Maya didn't go home that night. Instead, she drove along the coastline until the sunrise threatened the horizon, letting the roar of the waves and the chill in the air remind her she was still real, still grounded. By the time she pulled into the backlot of the record store, the exhaustion had hollowed her out, but the ache beneath her skin had nothing to do with sleep.
She didn't speak of what happened. Not even to herself.
Inside the small store, the familiar scent of vinyl, wood, and strong espresso greeted her like an old friend. Liam Knowles was already there, hunched over a turntable with his headphones askew, nodding to a beat only he could hear.
He looked up and did a double take. "Whoa. You look like you survived a storm."
"Something like that," Maya said, forcing a smile. "Sorry. I needed a distraction."
Liam stood and crossed the room to hand her a steaming mug of black coffee. "Rough session?"
"Yeah. And… I was stupid."
He frowned, concern immediately clouding his features. "What happened?"
Maya took a long sip, buying herself a moment. "Julian and I… We crossed a line."
Liam's expression darkened. "Please tell me you didn't sleep with him."
She looked away. That was answer enough.
"Jesus, Maya," he said, running a hand through his tousled hair. "You said this was about closure. About taking control."
"It still is."
"No, it's not. You let him in again."
"I know," she whispered, her throat tightening. "It wasn't planned. It just… happened. And I already regret it."
Liam was quiet for a moment. Then he set his coffee down and leaned against the counter, arms folded. "You don't have to punish yourself. But you do need to be honest about what this is."
"I am."
"You're not. Because if you were, you'd admit that Julian doesn't change. He just adapts to keep you hooked."
Maya nodded slowly. She couldn't argue. Not when her skin still remembered the heat of Julian's touch. Not when her body still pulsed with a ghost of that night.
"I'm not going back," she said finally. "Not emotionally. I'm finishing the song. And then I'm out."
Liam's voice softened. "Good. But don't go back there today. You're not ready. Let yourself breathe."
Maya stayed at the store until dusk, helping Liam reorganize the jazz section, teaching a small group of kids to play "Let It Be" on beginner guitars, and pretending that her life hadn't slipped into chaos again. For a few hours, the laughter, the music, and Liam's steady presence soothed the war in her chest.
By the time she left, the city was cloaked in twilight. She didn't go to Vortex. She didn't answer Julian's messages. Instead, she went home, lit candles, and pulled out her oldest songwriting journal.
The pages were filled with scribbles from their early days—half-written lyrics, doodles of broken hearts, and phrases that once meant everything. She flipped to a page titled "The Warning."
It wasn't a song they'd ever recorded. It was raw. Bitter. A prophecy she hadn't seen coming until it was too late.
You kiss like a secret, You lie like a prayer, And I keep folding myself Just to say I was there.
Her phone buzzed.
Julian: Are you okay?
Julian: I'm sorry. Please come back tomorrow. We can just work. No games.
She stared at the screen, thumbs hovering.
Maya: Not today. Maybe tomorrow.
She didn't wait for a reply. She tucked the journal back in its drawer and curled into bed, willing herself not to dream of velvet kisses and whispered apologies.
The next morning, she woke up to an email from Zara.
Subject: Progress?
I trust things are moving forward. Julian said you had a "productive" session. Don't forget your NDA. And remember what's at stake—for both of you.
Zara Carrington
Maya rolled her eyes and deleted it without replying.
By the time she arrived at Vortex that afternoon, Julian was already inside, seated at the control board, fidgeting with knobs.
"You came," he said quietly.
"Don't make it sound like a victory."
He offered a small, almost sheepish smile. "No games. I promise."
"Good. Because if you touch me again, I'll break your fingers."
Julian chuckled. "Noted."
They got to work. This time, it was different. Focused. Clean. Professional.
Julian kept his distance. Maya kept her walls high. They finished the chorus, laid down the scratch vocals, and debated the final key change with the fervor of two artists who knew exactly what they wanted.
Still, the tension simmered beneath every interaction. When she handed him a page of lyrics and their fingers brushed, Maya felt it—a flicker of heat, quickly extinguished.
"You still write like it's your religion," he murmured.
"And you still talk like you're trying to be forgiven."
He smiled sadly. "Maybe I am."
That night, as she packed her things, he surprised her.
"Would you… would you come to the benefit show next weekend?"
Maya froze. "Seriously?"
"I'm doing a short set. Nothing big. Just something for the foundation that helped my sister through rehab. I thought… maybe it'd mean something if you were there."
She hesitated. "You want me there as what? A guest? An accessory?"
"Neither. I want you there as you."
The honesty in his voice caught her off guard.
"I'll think about it."
He nodded. "That's all I ask."
Outside, Maya leaned against her car and let herself breathe. The air was cooler now, heavy with the scent of night jasmine.
She called Liam.
He picked up on the second ring. "You good?"
"Better," she said. "And I think… I think I'm figuring it out."
"I never doubted you."
"Can I see you tomorrow?"
"I'll be here."
And for the first time in days, Maya allowed herself a small smile.
Julian might still echo in her blood, but Liam… Liam was beginning to feel like clarity.
Like music without pain.
Like the silence after a storm—and the promise of something better.