Reluctantly, I bought a short, choppy wig that completely altered my look. My long, flowing hair was gone, replaced by something straight and dull. I changed my style, darkened my skin slightly with makeup, and even wore thick-rimmed glasses to make myself look like a completely different person. It was unsettling how easy it was to disappear behind a fake identity.
For a few days, it worked.
But then… I noticed something strange.
A man.
He was always nearby—too close for coincidence. At first, I thought I was just being paranoid, but then I saw him again. At a coffee shop. In the company cafeteria. Outside the dormitory we were renting.
I told Damon about him, and he immediately went on high alert. “Someone’s watching you,” he said, his jaw tightening. “We need to be careful.”
We were right to be worried.
A few nights later, my world shattered again.
It started with a single photo. One that spread like wildfire across social media. A blurry shot of me—disguised but still recognizable to those who knew me well. The caption made my stomach drop.
"Spotted: Is former singer Zoey back from the dead?"
Panic gripped me.
Who took this? Who posted it? Was it that obsessed fan? Or worse… James?