Page 8 of Fallen Princess: Shadow Stalker

The girls won, but both bands went on to make hit after hit. Oliver managed both groups, and it wasn’t long before the media made it out that we competed for the top spot and even started rumors that we inter-dated with each other.

However, the reality couldn't be more different. Our bands rarely ran in the same circles.

Our autonomy dissolved the moment we signed on with our record label. Technically, we never had a say in our stage personas. We found ourselves not only overshadowed in the selection of our attire, the styling of our hair, and the application of makeup, but this extended to the very core of our public image. The invisible strings of societal expectations dictated not just how we performed but also who we were permitted to share our lives with. Every romanticinvolvement had to pass the scrutiny of our publicist as if love required approval. Conforming to a rigid narrative, we were confined within the boundaries of gender norms.

Our lives became scripted, the roles were predefined, and authenticity was sacrificed at the altar of public approval. Diversity was stifled in this theatre of illusion, and our sincere desires were relegated to the shadows, overshadowed by the relentless spotlight of conformity.

Remember that whatever you do, you risk the careers of your entire band members so don’t bloody do it.—the strict words of Oliver Jones echoed in our heads for six years.

He became our manager, mentor, career advisor, and father figure.

Two Grammys later, Oliver decided to add some spice to the boy band with female vocals and felt that I was better suited to singing main vocals with the Sonics. Little did he bank on that two years down the line, after a world tour and spending almost every single minute of the day either working or relaxing, my bandmates and I would end up falling for each other.

It wasn’t just teenage infatuation; the five of us fell hard.

Except I was reluctant to act on my feelings. I kept telling myself I was merely crushing on the guys. Being attracted to four people wasn't normal, but they convinced me we could make it work. They pursued me, and I finally relented.

I didn't realize they were recording our private moments. I didn't release the video the media is talking about, so one of them must have done it. I'm still figuring out why I let my guard down; I should have known better. I’ve been on my own my whole life, so why did I think I could trust them?

“Who released the video, Oliver?”

As my hand passes over the thick, vertical scar at the top of my chest, I feel the rough texture beneath my fingertips. My heart doesn’t want to believe any of them are capable of doing something so venomous.

But I need to face the truth: someone had to record us, and someone had to know about us. The only people who knew were the Vixens and the Sonics.

The Vixens had no reason to do this.

But the guys going AWOL justifies their guilt.

“I don’t know darling, but…,” Oliver’s constant hesitation is raking on my nerves. “They’re here in England recording a new album.”

New album?

I glance once more at the music sheets on the table. This was the new stuff we were secretly writing together.

“They never —” I stop abruptly.

Then, it hits me fast. They left California last week because they knew what would go down.

I was framed. Were they also responsible for my memory loss? I’ve lost several days of my life that I can’t remember.

“Am I being fired from the band? Is this what this phone call is about?”

“I’m sorry, luv. Maybe when this blows over, we can sit down. All of us. We could talk about it. But I need the lads to be focused on releasing a new single. It’s what the label has requested to try and kick this under the carpet.”

It’s me they’re kicking under the carpet.

I’m being fed to the lions so they can save the band.

“What about me?” I ask with a solid lump in my throat. “Are you dumping me too, Oliver?”

“Of course not, luv,” he says, almost too fast. “Let’s look into getting you a solo career. Maybe have a brand new look for you in a year or two. Back and stronger than ever.”

A year or two?

“So, four guys banging one female in an illicit video, and I get tainted with the bad brush.”

“It didn’t look like they were forcing themselves on you, luv.”

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