Epilogue

Angie

A year had passed since that night, but the memory of it still felt fresh in my mind. I stood at the edge of the stage, looking out at the crowd gathered for another summer festival, though this one was different. This time, there was no fear, no mask, no Trace lurking in the shadows of my life.

The past year had been a whirlwind, filled with more love, healing, and music than I could have ever imagined. After that night, my story spread like wildfire. People reached out to me—survivors, fans, and even those who had been too afraid to speak out before. They told me how my courage gave them hope, how seeing me embrace my scars inspired them to embrace their own. I never realized how much power my voice could hold, not just in song but in truth.

Bowie and I had grown closer with each passing day. What started as a connection born out of shared trauma had blossomed into something beautiful, something real. He'd become my rock, my best friend, my love. Together, we'd been slowly moving forward, building a life filled with laughter, late-night conversations, and quiet moments of contentment. I'd never known such joy.

Glancing backstage, I caught sight of him, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he leaned against a speaker, watching me with that familiar warm smile. It still amazed me that someone could look at me like that, with so much love in their eyes. We'd been through so much, but we came out stronger on the other side, together.

Miles was there too, standing beside Bowie. He was still protective, still worrying, but now his concerns were tempered with pride. He'd seen me at my lowest and was here to witness my highest. Lila was there too, and I still marveled at how close I'd become to Bowie's sister. He'd been right from the beginning that we would like each other, and sure enough we'd formed a deep friendship. I hoped that one day she would find her true love, just as I had.

The crowd began to chant my name, snapping me out of my thoughts. I smiled and took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the past lift from my shoulders. I was no longer just Angel, the pop star with a hidden face. I was Angie Bennett, a woman who had found her voice in more ways than one.

As I stepped up to the microphone, I let the moment sink in. This was my life now, one I had reclaimed for myself. The music started, and I began to sing, my voice soaring through the warm summer air. The crowd sang with me, their voices blending with mine in a harmony that felt like pure magic.

I wasn't hiding anymore. I was living, and I was truly free.