He had. He'd meant it.
"Then you made me the loudest thing on the internet."
Her words, his words, turned back.
"Everyone knows now. My mother. My old coworkers. Reddit's pulling receipts. I've been dealing with the fallout all night and I didn't—" Her voice cracked. "I didn't get a say."
I did what he did.The thought arrived like a wrong note in the middle of a chord. Different instrument. Same theft. Took her story and performed it for a room full of strangers and called it a gift.
"You're right. I took a moment that wasn't mine. It won't happen again." He swallowed. "From now on, you call it. I follow your tempo."
She didn’t leave. But her face gave him nothing.
"When we talked at the gala… you got to me. You told me your story and thanked me for listening. You didn't ask for anything. You just… trusted me."
She swallowed but didn't speak, just kept looking at him, face blank.
"I started writing. Right there. A verdict.”
“I wanted to give you a song that matched that trust. But I used my tools. Performance. Publicity." The words tasted different out loud than they had in his head. Thinner. Less noble. "When it should have been your choice. Your call."
He stepped closer. Her grip on her own elbows had loosened. Just slightly.
"The song was for you."
She blinked. "What?"
"I wasn't just trying to embarrass him. I mean, yes, that too." His mouth almost twitched but couldn't commit. "But I wrote it for you. To make you feel seen."
He watched her expression shift.
"I was singing to you. The whole thing was your battle anthem. Something you could hear and know someone saw what he did and thought it was unforgivable."
Her hand had been twisting her engagement ring and now she went still.
"Then it got taken. Jax started tagging him, people started speculating, and it wasn't yours anymore. And you were left dealing with it."
She finally spoke again. "An empowerment song would be more empowering if I knew it was supposed to be. How was I supposed to feel empowered when I thought I was the joke?"
His eyes stung. His jaw worked, his composure slipped.
She saw it, didn’t step in.
"You were never the joke. Never." He dragged a hand through his hair. "You're the hero of that song, April. He's the punchline. The song isn't about you being foolish. It's about him being cruel. And you being strong enough to walk away."
"But I was just as bad." His voice cracked. "You trusted me. And I—"
He stopped. The words were right there. He couldn’t get them out.
He tried again. "I broadcast it."
She didn't speak. But her arms unlocked. Dropped to her sides.
"You are a muse. Not someone I get to use."
Every instinct he had was to close the distance. Anchor it. Seal it. He didn't. If she walked away now, it would be because she chose to. Not because he pushed.
But words weren't enough. Promises were cheap when you lived on stages. She deserved terms she could hold him to.
