I opened my eyes to the familiar crack in my Austin apartment ceiling. My phone buzzed: "Desert Bloom" Release Day. This was it: the day my life ended in a nightmare I'd already lived. Caleb, the Nashville star, would steal my song, ruin my reputation, and trigger a cascading tragedy that led to my parents' death and my own fall from Pennybacker Bridge. But I was here, alive, on that same morning. Panicked, I called my manager, Marcus, and demanded he pull my song immediately. It was too late. Two hours later, a news alert confirmed my horror: Caleb had released "Desert Bloom." It was my song, note for note. Desperate, I wrote an entirely new song offline, recording it on an old 4-track, a raw anthem of rage. Five days later, the headlines screamed: Caleb had released that song too. He wasn't just stealing my music; he was stealing my thoughts, pulling them directly from my mind. The despair was crushing, the violation absolute. How was this possible? My ex-girlfriend, Chloe, then called, inviting me to Caleb's victory party, feigning concern. This wasn't about saving face; it was a trap. But I agreed, for this time, I wasn't just surviving; I was going to Nashville not to beg, but to fight, to find out how deep this impossible betrayal ran, and unleash a force that could make them pay.
I opened my eyes to the familiar crack in my Austin apartment ceiling.
My phone buzzed: "Desert Bloom" Release Day.
This was it: the day my life ended in a nightmare I'd already lived.
Caleb, the Nashville star, would steal my song, ruin my reputation, and trigger a cascading tragedy that led to my parents' death and my own fall from Pennybacker Bridge.
But I was here, alive, on that same morning.
Panicked, I called my manager, Marcus, and demanded he pull my song immediately.
It was too late.
Two hours later, a news alert confirmed my horror: Caleb had released "Desert Bloom."
It was my song, note for note.
Desperate, I wrote an entirely new song offline, recording it on an old 4-track, a raw anthem of rage.
Five days later, the headlines screamed: Caleb had released that song too.
He wasn't just stealing my music; he was stealing my thoughts, pulling them directly from my mind.
The despair was crushing, the violation absolute.
How was this possible?
My ex-girlfriend, Chloe, then called, inviting me to Caleb's victory party, feigning concern.
This wasn't about saving face; it was a trap.
But I agreed, for this time, I wasn't just surviving; I was going to Nashville not to beg, but to fight, to find out how deep this impossible betrayal ran, and unleash a force that could make them pay.
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