Erased: My Music, My Legacy

Erased: My Music, My Legacy

Gavin

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I watched the screen, my knuckles white, as two viral videos ripped my world apart. One was old, grainy, showing a younger me, working two jobs, sharing cheap pizza with Lucas, eyes full of hope for his music, our future. "We're gonna make it, Lucas," I'd whispered, believing every word. The second video was slick, from last night's awards, Lucas on stage, award in hand. "This is for you, Sophie," he declared, beaming at the pop starlet who sat in the front row. "With you, Sophie, I finally see clearly, no longer mistaking shadows for the sun." Shadows for the sun. That was me. The internet comments were a dumpster fire: "Lucas finally upgraded!", "Good riddance to that clingy ex!" My chest tightened. This wasn't just a breakup; it was a public execution of my past, my love, my countless hours pouring the legacy of Mateo-my deceased love, our songs-into Lucas. He was the man I' d spent years building up, only for him to erase me. A fraudulent document surfaced, a backdated "songwriting assignment" giving Sophie credit for our song. Even my own Aunt Maria went on record, calling me an opportunist. The world saw me as a villain, a user, a bitter ex. The truth? No one knew about Mateo, his raw talent, his tragic death, or how I' d desperately tried to keep his dream alive through his twin brother. No one knew the songs were always his and mine. I was drowning in an avalanche of lies. Then, an unexpected email landed in my inbox: "Ava, I saw the news. It' s BS. All of it." It was from Jay. He had Mateo's footage. And he was making a documentary. My whole story was about to change.

Introduction

I watched the screen, my knuckles white, as two viral videos ripped my world apart.

One was old, grainy, showing a younger me, working two jobs, sharing cheap pizza with Lucas, eyes full of hope for his music, our future.

"We're gonna make it, Lucas," I'd whispered, believing every word.

The second video was slick, from last night's awards, Lucas on stage, award in hand.

"This is for you, Sophie," he declared, beaming at the pop starlet who sat in the front row.

"With you, Sophie, I finally see clearly, no longer mistaking shadows for the sun."

Shadows for the sun.

That was me.

The internet comments were a dumpster fire: "Lucas finally upgraded!", "Good riddance to that clingy ex!"

My chest tightened.

This wasn't just a breakup; it was a public execution of my past, my love, my countless hours pouring the legacy of Mateo-my deceased love, our songs-into Lucas.

He was the man I' d spent years building up, only for him to erase me.

A fraudulent document surfaced, a backdated "songwriting assignment" giving Sophie credit for our song.

Even my own Aunt Maria went on record, calling me an opportunist.

The world saw me as a villain, a user, a bitter ex.

The truth?

No one knew about Mateo, his raw talent, his tragic death, or how I' d desperately tried to keep his dream alive through his twin brother.

No one knew the songs were always his and mine.

I was drowning in an avalanche of lies.

Then, an unexpected email landed in my inbox: "Ava, I saw the news. It' s BS. All of it."

It was from Jay. He had Mateo's footage. And he was making a documentary.

My whole story was about to change.

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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