This is a revamped version that offers better plot structure, improved grammar, improved writing, improved character portrayal, and an overall more enjoyable book.
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Kessie Yoon was thrust into the spotlight as a young girl, forced by her abus...
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𝐂 𝐇 𝐀 𝐏 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 | 𝐅 𝐎 𝐔 𝐑
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"never tell him no"
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, one marked by drugs, alcohol, and explosive temper, had left a dark stain on Chris's heart. The woman had been his muse, the inspiration behind some of his most raw and emotional tracks. But she had also been his tormentor, a siren that led him into a world of self-destructive behavior. Her betrayal was still a fresh wound, one that had him questioning his ability to trust and love again.
When he had finally told her that their relationship was unhealthy and that he wanted to put a stop to it, she responded by overdosing on a medication called 'Euphoria', a pill that was all the rage among the Hollywood elite. It was a cry for help, a twisted attempt to control him, and it worked.
Lina was found and pronounced dead in Chris' bed, surrounded by a sea of empty pill bottles and a letter with his name scribbled at the top. The media frenzy was immediate, casting him as the villain in a tragic love story, no matter how much he tried to explain the truth. His music, once a source of comfort and escape, now felt tainted by the scandal.
Lina was someone who would forever remain a scar on Chris's soul. The highs of their love had been dizzying, the lows had been destructive. Her death was a tragic end to their tumultuous relationship, but it was also a wake-up call. He had to face the demons of his past, to find a way to move forward without her shadow looming over him.
He turned to dangerous methods of coping, drinking and popping pills and having multiple women at a time. It was his way of drowning the pain, of feeling something—anything—other than the guilt and regret that consumed him.
Not only guilt and regret, but rage had also become his constant companions. Rage at himself, rage at the world, rage at the woman he had lost.
For hours, he would lock himself in the studio, the only company being the echoes of his own pain and the beat of his heart. The lyrics and melodies that once flowed effortlessly now came with a cost—each word etched with the agony of his past. Yet, it was a necessary catharsis, a way to purge the demons that haunted his soul.
For hours, he would get high and record, letting his raw emotions spill onto the track. His anger and pain became anthems for the lost and the damned, resonating with a fan base that saw themselves in his dark reflections. But it wasn't enough. The highs were fleeting, the lows ever-present. The whispers of his demons grew louder, the need for something real—for someone real—more insistent with each passing day.
