“I protected it,” she corrects.
Then, she starts ticking off the reasons slowly.
“If my public identity was separate from my real self, then legally, they only controlled Solace, not me.” She meets my eyes again. “They could sell the brand, but not the woman behind it.”
Damn. This is actually brilliant.
“The mask also made Solace bigger than a biography,” she goes on. “A symbol. Something people projected their own meaning into.”
I remembered all the theories and speculation online about the mystery behind Solace. I never thought it would boil down to this.
“People thought it was performance art,” I mutter.
“Exactly. Which helps because while everyone is busy guessing who Solace reallyis, I am working behind the scenes.”
“Doing what?”
“Taking back control. I recovered old recordings they tried to bury. Reconnected with producers from the ghost sessions. Archived proof of everything I’d done before they tried to erase me.”
I lean back against the closest wall, running a hand through my hair.
This is a lot.
“And you couldn’t tell anyone,” I conclude.
She shakes her head. “If the label ever connected my private life to Solace, it would destroy everything.” She swallows. “If I publicly acknowledge those ghost sessions, it opens a legal nightmare. And my agent, Ollie, has worked too hard to help cover these things to avoid royalty disputes.”
“Because the big stars didn’t actually sing their biggest songs,” I conclude.
“Bingo.” Her voice drops.
She doesn’t have to say the rest. If she tried to come forward about any of it, they’d erase her. Potentially, physically to avoid that big of a lawsuit. Companies get sketchy when a lot of money is involved.
“And if they wipe your history,” I begin, all the pieces coming together.
“They can claim ownership,” she says, realizing I’m getting it all now.
Anger rises in my chest. All the years of work she’s put in. It makes me sick.
“So, Solace was never the real you?” I hope that I’m right.
She smirks and shakes her head. “Solace is a weapon.”
A beat passes, and we both stare quietly. Part of me wants to be angry at her, but how could I be? She’s been trying to protect herself, not knowing what lengths they’d go to get what they want.
All this time, she’s been dealing with all this alone.
“Next time,” I mutter, “maybe lead with the whole secret pop star double-life thing.”
It’s the first time since she started explaining everything that I hear her laugh.
“I hate that you dealt with this all on your own.”
She clears her throat. “Not completely.”
My ears perk up, dying to hear who was so worthy of hearing her secret.
“My childhood best friend knows. Cassie.”
