Chapter one
Lila
The stadium lights blaze overhead. Twenty thousand voices roar as one, the sound vibrating up through my boot heels, settling somewhere deep in my chest where the melody lives.
I hit the peak note of the ballad, breath steady.
My lungs are open. My core is locked. My hands are relaxed on the stand like I’m not trying to white-knuckle my way through this tour.
Then something flickers at the far edge of the stage.
My eyes catch movement in the split second between lyric and breath.
A man vaults the barrier like he’s clearing a fence in a backyard, not the security line of a sold-out stadium tour. He lands hard, stumbles, and keeps coming.
The world narrows to the angle of his shoulders and the way he leans forward.
Like he wants something.
He’s close enough now that I can see the sign in his hand.
Homemade. Crooked. Sharpie letters. My name is spelled wrong.
Under it is an image taped on. A still frame from the podcast clip that’s been following me like a stray dog.
The lies my ex dropped into the world like poison—the same ones that podcaster ran with, twisted, and monetized.Lila Hart's dark side. What really happened behind closed doors.
The song keeps going without me. The band holds. My backup singers carry the harmony, but I can't sing.
The man reaches for the nearest mic stand and yanks a backup singer’s mic free. The sound screeches. Feedback howls. The stadium turns from roar to startled, animal noise.
He’s red in the face. Eyes too bright.
Security floods the stage in a black wave. The head of my security, Manny, leads the charge—broad shoulders cutting through the chaos, steady and immovable as always.
He's been with me for my whole career, like a father to me. The only person who knows how bad it's gotten.
His expression stays calm, focused, the kind of reassurance I need when panic crawls up my spine.
But it doesn't help. Not this time.
The man squeezes out one clear, awful shout before Manny reaches him:
"You're anawfulperson, Lila!"
Manny yanks the power cable and the mic dies. The man’s mouth keeps moving, still shouting into silence, still spitting poison like the noise itself is the point.
The sign drops.
It skitters across the stage, scraping against the black floor. It spins once and lands facedown.
Thank heavens.
The man disappears offstage in seconds, hauled backward by three security guards.
But my body doesn't get the memo that I'm safe.
My vision tunnels. Edges blur, darkness creeping inward. My knees buckle beneath me.
