Revolt (Legends and Love)

“So what is the schedule for the day?” Raffiel asks.

I had been so exhausted when we got back last night, I climbed into bed and slept the full night through, all alone, but then again, I’m not alone, am I? I can feel their eyes on me through the cameras they installed. One day, I’m going to ask them if they watch me change, but not right now in front of my team. They flutter around the dressing room, getting my stuff organized.

“We’ll head to the studio. Hair, makeup, and clothes will be done on-site.” Sometimes I forget they haven’t been around me forever, since they simply just fit so well. I’m used to these kinds of appearances, but for them, it’s an unknown, and I’m learning they hate unknowns. They want to control everything from start to finish. It’s sweet. “We’ll be escorted to the set, where taping will take about an hour or two, and then we can leave. There is a live audience there as well. It will be interview style so you can’t be there.”

“And security?” he questions, his eyes narrowed as I lean back, sucking on my lollipop. He’s probably angry because I only told him I had this interview booked an hour ago. Oops. Old habits die hard, I guess.

“Plenty.” I shrug.

“Miss Harrow,” he admonishes.

“Mr. Raffiel,” I mock, making Astro chuckle as he watches us argue.

“You two argue like an old married couple,” Cillian remarks, and we both turn to glare at him. He holds his hands up with a grin. “Just saying.”

“We can’t protect you—”

“If you don’t know every detail,” I finish for him, and he glares at me harder before stomping away, muttering about annoying women.

“I think that means he likes me.” I wink at them as my team takes everything to the car.

“Oh, baby, he more than likes you,” Astro says as he puts his mug in the sink. Leaning closer, he drops his voice. “If he didn’t, he wouldn’t care. We’ve had plenty of celeb jobs, and not once did he give a shit about changing schedules or unknown factors. Not like this. He cares, Reign.” He winks as he wanders away.

Well, shit.

Now I feel bad. Leaving them to clean up, I head out to find Raff, my slippers sliding easily across the floor. I’m warm and comfy in my matching sweats and sweatshirt set—the best type of outfit to get ready in—but when I step into the room, he eyes me like I’m wearing nothing. He has his phone to his ear and I wait, leaning against the door after I shut it, giving us privacy.

“Thank you.” He hangs up, eyeing me as if he’s waiting for a fight. We haven’t known each other long, but we always butt heads. It’s our way and I love it, but I don’t want to piss him off when he’s only trying to protect me. I was in the wrong, and I’ll own it.

“I’m sorry.” I pout my lips. “I should have told you and given you time to prepare.” His eyes narrow as if he’s searching for the trick.

I walk closer, dragging my hand down his suit and stopping just above his cock. His eyes flare and his mouth parts. Fuck, I love the effect I have on him, even when he’s angry and in work mode.

“I truly am. I’ll try to do better. Want to have angry sex?”

He barks out a laugh, seeming surprised at the sound. “You never have to be sorry, Reign.” He sighs, and every time he calls me that instead of Miss Harrow, I do a victory dance inside. “It’s my job to know everything. I called the studio and informed them of our arrival and spoke to them about security logistics. Everything is taken care of so don’t worry.” He cups the back of my head and kisses me softly. “If I didn’t worry about you being late or them overhearing, I would have bent you over that kitchen counter and tanned your ass red for being a brat.”

“Don’t promise shit like that. I’ll be wet on national television,” I purr as he groans.

“Trouble, you are so much fucking trouble,” he growls, brushing his lips along mine as there’s a knock on the door.

“Time to go.” It’s Dal.

“Behave today,” he murmurs against my lips. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll reward you later.”

“Promises, promises,” I tease as I slide my hand over his hard cock. “When you’re watching me on TV, remember you could have had me screaming this morning but didn’t.” I wink and head to the door, but he catches me, slamming me into the wood.

“Don’t taunt me, Miss Harrow.” His voice is a growl. “Next time you want me, just tell me. I’ll slip into that ridiculously big bed and wake you with my tongue in your cunt.”

“Now, I can get on board with that,” I murmur, pushing my ass back to tease him. His hand slides between me and the door, slipping beneath the waistband of my pants and lower until he cups my bare pussy.

“You’re not wearing underwear,” he hisses in my ear, his hand gripping me harder as I move my hips.

“Nope.” I grin.

“Fuck, now I’m going to walk around all day knowing that. I won’t be able to concentrate.”

“Maybe you should fuck it out of your system.”

