I release Jack’s shirt, and he staggers back, clutching his face.
“Ow—what the fuck?” he splutters, glaring at me. “Are you fucking insane—?”
“Oi,” Rupert barks. “No language like that in my house.”
Jack looks at him, incredulous as he gestures to me. “Hehitme!”
Rupert folds his arms. “I don’t know you from Adam, but if Brandon’s hit you, I’m willing to bet he had a bloody good reason.”
“Ifhe hit me?” He turns to Lily-Anne. “Can you believe this?”
She doesn’t answer. She just stares at him wide-eyed—and then, slowly, she looks away.
That’s when I step forward. My chest is still heaving, hands still clenched. My pulse hammers in my ears, but my voice comes out steady, cold and lethal.
“Be careful with her.” Then, colder still: “You don’t get to use her.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“No?” The room has stilled, all eyes on me as I speak. “I know what you’ve done.”
Lily-Anne stands frozen, eyes wide, colour drained from her face.
“Brandon…” Her voice wavers between shock and disbelief. She’s never heard me sound like this; never seen me like this. “What has he done?”
“I’d like the answer to that too,” Jack snaps, straightening his collar.
I lift my phone, my voice clipped and unflinching. “He stole your songs. That video you saw, Lily-Anne—he’s passing your work off as his own.”
Jack scoffs. “You’re off your head. Bloodymad.”
I tap the screen. The video plays.
His voice fills the room:“Just a little something I’ve been working on…”
Then the guitar begins, and once again, I hear her melody, her words, spilling fromhismouth.
I talk over the top of the audio, every word heavier than the last, each breath scraping loose painful truths I’ve kept buried. “You used Nova. Now you’re using it again by stealing Lily-Anne’s music. But it stops here. Not her. Not this time—”
A new video starts playing.
I freeze. It’s Lily-Anne’s voice. “Hi, I’m Lily-Anne,” she says, smiling shyly at the camera.“This song’s really special to me. It’s about second chances, and the people who help you find them.”
It’s the same backdrop, Jack sliding into frame beside her on the couch.“And I’m Willoughby. Believe it or not, this one was inspired by a little ol’ place by the sea called Whitstable. How ’bout that?”He grins—one for the camera, and one for Lily-Anne, who smiles back.
And then they play together.
I pause the video.
Silence stretches thin as everyone stares.
Jack’s snigger cuts through the tension, still rubbing his jaw where his skin’s turned red and swollen. “Since when does hyping someone up count as stealing? Remind me never to tagyouin anything, Brandon.”
Disoriented, I turn to Lily-Anne, holding the phone uselessly in my hands. “You said you didn’t know he was recording your music.”
But clearly, she did.
She looks apologetic as she whispers, “I’m sorry. I thought you meant proper studio recordings. Those were just short clips.” Then, to Jack, frowning: “You posted those without asking me?”
