somehow louder than a scream. "Back when we first met, when you looked at me with those big brown eyes and told me you weren't interested in what I was offering. I let you go then because I thought you needed time to figure out what you actually wanted. But now?" His teeth grazed her earlobe, and she shuddered. "Now you're carrying another man's child, and he can't even bother to trust you. He doesn't deserve you."
"Andy, stop—"
"I won't stop. Not now, not ever." His hands tightened on her waist, and she felt the barely contained violence in his grip. "I've crossed oceans and burned bridges to get to this moment. I've pushed away every other woman who tried to claim my heart because none of them were you. And I'll be damned if I let some insecure bastard who doesn't appreciate what he has take you away from me."
She finally found the strength to push against his chest, creating a sliver of space between them. Her heart was racing so fast she thought it might burst, her palms slick with sweat, her mind reeling with the implications of what he was saying.
"You don't even know me," she managed. "You've built up this fantasy in your head, this version of me that doesn't exist. I'm just a woman who's scared and alone and pregnant. I'm not—"
"You're everything," he interrupted, his voice fierce. "You're the air I breathe when I'm drowning. You're the light in the darkness that follows me everywhere I go. You think I don't know you? I know you better than you know yourself. I know that you bite your lip when you're nervous. I know that you write lyrics in the margins of your notebooks when you think no one's watching. I know that you hum to yourself when you're happy and that you retreat into silence when you're hurting."
Every word he spoke was a knife, cutting away at her defenses. Because he was right. He did know these things about her, these intimate details she'd never consciously shared. She'd caught him watching her before, his eyes tracking her movements with an attention that should have creeped her out but instead made her feel strangely seen.
"I know that you take your coffee black even though cream makes you happy because you think you don't deserve small pleasures. I know that you sing to yourself when you think no one can hear, and your voice cracks on high notes when you're stressed. I know that you love so fiercely it terrifies you, that you push people away before they can hurt you, that you're carrying a child you're not sure you're ready for."
Her vision blurred, tears threatening to spill. How did he see so much? How did he know things she'd never told anyone, secrets she'd buried so deep she'd almost forgotten they existed?
"He's not coming back, Lily." Andy's voice softened, taking on a tone that was almost gentle. "I saw the way he left. The way he couldn't even look at you without flinching. He's already written you off as a loss. But I—I see you as a victory. I see you as the beginning of something extraordinary."
"I can't—" Her voice broke. "I can't do this. Not tonight. Not like this."
"Tonight is the only night that matters." His hands cupped her face, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. His blue eyes burned with intensity, a fire that both frightened and fascinated her. "You go out there and you sing your heart out. You show them all what you're made of. And when you're done, when you're exhausted and vulnerable and raw, I'll be waiting. I'll always be waiting."
The stage manager's voice crackled through the intercom, sharp and impatient. "Lily! On stage! Now!"
She flinched, the spell breaking. Reality crashed back in—the dressing room, the neon sign, the whiskey stain on the floor, the knowledge that she had to walk out there and perform while her entire world collapsed around her.
Andy released her, stepping back with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Go on," he said. "Show them what you're made of. I'll be watching from the wings. I'll always be watching."
She fled. Her legs carried her out of the dressing room and down the corridor to the stage entrance, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely hear her own thoughts. The music swelled as she approached, her band launching into the opening notes of her first song, but all she could think about was Andy's words echoing in her head.
You belong to me now.
No one will take you away from me.
I'll always be watching.
She stepped into the light, and for a moment, everything else faded. The crowd's roar washed over her, familiar and grounding. Her fingers found the microphone stand, the metal cool and solid beneath her touch. She closed her eyes and tried to find the place where music lived, the sanctuary that had never failed her before.
But when she opened her mouth to sing, all she could see was Andy's face and all she could feel was his breath on her neck and all she could hear was his voice whispering promises she was terrified to believe might be true.