I opened my mouth and started with a simple warm-up, a scale I'd taught myself years ago. My voice came out shaky, thin, unsupported. The headphones amplified every flaw, every breath, every slight waver in pitch.
Fear spiked through me. This was wrong. I sounded terrible. They'd realize I wasn't enough, that I'd wasted their time, that the street corner was where I belonged, and professional studios were for people with genuine talent.
But then I heard Kade's voice again, gentle through the headphones. “You're doing fine. Just breathe. Try it again.”
I reached to the side and poured a glass of water, finished it, then placed the empty glass down. Closing my eyes, I took a breath, and remembered.
Memories of standing on that corner under the lamppost, of the cold seeping through my layers, singing for coins. Remembered the teenagers who'd laughed and the woman who'd stopped to cry. Recollected that my voice had kept me alive, had fed me, had been the only thing I could count on when everything else had fallen apart.
I drew on that muscle memory, that survival instinct, and sang again.
This time, my voice came out stronger, supported by my diaphragm, reaching for the notes with confidence instead of apology. The warm-up scale transformed into something real, something honest, and I let myself sink into the sound.
The studio's acoustic treatment caught my voice and shaped it, returning it to me through the headphones clearer and more beautiful than I'd ever heard myself. This was what I really sounded like. This was what people heard when I sang.
I opened my eyes and saw Kade through the control room glass, leaning forward in his chair, his hands still on the console but his attention entirely focused on me. His expression held something I couldn't quite read: intensity, satisfaction, and something else that made my stomach flip.
I kept singing, letting the warm-up transition into a melody I'd written on the streets, and for the first time since arriving at this penthouse, I felt like I knew exactly what I was doing.
Chapter Ten
Jasmine
Through the control room glass, I could see Kade leaning forward in his chair, his attention absolute. Behind him, partially obscured, sat another man I hadn't noticed arrive... probably a sound engineer, judging by the way his hands moved over a separate section of the console, making minor adjustments.
The melody wanted to go higher still. I'd sung this progression before, knew where it led, knew the peak it was reaching toward. On the streets, this note had made people stop mid-stride, had cut through traffic noise and conversation to demand attention.
I opened my mouth and let it bleed out of me.
The note emerged pure and powerful, vibrating in my chest, throat, and skull. I felt it more than heard it through the headphones, felt the way it trembled through my entire body, making my bones hum with the resonant frequency. The studio's acoustics caught the sound and amplified it, returning it to me crystalline and impossibly clear.
And then something shattered.
The sound came from my left, a sharp metallic ping followed immediately by the cascade of breaking glass. I jerked my head toward the noise and saw a water glass on a side table nowexploding into fragments. The glass didn't just crack; it burst, pieces flying outward in a spray of glittering shards that caught the overhead lights as they fell.
The tinkling sound of glass hitting laminate flooring filled the suddenly silent studio, each shard making its own small chiming note as it bounced and settled. Some pieces skittered across the floor, traveling several feet before coming to rest. Others landed with soft thuds, too small to make much noise.
I stumbled backward; the note dying in my throat, cut off so abruptly it left a ringing silence in its wake.
Heat surged through my chest, spreading outward like I'd swallowed something burning. It wasn't pain exactly, but intensity, a sensation so overwhelming it bordered on discomfort. My hand flew to my throat, fingers pressing against the skin there as if I could feel what had just happened from the outside.
The ringing in my ears was immediate and insistent, a high-pitched whine that overlaid everything else. My heart pounded like a runaway train veering off the tracks, my hands were clammy, and my breath was shaky and muffled, as though I was hearing it through water. I yanked the headphones off with shaky hands and let them fall to hang by their cable.
The room spun slightly. I tried to walk, but everything was spinning. As I pressed my palm against the far wall, I sank to the floor.
What had I done? Would I be punished for it? Locked in and beaten? My breathing hitched as I gasped, trying to inhale. It was too late; the room was growing hazy as the door burst open, and arms were around me instantly.
“It’s okay, Jasmine,” Kade's familiar voice coated the air. “You did nothing wrong, sweet girl... quite the opposite.” I clawed at my throat, trying to breathe. “Quick!” Kade yelled out.
The sound engineer appeared and handed Kade a brown paper bag. “Here, breathe into this.” I tried, but my hands shook too much, so he held it in front of my mouth. “Breathe with me.”
I looked at him, my eyes wide with fear as the room darkened beneath my gaze. “In, now out... that’s it, take another deep breath in, and now out. Keep repeating that.”
My head bobbed in a nod, the room lightening suddenly. “Cliff, grab the first aid kit.” Cliff disappeared and returned with a green bag.
“That’s it, keep going. In... then out. In... then out.”
I was following his guidance more easily now. Even though my breathing was more under control, my whole body was still shaking. I stared at the scattered glass. The pieces glittered like tiny diamonds across the floor, evidence of something I'd caused.
