Page 4 of Siren

“You are,” Jalen cut in, almost apologetic. “But the timing lines up. Your album’s in early development, and his numbers are climbing. We’ve got a window.”

“And you want me to crack it open.”

Brielle leaned in closer. “He’s got the heat. You’ve got thecatalog. The pairing makes sense. Real music heads will love it. And if you play it right? So will everyone else.”

Charli jumped in, voice too cheerful. “We’re thinking behind-the-scenes content. Studio snippets, a few visuals. Maybe even some… spontaneous moments. Keep it organic but, you know… curated.”

My jaw tightened.

I sat back slowly, folding my arms. “Spontaneous.”

Brielle’s smile thinned, but she didn’t break.

“You want to say it, say it,” I said, eyes locked on Charli now. “Y’all want them to think we’re fucking.”

The room stilled.

Even Greg shifted in his seat.

“I’m not stupid,” I said. “I know how this works. A few close-up shots, a little leaning in, maybe a candle-lit performance where the lights are low and our mouths almost touch. Let the internet do the rest, right?”

Brielle tried to cut in. “Enna?—”

“I’m not mad,” I said, standing now. “I’m insulted.”

Because this wasn’t just strategy—it was calculated. Another repackaging of a woman like me. Not just an artist. Not just a voice. But a body. A fantasy. Something to make numbers move.

And it cut deeper than I wanted to admit. Not because I couldn’t carry the moment. But because I’d been carrying it for years. Alone.

Every award, every late-night flight, every tear-streaked makeup wipe and press junket smile—I’d given this industry everything. I’d missed birthdays. Grieved losses in greenrooms. Sacrificed so much of myself in the name of art. And now?

Now I was being told I needed help to be seen again.

“You think I got here by accident?” My voice was quiet, but it cut. “You think I gave up relationships, holidays, my damn twenties, just to become a trending topic tied to some man’s jawline?”

Nobody answered. Jalen looked like he wanted to. But he didn’t.Smart man.

I reached for my bag. And then Brielle stood too, fast, hand out like a stop sign.

“Enna. Wait.”

I paused.

Her voice dropped to a whisper only I could hear. “I would never sell you like that. And you know it.”

I stared at her.

“This isn’t about making you his. It’s about making sure the world doesn’t forget you.”

My throat burned. I didn’t want it to. But it did.

“He’s not the story,” she said. “You are. He’s just the spark.”

I stayed quiet.

Brielle stepped closer. “You don’t have to fake a thing. Just show up. Do the work. Let the energy do what it does. Whatever the internet wants to believe, let them.”

“They always do,” I muttered.

---