Page 69 of Siren

“It’s not just the music,” the suited man added. “It’s the energy. You two are drawing eyes. They want us with you for a few days. Just in case.”

Raj didn’t answer. He just shut the door—calm, controlled—and locked it.

I stood, setting my mug down.

A familiar flutter stirred in my chest.

Not fear. Not entirely.

It was adrenaline. That rush of knowing you’re the moment. That the city is buzzing because ofyou. I’d felt it before—on red carpets, on tour stops, during pop-ups that turned into stampedes.

But this was different.

This wasn’t a controlled rollout. It wasn’t curated.

This wasrealattention—spontaneous, unpredictable, and somehow more intimate. Because it wasn’t justmethey were watching.

It wasus.

And as thrilling as that was, it made my skin feel thin. Like every gesture, every breath, might be read a thousand different ways before nightfall.

Taraj turned to face me.

“It’s starting,” I said softly.

His gaze held mine. “Yeah.”

A beat passed.

“You still want it?”

My pulse ticked up. I thought of the studio. His kiss. My voice threading through his music like a confession. The kind of art we made when no one was watching.

And I knew, with all the noise rising outside,thatwas still the purest thing we had.

“I want it to be real,” I said.

His jaw flexed, then eased.

“Then let’s make it that.”

TWENTY-THREE

Iwasn’t supposed to be here.

Not in a stadium with thirty thousand people and her leg brushing mine every time she shifted in her seat. Not laughing at dumb shit about overpriced pretzels.

Not watching her tilt her face to the sun like she wasn’t the hottest topic on every gossip blog this morning.

I was supposed tobe at the crib. Writing. Hiding. Playing the role. But she pulled me into this moment like gravity. And I didn’t want to fight it.

Said she used to go to baseball games with her dad when she was little—just the two of them, bundled in hoodies, splitting soft pretzels, booing the players who couldn’t run. So when she saw the Pirates were playing the Phillies, she looked at me with that glint in her eye, the one that made it hard to say no.

“We have security… why not?”

Her voice was bright, hopeful. Like a memory remade in real time. So we called our managers. Cleared the air. Set it up. Shit, if we were gonna out ourselves, might as well do it in daylight.

She looked good—too good.

---