“What did I say about behaving, Miss Harrow?”

“I am. You’re the one who has me pinned to the door, feeling me up,” I purr, rolling into his hand.

“True, I can’t seem to resist around you,” he mutters, but he doesn’t stop touching me, thank fuck. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should take the edge off. We can’t have you this wet all day. It wouldn’t do well as your bodyguard to know you want something and I haven’t provided it.” His voice is silky. Shit, he’s flipped the switch and I’m helpless.

No one plays my body like Raffiel.

My head bangs against the door and I’m lost for words, just like every time he touches me. His fingers stroke my wet pussy as he speaks.

“Raff?” Dal murmurs through the door.

“I’ll be a few minutes. Miss Harrow has something to discuss regarding very important things. Isn’t that right, Miss Harrow?” His fingers slam into me, making me moan. “Oh yes, I won’t be long at all,” he calls.

The bastard.

“Miss Harrow, the time,” one of my team calls.

Raff twists his fingers inside me, adding a third and making me swallow back my scream. “Better answer them, Miss Harrow, before they open the door.” He licks the shell of my ear then bites down. “Because I won’t stop. I’ll let them see me giving this bratty pussy just what it wants. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes!” I cry out before clearing my throat as he laughs. I try to kick back, but he pins my leg, thrusting his fingers in deeper. “I’ll be right there.”

My voice is off, but I don’t care.

I bite down on my lip as I tilt my hips, taking his fingers as he fucks me with them. “Good girl,” he growls, turning his hand until he’s rubbing my clit. “Good girls get to come, so come, Miss Harrow. Stain my fingers so I taste you all day.”

Fuck!

I detonate, flying off the edge with his words and touch. I come so fast and hard, he reaches around and covers my mouth, muting my scream as my cunt pulses. He strokes me through it, barely even breathing heavily in my ear.

“Good girl,” he purrs. “That’s it, ride out every last drop. Give it to me. I want to drip with your cum.”

Fuck.

I slump into the door with a thud, and I feel his grin against my neck as he pulls from my body and deftly rights my pants before patting my ass. Turning on shaking legs, I eye him as he steps back.

His face is cold and empty, businesslike. “Are you ready now, Miss Harrow?”

The satisfied gleam in his eyes has me straightening.

I glare at him and open the door, smiling sweetly at my waiting team. Some have knowing looks in their eyes but I ignore them. They are loyal, or as loyal as you can be in this industry.

“Ready?” I ask as I pull on my shades and head outside to the car.

As soon as we’re inside, I look out of the window, ignoring them all. A noise has me glancing over to see Raff looking at me, and when I meet his gaze, he sucks his fingers into his mouth. I flip him off, and he grins smugly.

It’s a good thing he’s pretty.

Luckily, there were only a few paparazzi and fans waiting outside of the studio. It hasn’t been announced who is on today so I quickly sneak by. Once inside the dressing room I’m escorted to with my name on a plaque on the door, my team gets to work.

Raff stations himself and Dal outside, while Astro and Cillian are in here with me, watching the team’s every move. I aimlessly scroll through my phone as my makeup and hair are done. We’re going for a wavy hair look, with pieces braided back and charms hanging from them. The makeup will be everyday glam. I already picked my outfit, and as usual, they are working around it.

I’m on Instagram, replying to comments and messages from fans, smiling widely at their enthusiasm. They probably think it’s my social media team, and it usually is, but sometimes I love to connect this way with them to remind myself that this is why I do it. I love feeling their support and hearing their stories, like the ways I’ve helped or touched them.

Dramatic, but music can save lives.

It saved mine, after all.

I accidentally slide to the message request section and groan at the hate I see there. Usually, the team is good at blocking it before I see it, but some messages still slip through. I don’t even open them anymore. I instantly delete them. I don’t have the time or energy for hate anymore. I’m determined to enjoy my life and not let anyone bring me down. Anyone who is willing to send hate messages or emails, hiding behind a keyboard, is not worth my time. It also usually has more to do with them than me. Remaining silent sometimes speaks louder than words so I delete hundreds, only to stop at one.

It’s from two days ago, and I don’t know why I open it, but the messages are weird.

I LOVE IT WHEN YOU SWIM AT NIGHT.

I MISSED YOUR FACE SO MUCH.

THEY SHOULDN’T BE IN YOUR HOUSE. WHO ARE THEY?

THEY ARE KEEPING YOU FROM ME.

