Page 19 of Siren

I stood after that. My thoughts moving faster than my mouth. He didn’t stop me. Just watched me the way he always did—like he already knew where it was going.

At the door, he called out.

“Raj.”

I turned.

“You don’t gotta play the game the way they wrote it. Just make sure when it’s your turn to shoot…”

He lifted his glass.

“Make the pocket yours.”

That one landed. Hard.

SIX

Jasmine raised a brow. “You rehearsing that line for him or yourself?”

I smirked, but the truth was, I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince because ever since I met him at the gallery—with that quiet intensity, the way he studied me like he already knew the parts I tried to hide—I’d been off balance.

I’d told myself he was just another artist. Another collab. Another talented man with good bone structure and a deep voice. But something about him unsettled me.

Not in a bad way.

In the kind of way that makes you wonder if you’re about to do something reckless.

Jasmine laughed, not missing a beat. “You couldn’t stop talking about him last night, so chill out.”

I adjusted my cashmere coat with one hand, pushing through the studio doors. “That was just commentary. I’m a vocalist. I talk.”

What I didn’t say—what I hadn’t stopped thinking—was how Taraj had stayed with me. That subtle kiss on the hand. The pressure of his soft lips. That look he gave me. That quiet confidence that didn’t try to sell itself. And maybe because it wasn’t performative, it found its way deeper. Settled in my bloodstream like a note you couldn’t unhear.

I hadn’t meant to tell Jas all of that. But I’d been off rhythm after the gallery, and she always knew how to catch the beat behind my words.

“You let it slip,” she teased now. “So now I’m holding you accountable.”

I sighed, stepping into the elevator. “I really wish I hadn’t said all that.”

She chuckled. “You did. Which means it struck you. I’m not saying fall for the man. I’m saying don’t pretend he didn’t rattle your cage a little.”

“He didn’t.”

“Mmm.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Manufactured is not music, Jas. And this entire arrangement feels... dressed up. Like we’re costumes for someone else’s vision.”

“But you said he didn’t feel fake.”

I didn’t answer.

She softened her tone. “Look, I know how much you’vesacrificed for this career. I know how hard it’s been to maintain your voice and your boundaries. All I’m saying is—you’re allowed to explore new chemistry. Even if it’s temporary.”

I exhaled. “You’re right.”

“Course I am. Now go do what you do, Enna.”

The elevator dinged. I stepped into the hallway and tucked my phone into my coat pocket.

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