There wasn't a corner of the city that didn't know her name.
Anna Smith.
A name that once felt borrowed now blazed across towering billboards, fronted magazine covers, dominated streaming charts, and headlined red carpets like it had always belonged to her. She wasn't just a singer anymore. She was an icon. A muse. A force.
Every designer wanted her face. Every award show wanted her presence. Every young girl in America wanted to be her.
Her voice, angelic, aching, unmistakable, could silence a room in seconds. And her image, polished, yet warm, made her feel untouchable and strangely familiar. As if the world had known her in another life, but couldn't quite place where.
Behind the camera flashes and flawless performances, Anna remained composed. She didn't chase fame, she carried it effortlessly. She was never late. Never rude. Never ungrateful.
But beneath the gowns and the rehearsals, under the shimmer of spotlights and the hum of adoration…
She still dreamed.
And sometimes… she still remembered.
The memories crept in like waves, soft and salt-heavy. A flash of pain in her ribs. Water rushing over her head. A name—Cole—echoing somewhere deep in her chest.
Anna never spoke of these things.
Not to her stylists. Not to her security detail.
Not even to Thomas.
She simply smiled, sang, and soared.
The world watched, breathless, as Anna Smith became untouchable.
But not everyone applauded.
In the sleek, glass-walled halls of Quinn Entertainment, resentment bloomed behind forced smiles.
"She didn't even audition," one of the top soloists spat during a makeup touch-up. "Thomas just found her and handed her everything. We trained for years."
"She gets the best producers, prime slots, every promo deal. Why do you think that is?" a backup dancer muttered, adjusting her heels.
"She has him," someone whispered bitterly, nodding toward the office balcony where Thomas stood, arms crossed, gaze locked on Anna like she was a live wire he couldn't afford to touch.
"It's favoritism," a choreographer hissed. "Let's not pretend it's anything else."
"She skips the grind and gets the crown. While we're out here lip-syncing at mall tours."
But still, Anna held her head high.
Not because she didn't hear them.
But because she refused to look back, into shadows she wasn't ready to face.
In the breakroom, two trainees whispered over matcha lattes and envy.
"Do you think she knows how lucky she is?"
"She's not lucky. She's… something else. Like she was built for the spotlight."
"I heard she has a kid too. And Thomas? Adopted the boy like his own."
"No way. That's real?"
"Come on, look how he watches her. Like she's the only one in the room."
In the main studio, Anna stood under the lights, mic in hand, waiting for the music cue.
Across the glass wall, Thomas watched.
She never asked for more. Never acted entitled. Never clung to him for leverage. But with every chart-topping single, every sold-out show, every time she called him "Thomas" in that quiet, grateful way…
He found it harder to look away.
She was the face of the company now.
But to him…
She had become something else entirely.
Something beautiful. Untouchable. And terrifying.
"Let's take it from the bridge," Anna said gently, snapping the crew out of their murmurs.
The music started. The world faded.
And in that moment, beneath the jealousy, the rumors, and the distant echoes of a life she no longer understood, Anna sang.
And for a little while, it all disappeared.