Fucking weird. I instantly delete and block the account, but a shiver goes through me. I don’t have much privacy in my life, but it mentioned my home, my swimming . . . I mean, yeah, they could have seen it in interviews. That has to be it.

Not reading too much into it, I drop the phone, done responding for the day, and ignore all other messages, especially those lingering texts from my old friends who want to reconnect.

“All done.”

I nod in thanks as I check over their work. “I love it, thank you.” I smile at Mindy who did my makeup and Sam who did my hair. When they slip away, I step behind the privacy curtain and change into the jumpsuit. It’s black with red paint splattered across it, and the high neck is covered in a fur trim. My heels complete the outfit. It leaves my arms on display, so I add lots of rings and bracelets before stepping out to eye my work.

The lights are bright in the dressing room, with four mirrors at the dressing tables and big, comfy chairs that can be lifted or lowered. There are two sofas and a small table, along with some paintings and plants to make it look homey and a mini fridge with a TV above it to watch the audience and other guests. It’s nice. I remember when I first started and was interviewed in some kid’s basement. I guess I’ve come a long way. Sometimes, I forget, others I’m just so grateful to be here.

Not for the money or fame, but because it means I get to do what I love most—make music and get it out there to people who need the melodies in their hearts to take them away, even for a moment.

Good and bad, they feel it all with me, and that is why I perform. The rest? The rest is icing on the cake.

The door opens and I turn to see Raff, and beside him is a runner with a clipboard and a headset nervously smiling at me. “We’ll be ready for you in ten minutes, Reign. I’ll come back to escort you.”

“Thank you.” I smile, and he stares as if dazzled before mumbling out, “Thank you,” and backing away.

“Stop bedazzling the workers, Miss Harrow,” Astro teases.

I wink at him and face forward, adding some hoops to my ears and looking over the outfit. It’s lowkey for me. This is my first public interview since I reappeared, so I wanted to show the changes without making it look like I was pushing it in their faces. Usually, my manager would be here, but I think he’s genuinely scared I would turn him away. It’s nice not having him here, reading off my schedule for the next ten years.

I’m almost free.

“You look stunning,” Cillian says, and I look myself over once more, searching for anything they can use against me. Any stray hair or misplaced word will be picked apart. It’s all a carefully crafted game, but luckily, I’m the master at it now.

“You think?” I ask, suddenly feeling a little nervous.

He and Astro get to their feet and stand behind me in the mirror. The big bastards make me look tiny and overdressed, but the heat, want, and desire pouring from them make me stand up taller. I don’t know why I care so much about their opinions, but I do.

“I know,” Astro replies. “You look . . .” He trails off, running his eyes over me. “You look like every person will either want to be you or fuck you. I know which one I’d pick.”

Laughing, I hand them my bag just as the door opens again. “Are we ready, Reign?” the blushing runner asks.

“Absolutely.” I smile brightly at him and head into the white hallway that will lead us to the studio. The runner hurries to catch up, directing me even though I’ve been here before. The guys surround me until we reach the wings.

“Got it,” the runner says into his mic and then smiles at me. “Okay, Reign, the music will cue you in. Wave and smile and walk, and then sit in the chair and your interview will begin. We’ll ask you the questions you approved and then you mentioned performing a song.”

I nod, and he claps in excitement.

“Awesome, everyone will love it. Have fun.”

I blow out a deep breath and school my features into a fake smile.

“Knock them dead, babe,” Astro murmurs, and when the music starts, I step onto the stage. The lights blind me, but I flutter my lashes and wave and smile at the audience. Their cheers blow my eardrums. I guess they are a little excited. Laughing, I wave harder, trying to remember every face, every fan, but there are just too many of them. Once at the sofa, I wave once more before sitting.

Jim, the presenter, grins at me as they let the crowd continue, and I laugh, crossing my legs and waving and winking into the camera. The music and crowd finally quiet enough for us to talk.

“Well, Reign, quite the welcoming committee.” He laughs, sitting behind his desk next to me.

I throw back my head and fake laugh. “Quite.” I nod. “I guess you guys missed me?” I cup my ear, urging them on, and they call out to me and Jim, and I laugh.

“Alright, alright, Reign, thank you so much for coming today. I know everyone is very excited to see you once more, and we can’t thank you enough for sparing the time to talk to us.”

“I always have time for you, Jim,” I purr, and his grin widens. Out of all the interviewers I’ve met, I genuinely like him. He’s nice, he never crosses boundaries, and even though he asks prying questions, I know it’s his job, and he always does his best to make everyone comfortable.

