News moves fast in Los Angeles. By the next morning, people in her building already knew. A girl from the third floor stopped Lila in the lobby and said You are the singer right I saw you on my feed last night. Lila froze. Singer. Not model. Singer. The word felt new and right in her mouth. She nodded a little and said Yeah that is me I guess. The girl smiled and said I liked the part where your voice cracked. It sounded real. Then she walked off carrying groceries like this was normal life and not something that had just set Lila on fire inside.

She checked her phone while waiting for the elevator. Her clip from the audition had leaked. It was not supposed to. The show had rules about early footage. But someone on staff had filmed a part of her original song and posted it with the caption The model girl is not playing. The video was getting shared fast. Comments rolled in nonstop. Her notifications would not stop buzzing.

Who is she. She sounds like she has lived three lives already. I felt that in my chest. I am not crying you are crying.

She wanted to scream and laugh and hide at the same time.

Then came the part she had been afraid of since the beginning. The agency called her. Not a warning this time. Not calm. Not polite. A summons. Be in the office by ten. We need to talk about public exposure.

Her stomach went tight. She almost did not go. She almost said No. I am busy. I am doing something for myself for once. But contracts were contracts and money was money and she was not ready to get sued. So she went.

The agency office looked the same as always. Glass. White walls. Cold air. Perfect furniture no one sat on for long. She walked past a row of framed magazine covers and felt something in her change. Before, she used to slow down in this hallway. She used to imagine her own face in those frames. Now she walked by like they were just pictures of strangers in costumes. She felt older than them in a way that had nothing to do with age.

The director was waiting in his office with two other people she had never seen before. One woman wore a pencil skirt and a smile that did not reach her eyes. The man next to her had a tablet and did not look up when Lila entered. It felt like a meeting you walk into right before someone tells you if you still have a job. She sat when they told her to sit.

The director folded his hands. We saw the clip.

Lila kept her voice steady. I did not post it.

We know you did not post it he said. That is not the point. The point is now there are headlines such as Model sings her way out of the runway. Do you understand how that sounds to us. We invested training in you. We pushed you forward early. We put you in a premium showcase. And now the message is She is already planning to leave. You look disloyal. You make us look foolish.

Lila felt heat rise in her face. I did not say I was leaving.

The woman in the skirt leaned in a little. No. You just went and branded yourself as something outside of us. Without permission. While under active image management. We control your public story while you are under contract. That is the agreement you signed.

I sang one time Lila said. My face was already public before that.

You are missing what this is the woman said. You are creating a narrative we did not approve. You are telling the market You cannot control me. That is not what buyers want to hear. Buyers want calm. Buyers want yes. Buyers want low drama.

Lila sat still. She let the words float. She let herself feel how they made her feel. There was a time when this would have broken her. A time when she would have apologized just to keep the door open. But that time felt like last month. Last month felt like another life.

So she looked up and said quietly I am not drama. I am talent.

That made the man with the tablet finally raise his eyes. He studied her for a long second like he was not sure if she was stupid or fearless. The director gave a slow annoyed sigh. Listen. You want to play singer. Fine. Everyone wants to play singer. Here is what is going to happen. You will not post about it. You will not attend public events tied to that show without clearing it. You will not say you are leaving modeling. You will not use our name or network to move yourself in a separate lane. You will continue to walk when we tell you to walk. Do you understand.

Lila stared at him. At his calm voice. At his easy control. She understood exactly what he was saying. He was saying Stay small for us. Stay quiet for us. Stay useful for us.

She stood from the chair. I hear you.

That was all she gave them. She walked out before they could make her sign anything else. Her hands were shaking the whole way down the hall. Not from fear. From anger. She felt it in her ribs like heat. She pushed through the glass doors and out into the sun. The air outside felt real again. Warm. Imperfect. Human.

Her phone buzzed the second she hit the sidewalk. It was Sophie. Did they fire you.

