Page 7 of Fallen Princess: Shadow Stalker

Goddamn leeches of the media world.

“I would advise against any commenting,” Oliver states with a firm tone. “In such cases, I would take a step in the direction of our beloved Queen E, who snubbed the tabloids on royal gossip. She survived all that royal drama, and you can too. Don’t be tempted to talk, regardless of what they offer. They’ll spin it to make you lookbad. Watch the infamous MJ interview, and you’ll understand what I mean. Talking does no one any good.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Where are the boys?” I ask, changing the topic and dreading the answer.

Suddenly, I’m met with radio silence on the other end of the line.

“Oliver?”

Did something happen to them? And here I thought they abandoned me when all along, something must have happened to them too. Maybe they were drugged and kidnapped too.

The memory of being at a party with Brittney and the girls immediately comes to mind. It’s a bit foggy, but it’s the last thing I remember. I look at the screen of my laptop.

It’s Tuesday.

Suddenly, the ball of realization drops hard.

Hold the fuck on.

I’m sure the party was on a Friday. Brittney had a screen test for a television show that morning, and we were at the party celebrating her getting the part.

“Listen, luv.” Oliver interrupts my thoughts, his hesitation is evident in his voice.

Oh god, something happened.

A sense of foreboding washes over me, amplifying the confusion in my mind as dread creeps in.

“Eden, darling, right now, we should let the dust settle. Maybe talk about going solo in the near future. Get you into a studio to do some recordings.”

The earlier dread takes a nosedive into the pit of my stomach. The realization hits me –I’m getting kicked off the band, and half of me is trying to figure out why.

Memory loss.

Scandalous video.

My relationship with all four band members.

My career.

An unsettling lump forms at the back of my throat, and I struggle to maintain composure.

“I didn’t send the video, Oliver. I didn’t even know there was one.”

“I know, darling,” he says, stopping short of elaborating further.

Oliver Jones owns us, holds all the power to our music careers, and now he’s going to cut me loose, abandon me to be eaten alive by the pack of dogs waiting outside my gates of hell.

I was brought into Sonic Revolution two years ago, transforming it from an all-boys band to a dynamic group with a new dimension. Initially met with resistance, it took our first number-one hit for the guys to warm up and recognize our potential together. Then, a year ago, our friendship took a different turn when all four boys admitted their crushes to me. Relentlessly pursuing me for months, they treated me like their queen until I decided to let them in a little.

It's not that I wasn't attracted to them. Who wouldn't be drawn to the four Brits who reshaped the international landscape of pop music and boy bands? I became every fan's dream and nightmare – every girl wanted to be me and, at the same time, loathed me, quickly becoming their envious target of objectification. As the only girl in the band and front runner on stage, I took center stage in their private lives too, blocking out female groupies wanting to hook up with the boys.

Little did those female fans know that the guys had collectively decided to discontinue encounters with groupies during our tours– a choice or demand that I never personally insisted upon.

The boys had a following way before the band had a name. And so did I.

Oliver Jones hand-picked us from hundreds of contestants on a six-month-long TV show. My old girl band,Sugar Vixens, and the boys' bandSonic Revolutionwere formed on live broadcast, and we battled it out while the country voted on which band they wanted to win.

---