When I was underage, he never once touched me or took advantage, not like some interviewers who would manhandle me. That’s why I chose him.

“Well, I’m very grateful for that and so are the fans, aren’t you?” The crowd cheers again. “Okay, Reign, I have to ask . . . Where have you been?”

“Ah, that would be spilling secrets.” The crowd boos as I laugh. “But I can say I took some time away for myself.” The crowd sighs. “I think I needed it,” I admit honestly and look out into the crowd. My fans deserve some form of an answer. They are the reason I am where I am, after all. “It was good to be alone without cameras or expectations. I got to be me again, not the rock star or the woman the reps were promoting. I got to be Reign, and in doing so, I found myself again. I found my peace, and with it, I found my music.”

The crowd cheers.

“Does this have anything to do with your breakup with Tucker?” Jim asks, and I can clearly see that he doesn’t want to.

“I mean, it was at the same time, I’ll be honest.” I wince a little. “But I wish Tucker nothing but the best. His band is doing amazing, and I’m very proud of him. I hold no hard feelings. Sometimes, things happen and people grow apart. People you thought would be forever disappear. It doesn’t mean I’m not grateful for our relationship and everything we shared. I still care for Tucker.”

“Any chance of you two getting back together?” he asks.

I simply laugh as the crowd boos and cheers.

“Okay, moving on, you mentioned your music. I think we all saw the impromptu show you held, which put the world into an uproar. Does this mean there is going to be a new album?”

I appreciate how quickly he moved on, giving me what I want to talk about—my music, not my relationship. After all, I don’t want to be known for who I am and what I am capable of, not just for who I date or fuck.

“It does. Two, actually.” I grin at the audience who screams.

“Two?” Jim asks, gasping.

“Two. What can I say? I’ve been very busy. There will be some amazing collaborations with other artists whom I respect and look up to, and I’ve found my sound again. Back to my roots. Rock and roll. Love and passion.”

“We can’t wait, but a little birdy told me that we might be able to have a sneak peek today?”

“I mean, would you like one?” I ask, hamming it up for the cameras.

“What do we think?” Jim asks the crowd.

The crowd goes wild, and I sit back, playing it on. “I don’t know. You don’t seem sure.”

The screams echo through the building as Jim and I laugh. “I think that’s a yes,” he says.

Standing, I head over to the little stage on the left. It’s just me, the band, and my microphone. Clearing my throat, I smile at the crowd. “All the songs in my new albums are about falling in love with yourself. They are about pain. They are about my life and situations everyone has been through, and I hope by ripping myself bare, you can heal with me too.”

The music starts and I close my eyes. Jack and I have finished most of the first album, and we have the other artists confirmed and coming in over the next few weeks, but this song was the first one I wrote when I left. I actually scribbled it on napkins at rest stops on my drive.

It has my whole heart in it.

Every flawed emotion.

Every wrong thought I can’t control.

It’s me.

“Headlights bounce across my face, tears going to waste, there’s no one here to see me cry. I guess that makes it not real. My heart is gone, left behind, but as the road stretches out, so does my hope. My anger. I miss you like a child misses a toy, but I can’t love you and love me, so I said goodbye. I walked away from my life . . .”

I pour my soul into the song, and I let myself grieve for what could have been, for the woman I was.

As the lights come back on, the last note dragging out, I open my eyes. “Thank you,” I murmur as I step back, and for a moment, the silence is deafening. I’m nervous because this is the most raw my music has ever been. Look between the lyrics and you’ll find my truth, my story.

The crowd suddenly surges to their feet, clapping and screaming, and I smile the first real smile of the day. I take my seat once more, feeling more relaxed and happier.

Today, I was reminded of why I do this, why I sing. It’s not for the applause, but that connection—the tears I saw in people’s eyes and the truth in their actions.

It resonates with them.

It connects us, and for a moment, as music filled the room, we were one person.

The rest of the interview goes fairly quickly. We play some games and I answer more questions, and then I head into the audience to take pictures and sign autographs before waving and heading backstage. As soon as I do, I drop my shoulders, but my smile stays in place.

The last interview I did was like a rapid-fire inquisition, trying to trip me up and make me the bad guy. Clips still circulate of edited footage, trying to make me into a horrible person, but this was good.

It was great.

Another fear conquered.

Another challenge completed.

Now it’s time to finish the music.