Chapter Text
"What the hell do you mean you're never going back?!"
Angel Dust slammed his glass onto the counter, the liquid sloshing near the edge. He stared at Vaggi, eyes wide with a mix of shock and disbelief.
Vaggi didn't flinch. She kept her gaze fixed on her own beer.
"Exactly what I said," Vaggi replied, her voice flat, exhausted. "I'm done. I'm out."
"You're out?" Angel threw his hands up, "Just like that?"
Vaggi closed her eye for a second, rubbing the bridge of her nose. The ache in her shoulders from a morning spent lifting heavy amplifiers at a local studio was starting to set in. Angel didn't know anything about what had happened inside Ecstasy. He didn't know how terrified she had been by how simply affectionate it felt when she hold that girl in her arms.
Angel blinked, a knowing smirk slowly spreading across his face as he leaned closer over the counter.
"Ohhhhh~" He dragged out the sound, his eyes glittering with amusement. "You met someone special, didn't ya? What was she like? Let me guess, incredibly submissive and responsive?"
Vaggi's grip tightened around her beer bottle. "Shut up."
"Holy shit!" Angel laughed, throwing his head back as he clapped his hands together. "You totally did! Oh my god, Vags, don't tell me you actually went and fell for your sub?"
Vaggi choked on her beer. She coughed roughly into her hand as it burned the back of her throat. Her face flushed red that had absolutely nothing to do with the alcohol.
Damn it, he knew her too well.
"It's just not for me," Vaggi muttered, "It... it's getting complicated. And I can't afford that right now. I need to focus on actual work."
"Right, because hauling speakers for twenty bucks a night is so much better for your mental health." Angel rolled his eyes, though his tone softened. He reached out, tapping his nails against the bar.
"Look, I totally get it. Just don't do anything stupid before you find a real permanent gig, 'kay? You gotta eat, toots."
"I know," Vaggi said. "Thanks, I guess."
Before Angel could push any further, the old phone in Vaggi's pocket buzzed. She pulled it out, expecting a text from a local manager canceling another low-paying session job. Instead, a notification for a new email popped up. She froze when she saw the address on the top of it.
Morningstar Philanthropic Foundation.
Vaggi frowned, her thumb hovering over the screen before she tapped it open. Angel leaned over her shoulder, sniffing loudly.
"Ooh, what's that? Looks official. Did you get a parking ticket?"
Vaggi didn't answer. She scanned the email, her heart ticking faster with every line she read.
Dear Miss Vaggi,
Following a review of independent artists registered with the local music coalition, the Morningstar Foundation is pleased to offer you a placement in our Annual Blind Grant Initiative.
Based on your exceptional performance history and technical background, you have been selected for a full-time, fully funded artist-in-residence sponsorship. This package includes a comprehensive monthly session stipend, full medical coverage support, and unmonitored access to the Morningstar Studio complex for the duration of twelve months.
If interested, please report to the Morningstar Records Headquarters, 14th Floor, Room 402, this Thursday at 2:00 PM to review and execute your contract.
Vaggi stared at the screen, her mind refusing to process the words. It felt like a joke. A cruel, highly elaborate internet scam.
"Holy shit." Angel whispered, his face inches from her screen. "Vags... is that the Morningstar? The corporate empire Morningstar? The 'we own half the music industry' Morningstar?"
"It has to be a mistake," Vaggi said, her voice dropping into a whisper as well. She stared at the phrase, Blind Grant Initiative. "I didn't even apply for this. I haven't submitted a demo to anyone in months. Why would a multi-billion-dollar label foundation suddenly offer to pay me?"
"Who cares why?!" Angel grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her. "Vags, look at the terms! Full-time stipend? Studio access?! This is a lottery ticket! You gotta accept it!"
Vaggi pulled away from his grip, her frown deepened. She had lived in the underbelly of the city long enough to know that nothing was ever free. Massive corporations didn't hand out lifelines out of the goodness of their hearts. There was always a catch. A predatory clause to steal her publishing rights, or some executive looking for a tax write-off.
But as she looked down at the email again, her eye lingered on the date and time. Thursday, 2:00 PM.
She thought about her bank account. She thought about having to beg for scrap gigs from people who used to open for her old band.
Slowly, Vaggi locked her phone screen.
"I'll go," she finally said, her voice carrying none of the excitement he had expected. "But if it looks even a little bit crooked, I'm walking out right away."
-
On Thursday afternoon, Vaggi found herself standing in the hyper-modern lobby of the Morningstar Records skyscraper. The sheer scale of the place made her uncomfortable. Everything was glass, polished steel, and blindingly bright lights. People in suits hurried past her, talking quietly into wireless earpieces. She felt entirely out of place in her worn jacket and boots, her hands shoved deep into her pockets as she took the elevator up to the 14th floor.
