Page 1 of Crucible

AURELIA

Ishouldn’t look, but I can’t help it.

As that last tweet so eloquently put it, my life is going up in flames, and the whole world is tuned in to watch it burn. At leasttheyhave the luxury of no one giving a shit when their own lives are in shambles.

Besides, I never claimed to be perfect.

I never even claimed to benice.

That glowing label was bestowed on me by the very people dragging my mutilated carcass across socials.

Sweet Aurelia.

The girl with the golden voice and the heart and hair to match.

It’s bullshit.

First of all, my hair is dyed, my heart is black, and my voice has never been my own.

The person the world fell in love with was nothing more than a PR stunt, and now they’re blaming me for being gullible fools.

None of those people talking shit know me.

Therealme.

If they did, they wouldn’t be surprised that I don’t shit rainbows and charm innocent woodland creatures with my song. One less-than-perfect moment in twelve years and my reputation takes a nosedive while my character gets slaughtered.

Fuck ’em all.

“Aurelia,” my publicist calls with an exhausted sigh. “Aurelia, are you even listening?”

No.

“Yes. People I don’t know hate me. Blah, blah, blah. I’m supposed to care and apologize. Blah, blah, blah.” I look over my shoulder at Joanna. “I heard every word, and I’m not doing it.”

“It’s one interview. Avery Shaw—”

“I’m not going on live TV to discuss something that should have beenprivate. I’m not going to explain my side to people who’ve already told me to fuck off. Well, you know what? Fuck them too. Fuck everyone. AndfuckAvery Shaw. That messy bitch can scoop someone else’s shit.”

Joanna, in her tailored white pantsuit and Valentino pumps, perks a brow from her seat behind her glass desk. She isn’t at all surprised that I’m kind of a cunt. She is, too. It’s why we work well together. “Don’t you think your temper is what got you into this mess in the first place?”

“Tania is a brainless, generic imitation of me, and she knows it. That’s why shebaitedme—”

“And you bit it, Aurelia,” Bennett, my agent, interrupts. “This time, more than you can chew. Now swallow it so we can get in front of this while we still can. You think the media isn’t offering Tania the same chance?”

I shrug, staring out the window of the high-rise while Joanna stands to pace behind me and Bennett reaches for the gin. I’m pretty sure I’m the reason my agent can’t stay sober. “I don’t care. She’s the one who needs the press. Let her choke on my crumbs.”

Joanna huffs and silences her ringing cell. A few seconds later, the phone on her desk starts ringing off the hook. Calls regarding me, I’m sure.

“Oh, really?” Joanna snaps. “Well, I’ve got news for you, Aurelia. No one’s untouchable. Not even you. You can’t hide behind your fans this time. You’ve got to face this.”

“Why?”

She huffs, and through the reflection in the window, I see her turn to my silent uncle for help.

Marston George, my dad’s younger brother, is a light-skinned Black man in his early fifties with a short beard, bald head, and eyes so dark they appear pupilless. I can’t tell you how many times he’s been mistaken for the actor, Stephen Bishop. Alas, I’m not that lucky. My uncle’s sitting on the sofa, twirling the brown liquor in his glass, but I know he’s far from indifferent.

I’ve been professionally singing since I was fourteen. Uncle Marston has been at my side every step of the way. He held my hand before every performance, through my first music deal, and when my dad died.

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