Her eyes, wide and brimming with desperation, moved over my face, as if searching for a sign that she could trust me. Finally, she asked, “Have you ever felt like you're not in control of your life?”
I nodded. “I’ve been there.”
“Well, for me, it’s not just a feeling. I really have no say in my life. Not since I got into this business. It isn’t what I thought it would be.”
My breath hitched. She was opening up. I had to tread cautiously. “Do you mean you have no control over your music…?”
“No.” She shook her head emphatically, sending curls flying. “Everything. After I got discovered on social media, I thought I had it made. I was offered a record deal and everything. Ithought I’d be livingthelife, doing what I love, and making a ton of money. I thought I’d be happy. But I’m miserable. I want out.”
I swallowed, afraid to utter even a word that might make her clam up again.
“Out of the music industry?”
She looked at me then, and I almost took a step back because of the sheer agony I saw in her eyes. “And everything that comes with it.”
“What else comes with it?”
Nyla wrapped her arms around herself. Her eyes darted toward the villa as if she were afraid someone might be watching.
“It’s okay, Nyla,” I said softly. “You can tell me.”
“Sometimes, I’m forced to do things I don’t want to. Carry things…”
By things, I was almost positive she meant illegal drugs.
She glanced over her shoulder. “I’ve already said too much.”
Disappointment settled in my gut.
“He always finds out,” she whispered.
“Who?”
“This guy who’s always giving the president of my label orders. Everyone is afraid of him.”
“He’s the one who forces you to do things?”
She nodded. “Pretty much. He gives the orders and the label, my manager,everyone—they all do as he says. That means I have to fall in line, too.”
“Are you going to tell me what you’re forced to do, Nyla?”
After a beat of silence, she said, “It’s better if you don’t know. Look, Ava, forget everything I said.” She sighed heavily. “I don’t know why I said anything. I guess I feel overwhelmed sometimes.”
My mind spun. The CEO of Nyla’s label was under the missing link’s ruling thumb. Who was he? If I could just find thebridge between Nyla and Vauxhall. “This man, do you know his name?”
Nyla hesitated. “Uh… something Rourke… I forget. I’ve only met him once.”
My heart jolted. A last name was good. It was all I needed. I had just uncovered a vein worth digging into. But Nyla looked fragile now, with her shoulders hunched and her eyes misty. So I decided not to push. Instead, I reached into my purse and scribbled my phone number on the tiny notepad I had in there with the message:Call me. Anytime.
Just as I tore off the page and was about to hand it to her, a voice sliced through the quiet.
“Phoenix!”
We turned.
A man was striding toward us, his expression thunderous. I recognized him instantly. He was the one who had yanked Nyla away at the album listening party. His jaw was tight, and his eyes locked on Nyla as if she’d committed a crime.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
