Chapter 1

Misty

I slouch on my plush leather couch, eyes glued to the massive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall of my Manhattan penthouse. The news anchor's voice grates on my nerves as she drones on about my latest ‘scandal.’

"Pop sensation Misty Avalon spotted leaving club with mystery man. Is the popstar diva off the market?"

I roll my eyes and grab the remote, cranking up the volume. The grainy footage shows me stumbling out of a nightclub, leaning on my friend for support. Great. Just fucking great.

"Jesus Christ, can they make this shit look any worse?" I mutter, running a hand through my curls.

The door to my apartment swings open, and Jada strides in, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. She's got that look on her face—the one that says she's about to drop some serious truth bombs.

"Alright, Misty, we need to talk strategy," Jada announces, plopping down next to me on the couch. She grabs the remote and mutes the TV, cutting off the gossip reporter mid-sentence.

"Hey, I was watching that!" I protest, reaching for the remote. But Jada's quicker, holding it just out of my grasp.

Jada fixes me with a stern glare, her green eyes narrowing. "No, you weren't. You were torturing yourself. Now listen up, because this is important."

I cross my arms and huff, sinking back into the plush cushions. "Fine. Let's hear it. What's so damn urgent?"

"We need to get you out of the spotlight. Like, yesterday." Jada's intense gaze bores into mine, her voice dead serious. "This whole party girl image? It's killing your career. We need to rebrand, and fast. Before you become nothing more than another washed-up pop star cautionary tale."

"So what, you want me to become a nun or something?" I roll my eyes, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Should I start wearing turtlenecks and sensible shoes?"

Jada ignores my snark, pressing on. "No, no, but we need to improve your image somehow. Get you away from the clubs, the paparazzi, all of it. Show the world you're more than just a pretty face and a good voice. You've got depth, Misty. It's time people saw that."

I snort, running a hand through my curls in frustration. "That's all people ever talk about these days. They want the shallow version of me in the designer cars and amazing outfits. They don't give a fuck about much else. It's all about the glitz and the glamor. Who cares if I can actually sing or write my own songs?"

"Look, Misty, I'm serious. Your latest album isn't charting as well as we thought it would. The label's breathing down our necks. If we don't turn this ship around, you'll be yesterday's news faster than you can say 'one-hit wonder.'"

Her words hit me like a slap to the face. I slump back into the couch, the fight draining out of me. "Shit. It's that bad?"

Jada's words echo in my head, and suddenly the penthouse feels claustrophobic. I stand up, pacing the room, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet.

"This isn't me," I mutter, gesturing at the TV still silently playing footage of my drunken escapades. "When did I become like this? You know me, Jada. This… This isn't who I am!"

Jada watches me, her expression softening. "It's not too late to change, Misty. We can fix this."

But I'm barely listening. My mind races, memories flooding back of simpler times. College days, late-night study sessions, and genuine laughter with friends who didn't give a damn about my fame or fortune.

"I need a minute," I tell Jada, retreating to my bedroom.

I flop onto my king-sized bed, staring at the ceiling. The silence is deafening after the constant noise of parties, interviews, and screaming fans. When was the last time I had a real conversation? One that didn't revolve around my career or my latest tabloid drama?

My hand fumbles for the phone in my pocket. I scroll through my contacts, past managers, agents, and fake celebrity friends, until I land on a name that makes my heart ache with nostalgia.

Selene Johnson.

My finger hovers over her number. It's been months since we last talked. What if she doesn't want to hear from me? What if she's seen the headlines and thinks I'm just another washed-up pop star?

Fuck it. I hit call before I can talk myself out of it.

The phone rings once, twice, three times. I'm about to hang up when—

"Misty? Is that you?"

Selene's voice, warm and familiar, fills me with relief. "Hey, Selene. Yeah, it's me. I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time."

"For you? Never. What's up, girl? You okay?"

