Stolen Melody, A Love Betrayed

Name: Stolen Melody, A Love Betrayed
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Gavin

Short stories | Completed

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My fiancé, Jake, and my sister, Brittany, stole the song I had poured my soul into for three years. It was my masterpiece, the one that was supposed to define our careers together. I heard their entire plan through the half-open door of the recording studio. "It' s the only way you' ll win the Vanguard Award, Brit," Jake insisted. "This is your one shot." My own family was in on it. "She' s the talent, I know, but she can' t handle the pressure," Brittany said, quoting our parents. "It' s better this way, for the family." They saw me as an engine, a tool, not a daughter or the woman Jake was supposed to marry in three months. The truth was a slow, freezing poison. The man I loved, the family who raised me-they had been feeding on my talent since the day I was born. And the baby I was carrying? It wasn't a symbol of our future; it was just the final lock on the cage they'd built around me. Later, Jake found me trembling on our apartment floor, feigning concern. He pulled me into an embrace, murmuring into my hair, "We have so much to look forward to. We have to think about the baby." That's when I knew exactly what I had to do. The next day, I made a call. As Jake listened in on another line, his voice cracking with a panic that was finally real, I calmly spoke into the phone. "Yes, hello. I' d like to confirm my appointment for tomorrow." "The one for the... procedure."

Family Betrayal Revenge Pregnancy Kickass Heroine

Chapter 11

09-23 17:02

Chapter 1

My fiancé, Jake, and my sister, Brittany, stole the song I had poured my soul into for three years. It was my masterpiece, the one that was supposed to define our careers together.

I heard their entire plan through the half-open door of the recording studio.

"It' s the only way you' ll win the Vanguard Award, Brit," Jake insisted. "This is your one shot."

My own family was in on it. "She' s the talent, I know, but she can' t handle the pressure," Brittany said, quoting our parents. "It' s better this way, for the family."

They saw me as an engine, a tool, not a daughter or the woman Jake was supposed to marry in three months.

The truth was a slow, freezing poison. The man I loved, the family who raised me-they had been feeding on my talent since the day I was born. And the baby I was carrying? It wasn't a symbol of our future; it was just the final lock on the cage they'd built around me.

Later, Jake found me trembling on our apartment floor, feigning concern. He pulled me into an embrace, murmuring into my hair, "We have so much to look forward to. We have to think about the baby."

That's when I knew exactly what I had to do. The next day, I made a call. As Jake listened in on another line, his voice cracking with a panic that was finally real, I calmly spoke into the phone.

"Yes, hello. I' d like to confirm my appointment for tomorrow."

"The one for the... procedure."

Chapter 1

Juliette Edwards POV:

The melody I' d poured my soul into for three years became the soundtrack to my life' s greatest betrayal, and I heard it all through the half-open door of the recording studio I practically lived in.

"Are you absolutely sure she won' t suspect anything?" Brittany' s voice was a nervous whisper, thin and reedy, so different from the powerful, emotive tone she was supposed to project when singing.

A beat of silence. I imagined Jake, my fiancé, running a hand through his perfectly styled dark hair, his brow furrowed with that look of thoughtful concern he reserved for managing her anxieties.

"I' m sure," he said, his voice a low, confident rumble that used to make my heart feel safe. "Juliette trusts me. And she trusts you."

"But it' s her masterpiece, Jake. Everyone knows it. What if someone at the label questions it?"

"They won' t," he insisted, a hard edge to his tone now. "We just need the final master track. Once we have it, I' ll handle the rest. I' ll make sure the right people know this song came from you. It' s the only way you' ll win the Vanguard Award, Brit. This is your one shot."

My best friend, Alaina, the sound engineer, had texted me an hour ago. "Jake and Brittany are here. Acting weird. He keeps asking for the final mix of 'Echoes of Us.' Said you approved it. Did you?"

I hadn' t.

I' d told her I was on my way. I wanted to see for myself what was so urgent.

"She' s just... so fragile," Brittany murmured, her voice laced with a strange, cloying pity. "She' s the talent, I know, but she can' t handle the pressure. It' s better this way, for the family. Mom and Dad think so."

"Exactly," Jake agreed, his voice softening again, coaxing. "She' s the engine, but you' re the star, Brittany. You have the beauty, the charm. She was never meant for the spotlight. This song will be launched by you, and she' ll have the satisfaction of knowing she helped her little sister. She' ll get over it."

He made my sound a stepping stone. A tool. Not a sister, not a partner, not the woman he was supposed to marry in three months.

The truth of their conspiracy didn' t crash over me like a wave. It seeped in, a slow, freezing poison that started in my gut and spread through my veins until my entire body felt like a block of ice.