Room 402 was a sleek conference room. A polite foundation coordinator had spent the last twenty minutes walking her through the paperwork. Vaggi sat rigidly in the leather chair, scanning every clause, trying to find one that seemed unreasonable. But to her confusion, there was none. All the terms were in her favor. It seemed like they couldn't wait to throw money at her.
"I don't understand," Vaggi said, tapping her finger against the thick packet. "Your system says this is a blind initiative. But I've been rejected by almost every major label project this year. My record isn't exactly clean. Why now? Why me?"
The coordinator offered a professional, reassuring smile. "To be honest, Miss Vaggi, the blind selection process usually takes weeks to clear. But your file was flagged for a priority bypass. Someone from our highest tier of executive management personally reviewed your background after the charity showcase and pushed this through. They were incredibly impressed by your talent."
Vaggi froze, furrowing her brow. Highest executive management? She didn't know a single soul in the upper echelons of music industry.
A prickle of unease washed over her.
"Is everything alright with the terms, Miss Vaggi?" the coordinator asked, offering a polite smile.
"Yeah," Vaggi murmured, keeping her voice level. "Just double-checking."
She leaned closer to the paper when a flicker of movement by the door caught her eye, unmistakably a head of blonde hair popping into view. Someone was shamelessly snooping.
Vaggi snapped her head toward the door. But whoever it was whipped back out just as fast.
She blinked, staring at the door.
What a weirdo.
Shaking her head slightly, Vaggi lowered the pen and signed her name with a quick stroke. She stood up, ignoring the coordinator's polite closing remarks, and slid her copy of the contract into her jacket.
"Thank you," Vaggi said, her mind already shifting back to the thought of a proper meal. "I'm good to go."
Vaggi stepped out into the corridor. She didn't even make it three paces down the wide corridor before her eye caught something a short distance away. Standing alone in the corridor was a familiar woman with long, golden hair.
Vaggi paused. Her mind flashed back to the showcase from a few nights ago. She recognized her. It was Charlotte Morningstar, the primary sponsor of the event and the sole heir to the entire corporate empire.
Was she the one snooping just now?
Vaggi didn't overthink it. Since Morningstar Records was ultimately the one funding her new life, it only felt right to show some basic courtesy. She adjusted her jacket and walked straight toward her, meaning to say a proper thank you.
"Miss Morningstar," Vaggi called out.
Morningstar jolted. Her blue eyes widened in obvious panic, and without even looking back, she spun on her heel and practically fled toward the nearby elevator.
Vaggi blinked, completely baffled. "Hey—wait!"
But Miss Morningstar had already reached the elevator and hit the button repeatedly. When the doors slid open, she basically scrambled inside. Before they could close, Vaggi took a few long strides and quickly squeezed herself into the elevator right alongside her.
The doors slid shut.
"Miss Morningstar," Vaggi said, turning to face her. "I just wanted to say thank you. I just signed the contract with the foundation. I know it was pushed through by high management. I don't know why you did it, but... thanks. It really means a lot to me."
Miss Morningstar didn't answer. She was backed straight against the mirrored wall, fingers gripping her arms so tightly her knuckles were white, face flushing red that crept all the way to her ears.
"Are you alright?" Vaggi asked, her voice softening with genuine confusion and worry. "Do you need me to call someone? Your assistant?"
"No!" Miss Morningstar gasped out, her voice higher than Vaggi expected. She finally lifted her head as she forced a smile. "No, no, I'm fine! Perfectly fine! Everything is great! You don't need to thank me, really, you don't! It's... it's just what you deserve, your talent is incredible and the foundation is always happy to support real music! Oh I just realized I left something really important back in my office I have to go now I forgot my things, congratulations again!"
The elevator chimed as it reached the next floor. The moment the doors slid apart, Miss Moringstar didn't even wait for them to open fully. She dove through the gap, sprinting out into the hallway and disappearing around the corner without looking back.
The doors slowly clicked shut again, leaving Vaggi alone.
Vaggi stood frozen.
What the actual fuck?
She just stood there, staring blankly at the metal door.
Why would a billionaire CEO flee from her like a caught thief? Why was she shaking? Why did her voice sound so incredibly-
Her breath hitched.
The memory of Morningstar's voice echoed in her ears. It had been high and panicked just now, but underneath that was a distinct, soft cadence that Vaggi had heard twice before.
"Yes... please, Mistress."
"Please, Mistress... I can't take it anymore..."
No. No no nonono. There was no fucking way. It fucking can't be.
Vaggi's brain clicked, the invisible gears violently slamming into place as every single piece of the puzzle rushed together.
The girl in the gold mask who had begged for her touch, who had nuzzled so helplessly into her hand, who had wept from pleasure in her arms, was Charlotte fucking Morningstar.
She stared at her own reflection in the elevator door, her heart hammering violently against her ribs, feeling the entire world shifted beneath her feet.
-
Vaggi didn't remember taking the elevator back down, or how she even managed to walk out of the building without tripping over her feet. Her surroundings had devolved into a meaningless blur of shifting lights and murmurs.
She didn't know what to think.
