Page 65 of Siren

Solo. Guarded. Not cold. Just… locked up.

“She been texting you?” Amir asked.

“Yeah. Studio stuff. Nothing personal.”

He nodded. I didn’t. Because it was getting personal. Even in her silence.

Especially in the spaces where her voice used to live. AndDangerous Lovewas still unfinished. Because what’s a song about longing—without the woman you long for in the room?

Amir had been watching me silently. The way I would watch him when he was going through it with Amaya. As if he could read my thoughts he said, “I remember when that shit had me twisted,” he said, laughing.

“Back when Amaya was acting like we were just ‘good friends’ and I was eating her shrimp fried rice like it wasn’t breaking my heart.”

That pulled a real smile from me. “You were down bad.”

He pointed. “Still am. But it’s worth it. When you’re in the thick of it, you can’t see the forest for the trees.”

I looked away, jaw flexing.

Because yeah… I was deep in it. Deeper than I meant to be.

Before I could respond, he clapped my shoulder. “We lay this right, it’ll be a classic. One run, catch the feel. Photogs stepping in later—just some raw stuff. BTS energy.”

I nodded.

But the quiet stayed with me.

That ache that came when you started to feel like background in your own story.

And yet, I stayed. Because something in me believed the door wasn’t fully shut.

Sienna arrived twenty minutes later.

Myles too—laughing, dapping up the team with that easy energy he always carried. But I didn’t clock him at first. Not when she stepped in.

Her skin shimmered golden-brown beneath the soft lights, like she’d rushed to get here but still looked composed. Effortless. Her curls pulled into a low puff, a few rebellious spirals dancing over her cheekbones. No lipstick. No gloss. Just her—bare, beautiful, unguarded in a way that made my chest tighten.

Her eyes scanned the room, sharp and focused. But when they brushed over me—just for a moment—I felt it. That flicker of something real. Recognition. Then… distance.

We ran the track once. Then again.

The song was intimate—slow piano, soft strings, barely-there percussion. It rose like breath and dropped into stillness, the kind of space you needed when love was trying to say something.

I laid the foundation. She followed. But on the third run… something changed. The wall around her cracked. Her shoulders dropped. Her voice opened. And the bridge—low, warm, aching—it shifted the whole damn room.

She didn’t perform it. Shelivedit. And for that moment, I knew she wasn’t thinking about campaign strategy or headlines. She was feeling. Maybe notme, maybe notus—but something that softened her.

I watched her mouth form the final words. Watched her chest rise. Her eyes closed for a second too long. I felt it in my chest. Deep. When she caught me looking, she didn’t look away.

The track faded.Dangerous Lovewas done.

“Perfect,” Amir said. “We’re good. Myles—go ahead and prep the stems.”

He gave me a look. “I’m out. Anything else?”

I shook my head. “We’re good.”

He nodded and left, reading the air like the pro he was.

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