If the stage was a battlefield, then the judging panel was the execution ground.
This was not an accident.
This was a setup.
The camera slowly panned across the judges' table, lingering on each face as the host introduced them with theatrical reverence. To the audience, they were legends. To Avery Rivers, they were ghosts from a life she had buried.
Or enemies she intended to bury.
The Panel
Julian Vane.
The "Golden Boy."
Her ex-boyfriend. Titan Management's crown jewel. The man who had smiled beside her on red carpets, whispered promises in private, and checked into luxury hotels with other women while her career burned for his sins.
He sat relaxed, dressed in white, every inch the nation's beloved idol. His smile was warm. Gentle. Forgiving.
A performance.
Director Zhang.
A veteran critic with decades in the industry. His nickname—Poison Tongue—was earned. He had destroyed countless singers with a few words, crushing dreams for sport. He believed music should obey rules. That innovation was arrogance.
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes sharp and predatory.
Mila Vance.
No relation to Julian. No mercy either.
A legendary diva. A soul singer who had once moved the entire nation to tears. She was respected. Feared. Revered. Her standards were brutal, especially for women who dared challenge her throne.
She studied the stage silently, eyes cool and measuring.
Three judges.
Three executioners.
Backstage, Avery stood in the shadows.
The Phoenix Mask hid her face, but not her fury.
Her fingers tightened around the microphone as Julian's voice echoed through the studio.
"I'm looking for a voice with purity," Julian said smoothly into his mic.
The audience cheered.
He smiled wider, eyes glinting with false sincerity.
"Something honest," he continued. "Something… unlike what we've seen in the headlines recently."
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
A jab.
Clean. Calculated. Cruel.
Social media lit up instantly.
"OMG Julian is so classy.""He's been through so much.""Real talent always survives scandals."
Avery's breath slowed.
Her heartbeat steadied.
[System Status: Emotional Interference Detected.][Ice Queen Aura – Stabilization Active.]
She didn't flinch.
She didn't rage.
She smiled beneath the mask.
Just wait, Julian, she thought coldly.I'm about to show you what honesty sounds like.
Director Zhang leaned forward, tapping his pen against the desk.
"Phoenix," he said, voice sharp and dismissive. "Costumes and theatrics are meaningless if there's no substance. I hope you're not here to hide behind feathers."
Mila Vance tilted her head slightly.
"Your entrance was… striking," she said coolly. "But soul music isn't about shock. It's about truth. Pain. Experience. Fire without depth burns fast."
Every word was a blade.
Every sentence designed to cut.
The audience watched eagerly. This was the moment they loved—the judges tearing contestants apart before they even sang.
Julian nodded sympathetically.
"Don't be nervous," he added gently. "We're here to help."
Avery stepped forward into the light.
The Phoenix's feathers shimmered.
She lifted the microphone slowly.
When she spoke, her voice—altered just enough by the modulator—was calm. Steady. Unafraid.
"I agree," she said.
The panel blinked.
"I agree with all of you."
The audience murmured.
Director Zhang raised an eyebrow.
Julian's smile stiffened slightly.
Avery continued.
"Music should have substance. Soul should be honest. Fire should come from experience."
She paused.
"And that's why," she said softly, "I chose this song."
The lights dimmed.
A single spotlight fell on her.
The band cue appeared.
Julian leaned back, confident again.
Then—
The first note rang out.
Not loud.
Not flashy.
But real.
It was the sound of something breaking open.
Avery sang of betrayal.
Not metaphorically.
Not poetically.
But truthfully.
Her voice carried memories of locked hotel doors, smiling lies, contracts signed in blood, lovers who sold her name to save themselves.
Julian's smile vanished.
Director Zhang's pen slipped from his fingers.
Mila's eyes widened almost imperceptibly.
The lyrics cut deeper with every line.
"You called it love when the cameras were onYou called me crazy when the truth went wrongYou washed your hands while I drowned aloneThen asked the world to throw the first stone"
The studio fell silent.
This wasn't a song.
It was a confession.
Avery's voice didn't beg for sympathy.
It demanded accountability.
She didn't look at Julian.
She didn't need to.
Every note was aimed at him.
Every word was a mirror.
Julian's hands tightened on the armrests.
This voice…
It felt familiar.
Too familiar.
His chest tightened.
Mila leaned forward now, eyes locked onto the Phoenix.
"This…" she whispered, barely audible. "This pain… it's lived."
Director Zhang swallowed.
This wasn't technique.
This wasn't training.
This was someone who had survived.
The audience began to cry.
Some openly.
Some silently.
Phones shook as people recorded, hands trembling.
Social media detonated.
"WHY DOES THIS FEEL PERSONAL?""This song is destroying me.""Julian looks uncomfortable… am I imagining that?"
Avery reached the chorus.
Her voice rose—not in volume, but in intensity.
Controlled.
Unforgiving.
"You wanted purityI gave you truthYou wanted silenceI survived you"
Julian's face drained of color.
The camera caught it.
The nation saw it.
When the song ended, Avery lowered the microphone.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Oppressive.
Unavoidable.
No one clapped.
No one breathed.
Then—
Mila stood.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
"I've been singing soul music for forty years," she said, voice steady but shaken. "And I have never—never—heard pain articulated like that."
Director Zhang cleared his throat.
"My Poison Tongue," he admitted quietly, "has nothing to say."
All eyes turned to Julian.
He forced a smile.
But it cracked.
Just slightly.
"This was… unexpected," he said.
Avery tilted her head.
Her voice was gentle.
"So was betrayal."
The audience erupted.
Julian froze.
For the first time—
The executioner felt the blade.
End of Chapter 22