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1987
John Taylor had become a creature of the night. The wild parties, the endless bottles of champagne, and the white powder that lined coffee tables had become his sanctuary. London’s elite and the club scene welcomed him with open arms, eager to bask in the glow of his fame and his penchant for excess. He moved through the crowds with an intoxicating blend of charisma and recklessness, his reputation growing darker by the day.
Renée, once the grounding force in his life, was now more of an absence than a presence. Her modeling career had skyrocketed, and with it came photoshoots, runway shows, and long stints abroad. John told himself he didn’t mind, but the loneliness crept in during the long nights when the noise of the parties faded and all that was left was the deafening silence of his thoughts.
His fidelity to Renée was tenuous at best. The girls at the parties—beautiful, eager, and willing—were impossible to ignore. Each encounter was a fleeting escape from the growing weight of his responsibilities and insecurities. And the more he indulged, the more he felt himself spiraling into a void he couldn’t seem to escape.
The parties were more than just social events; they were escapes from himself. The air always reeked of expensive perfume mixed with cigarettes and something sharper. Conversations buzzed with shallow compliments and hollow promises. John found himself surrounded by people eager to bask in his glow but unwilling to see the man behind the fame. He downed drink after drink, losing himself in the haze, dancing wildly one moment and collapsing onto a velvet couch the next.
Meanwhile, Valerie had relocated to Los Angeles with The Velvet Reverie. The group, seeking inspiration and a change of pace, hoped the city of dreams could reignite their spirits after the grueling tour schedule. Valerie, however, was quietly drowning in her own way. The move had offered her a distraction, but the dazzling events she attended with the band often left her feeling more isolated than ever.
On this particular night, Valerie had reluctantly agreed to attend yet another industry party. It was at a sprawling mansion in the Hollywood Hills, where the glow of the city below merged with the pulsating lights of the DJ’s setup. Valerie stood by the edge of the pool, nursing a glass of champagne and scanning the crowd.