She couldn't even begin to process how she was supposed to feel.
When she finally made it back to her apartment, she didn't bother turning on the lights or taking off her boots. She just sat down on the worn-out sofa, feeling exhausted than ever before. The signed contract slipped from her fingers and fluttering uselessly onto the coffee table.
Vaggi pulled out her phone, her thumb trembling slightly as she opened a browser and typed a name she had only briefly acknowledged a few days ago.
She stared at the screen, her eye tracking the lines of Charlotte Morningstar's face. She was furious. Was this where her new contract had truly come from? Was this whole thing just a twisted game to the billionaire heiress? Did she expect to buy her back to the club? Or worse, was this a threat, a reminder that the most powerful woman in the industry knew exactly who she was, where she lived, and could pull the rug out from under her life with a single phone call?
But underneath the anger, the familiar fear began to settle in. It made her feel so helplessly exposed and vulnerable. She didnt want to dwell on what had happened at the club. That wasn't what she had wanted.
Right?
Vaggi was still staring at the screen, her chest tightening as everything sank in. She hated how helpless it made her feel.
But one thing was for sure, she absolutely wasn't going to keep that fucking contract.
-
The next morning, Vaggi didn't bother making an appointment. She walked straight past the front desk, completely ignoring the panicked assistant who scrambled out of her chair to block her, pushing the door open with enough force to send it swinging back against the wall.
Morningstar was sitting behind her desk, a pen frozen in her hand as her head snapped up. Before the heiress could even register what was happening, Vaggi marched across the room, pulled the signed contract from her jacket, and slapped it hard onto the desk.
"Is this some sick kind of game to you?"
Morningstar froze. All the color drained from her face. Her blue eyes widened in terror, looking exactly like they had in the elevator the day before. She looked down at the contract, then back up at Vaggi, her lips parting but not a single sound coming out.
"Mi-miss Vaggi..." She finally managed to choke out, her fingers tightening around her pen so hard they trembled. "I... I don't- The foundation-"
"Don't give me that bullshit." Vaggi snapped, her hands flat on the desk as she pressed closer, "Have you been following me this whole time? What the hell do you want from me? Because if you think this means I'm going back to... to doing that with you, I'm done!"
"No! No, it's not like that-" Morningstar burst out, her voice cracking with panic.
"Then why?!" Vaggi's fingers were digging into the wood. "Why would you do all of this?"
"Because I wanted to help you!"
A beat of silence passed between them.
"I saw you on that stage, Miss Vaggi. I've met countless drummers in my life, and I can tell how incredibly good you are at what you do. But I could also see how much it was crushing you. I just... I wanted you to have a place where you could actually enjoy it again. If you still want to."
Vaggi's heart was still hammering against her ribs, but her posture fractured slightly. The truth was, she did miss the feeling of being on stage. But it had been a long time since she'd had that chance. That night was her first in ages, and she hadn't been in the right headspace to enjoy it.
"I don't need your pity," Vaggi finally said, "I don't need a billionaire's guilt money."
"It's not pity!" Morningstar pleaded, leaning forward, her eyes wide and sincere. "I did it anonymously because I knew you'd think it was charity and throw it right back in my face, but it's really not like that."
She looked up at Vaggi's eye.
"I'm so incredibly sorry." She whispered,"I never, ever wanted to make you feel uncomfortable. Or cornered. You can cancel that contract, there won't be any consequences at all. And... you don't have to worry about me anymore, I promise."
She slowly dropped her head again.
"And... I guess part of me just wanted to see you again. I thought if you were here, maybe I'd get to hear you play once more. That's all. I'm sorry."
Before Vaggi could even begin to process the words, the office door clicked open. The panicked assistant from earlier stepped in, looking apologetically at Morningstar.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt, Miss Morningstar, but the board members are already in the east conference room. The quarterly review starts in two minutes."
The intrusion seemed to bring Morningstar back to reality. "Right- yes, of course. Thank you, I'll be right there."
She scrambled to gather her things. Her hands were still trembling slightly as she stacked a few documents. But she froze as she grabbed her fountain pen.
She stared down at her desk for a long second. Slowly, she pulled a small notepad paper and wrote down a few words quickly. She carefully slid the paper across the desk, letting it rest right beside the contract Vaggi had slammed down earlier.
"I know you're angry," Morningstar said softly, but her voice no longer panicked. "And you have every right to be. But... if you're willing, I would really love the chance for us to just sit down and talk. Properly. Just us."
She offered a small, tentative smile.
"I'll be at this place tomorrow night at eight. If you show up, I'll be incredibly grateful. But if you don't... I promise I will honor that, and I won't ever trouble you again."
She didn't wait for an answer, just picked up her things and stepped out from behind the desk, before walking toward the open door.
But right at the threshold, she paused, tilting her head back slightly.
"I'm really happy to see you again. I really am."
With that, she stepped out into the corridor, the door gently clicking shut, leaving Vaggi alone in her own thoughts.