I open my mouth to say I'm fine, but the lie sticks in my throat. "Not really," I admit, my voice cracking. "I... I think I'm losing myself, Selene. Everything's such a mess."

"Oh, honey," Selene says, her tone full of concern. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

And just like that, the dam breaks. Words pour out of me, all my fears and frustrations tumbling over each other. I tell her about the constant pressure, the fake smiles, the emptiness I feel after every performance. And to lose myself, I find refuge in parties and drinks. It's my way to forget.

"I don't know who I am anymore," I confess, wiping away tears I didn't realize were falling. "Everyone wants a piece of me, but I don't have anything left to give."

Selene listens patiently, offering words of comfort and understanding. For the first time in ages, I feel heard. Really heard.

"You know," Selene says after I've run out of words. "Maybe what you need is a break. A chance to reconnect with yourself."

A soft breath escapes me. I close my eyes, imagining myself far away from the city. Away from the bright lights and the ogling eyes that judge me no matter what I do.

God, that would be amazing right now. A weight lifts off my chest just envisioning myself in that situation.

Selene's words hang in the air, a lifeline I hadn't realized I was searching for. Then, she clears her throat, making my eyes open again. "I’ve got an idea. Misty, why don't you come stay with me in Everwood for a while? It's a small town in Texas, but it's got charm for days. Might be just what you need to escape the craziness and find yourself again."

I blink, caught off guard by the offer. "Everwood? Isn't that where you moved after college?"

"The very same," Selene quips happily. "It's a far cry from Manhattan, but that's kind of the point. No paparazzi, no crazy fans. Just good people and wide-open spaces."

The idea takes root in my mind, growing with each passing second. A place where no one knows me. Where I can just be... me. Whoever that is.

"You sure I wouldn't be imposing?" I ask, chewing my bottom lip.

"Girl, please. My house is way too big for just me and Tyler anyway. You'd be doing us a favor. We've been dying to host someone for the longest time ever since we finished up renovations on the guest house."

I glance around my bedroom, taking in the sleek furniture and designer everything. It's a far cry from the cozy dorm room where Selene and I first became friends. When did my life become so... sterile?

"You know what? Fuck it. I'm in."

Selene's squeal of delight makes me laugh, a real laugh that bubbles up from somewhere deep inside my chest.

After we hang up, I sit on my bed, staring at my phone. The sensible thing would be to talk to Jada, to figure out a proper strategy. But for once, I don't want to be sensible. I want to be free.

I grab a suitcase from my closet and start throwing clothes in. Jeans, t-shirts, sneakers, heels, dresses. Comfortable stuff I haven't worn in ages. No designer labels, no red carpet gowns. Just... me.

Jada walks in as I'm zipping up the suitcase. Her eyes widen. "Misty? What are you doing?"

I take a deep breath. "I'm leaving, Jada. I'm going to stay with a friend for a while."

"What? You can't just—"

"I can, and I am." I meet her gaze, steady and sure. "Look, I know this is sudden, but I need this. I'm putting myself first for once."

Jada opens her mouth to argue, then closes it. She studies me for a long moment before sighing. "Where are you going?"

"It's better if you don't know. Plausible deniability and all that." I grab my suitcase and head for the door. "Just... handle my PR as best you can, okay? Tell them I'm on a spiritual retreat or something."

"Misty, wait—"

I pause at the doorway, looking back at her. "I'm sorry, Jada. I know this puts you in a tough spot. But I have to do this. For me."

Before she can say anything else, I'm out the door and in the elevator. My heart races as I hit the lobby button. This is crazy. This is impulsive. This is...

Exactly what I need.

I hail a cab outside my building, giving the driver directions to the airport. As the city rushes by outside the window, I feel a weight lifting off my shoulders. For the first time in years, I'm not Misty Avalon, pop sensation. I'm just Misty, a girl trying to find her way back to herself.

And it feels fucking amazing to take the first steps in the right direction.