I was standing in the dimly lit hallway, my hand still resting on the cool metal of the doorframe. My knuckles were white. The sharp edge of the frame was digging into my palm, a small, grounding pain in a world that had just shattered into a million pieces.

My chest didn't hurt. It was just... empty. A hollowed-out space where my heart was supposed to be.

I had come here to surprise him. I'd bought his favorite coffee and a pastry from the little bakery near our apartment, a small gesture to celebrate the near-completion of the song I thought would define our careers together. The coffee was now growing cold in my hand.

The autumn air outside had been crisp. But now, the chill I felt had nothing to do with the weather.

I should have been worried about Brittany catching a cold in this drafty building. I should have been thinking about the final bridge of the song, the one I' d stayed up all night perfecting.

Instead, a single, brutal understanding sliced through the numbness.

Betrayal.

It wasn't a sharp sting. It was a dull, heavy weight pressing down on me, crushing the air from my lungs. It was the taste of ash in my mouth. It was the faces of my mother, my father, my sister, and the man I loved, all blurring into one monstrous entity that had been feeding on my talent, my hope, and my love since the day I was born.

I don' t remember walking home. The journey was a blur of streetlights smearing through the rain that had started to fall. My feet moved one in front of the other, a mechanical action disconnected from my mind.

I didn't notice the key fumbling in the lock or the weight of my rain-soaked coat as I shrugged it off inside the door of the apartment Jake and I shared.

My body gave out before my mind could catch up. I slid down the wall, my back scraping against the cool plaster, and landed in a heap on the hardwood floor.

I curled into a ball, my arms wrapped around my knees, and started to tremble. The cold from the floor seeped through my jeans, an invasive chill that settled deep in my bones.

My stomach churned with a sick, acidic feeling. The coffee I' d been holding must have been thrown away somewhere along the walk, but the bitter taste lingered on my tongue.

Tears began to stream silently down my face, hot trails on my icy skin. I didn't have the energy to wipe them away. They just fell, dripping from my chin onto my jeans, creating dark little spots in the denim.

The click of the doorknob turning made my entire body go rigid.

The sound of his expensive leather shoes echoed on the floor, growing closer.

He knelt beside me, his movements slow and gentle. "Juliette? Honey, what are you doing on the floor?"

His voice was a masterpiece of feigned concern.

"Are you cold? You' re soaked." I felt his hand on my shoulder, warm and heavy. Alaina must have called him. She left work early, said she felt sick.

"Are you feeling ill?" he asked, his thumb stroking my arm in that soothing way he knew always calmed me down.

I could feel the warmth of his body as he shuffled closer, his familiar scent of sandalwood and clean linen filling my senses. He brushed a stray, damp strand of hair from my face.

His eyes, the color of warm whiskey that I used to get lost in, were filled with a carefully constructed worry. "Juliette, what' s wrong? Talk to me."

He was so close I could see the tiny flecks of gold in his irises. He cupped my face in his hands, his touch tender.

"You have to be careful," he whispered, his voice soft as velvet. "Especially now."

I stared into his eyes, and for the first time, I saw it all with horrifying clarity.

The deception wasn't a new thing. It was the very foundation of our relationship.

Five years ago, a fabricated scandal had nearly destroyed my budding career before it even began. A rival musician, desperate for a record deal, had falsely accused me of plagiarism. The media frenzy was relentless. My quiet, introverted nature was twisted into an admission of guilt.

My family, instead of protecting me, saw an opportunity. They pressured me to step back, to fade into the background, "for the good of the family name." They said Brittany, charming and camera-ready, was better suited for the public eye.

It was Jake, my producer and then-boyfriend, who had presented the solution. He' d announced to the world that the songs were a collaborative effort, that I was the shy composer, and he was the face of our partnership. He saved my reputation, but at a cost: I became a ghostwriter in my own life.

Then came the public proposal, a grand, romantic gesture at an industry awards show that cemented our image as a power couple. It felt like salvation. I believed he was my savior, the only one who truly saw my worth.

I thought he was rebuilding my world. In reality, he was just building a more elaborate cage.

In the years that followed, I poured every ounce of my talent into his production company. I wrote, I composed, I arranged. My music, filtered through his name and brand, made him a rising star in the industry. His company grew from a small indie label to a major player, signing new artists and winning accolades.

We were a team. I believed that. We bought this beautiful apartment overlooking the city. We talked about a future, about children, about growing old together.

I thought we had the perfect life.

Now, looking at him, I knew. I was just the most valuable asset he owned.

He pulled me into an embrace, his arms wrapping around my trembling shoulders. He rested his chin on the top of my head.

"Whatever it is, we' ll get through it," he murmured into my hair. "We have so much to look forward to. Soon it won' t just be the two of us. We have to think about the baby."

His smile, the one that used to make my knees weak, was a perfect, beautiful lie.