Page 118 of The Encore’s Crown

Chapter 42

When The World Is Heavy

Natalia

I’m still facedown in bed, one arm trapped beneath the pillow, when I drag my phone closer to check the damage from last night. I open Instagram, and the first post waiting on my feed is from a music news account I followed during the tour.

Kiri Chhim and Radhika Malhotra: Back On?

The headline sits above a photograph taken inside some obscene glass palace overlooking Hong Kong. Radhika is standing beside the booth, every inch of her looking exactly like the woman men write songs about and then ruin their lives trying to replace. Kiri stands in front of her. His head is bent toward hers. Her face is turned up to him, eyes fixed on his. One of his hands is holding her wrist. The angle makes it look intimate. Private. Like the photographer caught something neither of them meant anyone else to see.

My stomach drops so violently I nearly throw up. I swipe. Another photograph. Radhika laughing with Rithy while Kiri watches from behind them. Again. Kiri and Radhika sitting across from each other in a curved booth, both holding whiskey glasses.

The caption beneath it reads:

Nearly ten years after their famously private split, rock star bassist of The Riven Altar Kiri Chhim and Bollywood royalty Radhika Malhotra reunited at Hong Kong’s exclusive Meridian Club. Witnesses say the former couple spent part of the evening in an intimate conversation.

The comments are worse.

I knew they were endgame.

The way he still looks at her!!!

She was always the one.

I grab my pillow, press it over my face, and scream. The sound dies inside the fabric, hot and muffled and ugly. I scream until my throat hurts, until the first violent burst of rage burns through enough oxygen that I have to stop. Then I lie there beneath the pillow, breathing hard.

So that’s it. That’s what I was. Not some impossible temptation he had to resist for my own good. Not someone who mattered too much. Not a woman he wanted so badly it frightened him. A shiny little distraction placed in the middle of his journey back to the woman he actually loved.

Radhika Malhotra. Wealthy, talented and beautiful. Thirty-four years old and perfectly positioned beside him. A woman with an actual career, not a temporary makeup counter position and an Instagram account I keep trying to turn into a career. A woman whose family probably owns the kind of hotels Kiri and I had to hide inside. Of course he didn’t want to sleep with me. He was saving himself for the reunion tour. My chest tightens again, but this time I refuse to cry. I throw the pillow aside and sit up.

“Fuck him.”

I get out of bed and head to the bathroom. The shower is hot enough to give me third-degree damage. Some irrational part of me thinks if I let it scald long enough, maybe I can burn him out of my skin. I wash my hair, scrub my skin, and refuse to look at my phone again. By the time I sit at my vanity, I’ve pushed everything down somewhere deep and airless. The ritual of doing my makeup restores something mechanical inside me. I carve my cheekbones sharper than usual and draw my liner into perfect black wings. My face becomes flawless while everything beneath it goes flat.

By the time I leave for work, I look completely indifferent. Which is almost the same as being indifferent, provided nobody looks too closely. Ryder has called twice. His messages stack beneath the notifications I’m ignoring.

Last night was insane.

You okay?

Did I do something?

Nat?

I lock the screen without answering.

The kiss was the flattest thing I’ve ever felt. Flat is almost too generous. Kissing Ryder had been like pressing my mouth against a handsome piece of furniture while someone grabbed my ass. No spark. No heat. No loss of control.

Nothing.

I thought I understood passion because of Kiri. I thought the way my body reacted to him meant something rare had happened between us. I guess he's just very talented at manufacturing an experience.

Lustre feels wrong the second I walk in.

Melina glances up from skincare, then immediately becomes fascinated by a bottle of toner. Janae gives me a tiny smile that dies before it fully forms. Suri doesn’t look at me at all. The group chat has been silent since Halcyon. No pictures or complaints about Celeste. Janae doesn't ask who wants coffee or whether anyone can cover her Sunday.

Which means there's another group chat now. One without me. I put my bag in the locker and check my reflection. Still beautiful, employed and breathing. Check. Tragic for all that would prefer otherwise.