Part 15
Ethan was no longer the rising flame.
The same magazines that once called him the future of music now called him unstable, unpredictable, a fallen star.
Endorsements vanished.
Shows were canceled "for health reasons."
His fans — the ones who had once screamed his name — now flooded his comment sections with disappointment.
Every headline was a mirror, and every mirror reflected the same word: failure.
He told himself he didn't care.
He told himself fame was poison anyway.
But every night, he stayed awake scrolling through articles about Adrian — about his success, his humility, his perfection.
Adrian hadn't said a single cruel word in return.
That silence was worse than revenge.
It was mercy, and mercy hurt more.
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Adrian's world, meanwhile, was as bright as ever — or at least, it looked that way.
His concerts sold out.
His smile was on every billboard.
He laughed with his team, signed autographs, did everything right.
But when the cameras were off, something else lingered.
That same restless feeling — the sense that someone was watching from just out of sight.
It started small.
A reflection in a car window that didn't move when he did.
A bouquet of sunflowers delivered backstage with no sender's name.
A note slipped into his dressing room mirror, written in elegant handwriting:
You shine so bright, but light always draws shadows.
He didn't tell anyone.
Not yet.
He just folded the note and tucked it into his jacket pocket.
Later that night, as he stood alone in his penthouse, he thought about Ethan — about how far he'd fallen, how quiet the world seemed without his noise.
And for some reason, that quiet felt wrong.
Like the breath before something breaks.
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Across the city, Ethan sat in a dark studio, the glow of his phone the only light.
He'd been staring at a news article for hours:
Adrian to embark on world tour — "Feeling stronger than ever."
He whispered the words under his breath, mocking them, repeating them until they didn't sound like words anymore.
Then, with trembling hands, he opened his messages and typed:
"You don't deserve any of it."
He stared at the text for a long time.
Then deleted it.
When he looked up, he swore he saw movement in the reflection of the studio window.
A shape — faint, almost human — standing behind him.
But when he turned around, there was nothing.
Only silence.