Not yet Lila texted.

What did they say

That I belong to them

Sophie sent back one line Screw that

Lila smiled weakly at the screen. She loved Sophie for saying it so fast and so sure like it was obvious and not dangerous. Few people in this city said things that honest without wanting something in return.

She headed back to her place and put her phone on the counter. She stood in her tiny kitchen and let the anger settle into something else. Not rage. Direction. A shape. A plan. She knew now what the agency feared most. Not that she would fail. That she would succeed without them.

In the afternoon she went to see Miles at the small studio space he borrowed behind a print shop. The room smelled like cables and old carpet and cheap coffee. There were wires everywhere. A mic on a stand. Foam on the walls to kill echo. A folding chair. A laptop that hummed loud. Nothing about this room said big label. But the second she stepped in, she felt safe.

Miles grinned when he saw her. You made it past round one.

She nodded. Yeah.

He held out a fist for her to bump. See. I told you. You are not just some girl who can almost sing. You are a problem in the best way.

That line made her laugh for real. A problem. She liked that.

He motioned to the mic. Alright. We are going to get a clean version of that original song. Just voice. No heavy effects. No fake shine. Something raw enough that if anyone asks who you are we can send this and say This is her. Not a filter. Not a costume. Her.

Lila stared at the mic. Her chest tightened. You mean like a real demo.

Miles nodded. You want to be taken seriously you need something that sounds serious. And soon. The clip of you in the club was cool but way too noisy. I can not pitch that to anyone. This though. This we can send to people who actually make decisions. If they hear what I heard in that room they will call.

Her heart beat faster. Record labels. Managers. Real career talk. This was past the line the agency drew in the meeting. This was the line after the line.

What if I mess up she asked.

Then we do another take he said. Nobody is judging you in here

He said it so easy she almost cried. Nobody is judging you in here. She had not heard that sentence in weeks.

She stepped in front of the mic. Put on the headphones. Closed her eyes. Her hands shook a little at first. She let her shoulders relax. She thought about the backyard. About the open mic room with folding chairs. About Sophie in the hallway waiting for her like a bodyguard. About the judge who said Your voice is alive. Do not lose that.

When she started to sing the room went quiet

Her tone sat low and warm, then lifted just enough to carry the ache in her words. She did not force pretty. She did not copy the radio. She just told the truth. She told the mic what it felt like to be shaped and sold. She told the mic what it felt like to be stared at and never seen. She told the mic what it felt like to finally see herself and say out loud This is me and I am not asking permission anymore.

When she finished the last long note, it shook in her throat and broke at the edge. She let it break. She let it stay broken. Miles did not cut her off. He let the silence sit for a few beats before hitting stop.

He looked up at her with wide eyes. That was it.

That was it she repeated in a whisper. Her knees felt weak.

He turned the laptop screen toward her. Wave lines covered it like heartbeats. Saturday. Her name. The title Glass Skin. Take one.

You just did your first real studio take he said. You are official now.

She sat back in the folding chair and covered her face with both hands. She was shaking but calm at the same time. Her chest felt full. Her throat felt sore. Her future felt close enough to touch.

Am I crazy for doing this she asked through her hands. Tell me the truth.

Miles leaned back in his chair. Little bit, yeah. But crazy is good in this town. Safe gets used. Crazy gets signed.

She dropped her hands and laughed. She needed that.

Before she left, he sent the file to her phone. Not for posting he said. Do not leak it. Not yet. This is your proof. This is the moment you say I am not just trying something. I am this. This is who I am.

She walked home at sunset with that file on her phone like it was a small living thing. She played it in her headphones while she crossed the street. Her own voice in her own ears. Not for an audience. For her.

When she reached her building, she stopped outside the door and looked up at the wide pink sky over Los Angeles. The same city that tried to box her in was now the city that might set her free.

She whispered into the warm evening air I am not your picture. I am my own sound.

And for the first time, she fully believed it.