My Pop Star Best Friend Ghosted Me for 3 Years. I Infiltrated His Team for Revenge… And Uncovered a Deadly Conspiracy

The Man Named Lucky

The real problem, I quickly learned, wasn't Ryland's ego. It was his shadow. Charles Luciano, known to everyone as "Lucky."

Lucky was Ryland's manager, a man who wore suits that cost more than my parents' house and smiled with too many teeth. He hovered over Ryland constantly. He checked Ryland's phone. He approved Ryland's meals. He even monitored Ryland's conversations with the stylists.

"Leah," Lucky purred one afternoon, cornering me near the craft services table. He smelled of expensive cologne and stale cigar smoke. "You're doing a good job. You're… invisible. I like that."

I adjusted my fake glasses, keeping my head down. "Thank you, sir."

"Ryland needs structure," Lucky said, his eyes scanning the room. "He's fragile. We have to protect him from distractions. From his past."

My blood ran cold. "His past?"

"Old friends, leeches, people who want a piece of the pie," Lucky said, his voice dropping an octave. "If anyone from his old life tries to contact him, you bring it to me directly. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Later that day, I was organizing Ryland's schedule—haircut at 10:00, PR shoots at 3:00—when I overheard an argument coming from the dressing room. I pressed my ear against the door.

"I can't do the Korea concert, Lucky," Ryland's voice sounded strained, desperate. "I'm not ready."

"You'll do it," Lucky's voice was a low growl. "Unless you want Mommy dearest to have an accident."

I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp. Ryland's mom. She was the sweetest woman I knew. She used to bake us cookies. I hadn't seen her in town for years; everyone assumed she moved to be with Ryland.

"She's fine as long as you sing, puppet," Lucky continued. "And as long as we move the equipment. The 'tech' needs to get across the border."

I backed away from the door, my heart racing. This wasn't just about a ghosting friend anymore. Ryland was a prisoner.

The Mask Comes Off

I couldn't keep up the charade. Not after what I heard. That night, after the PR shoot wrapped, I found Ryland alone in his trailer. He was staring at himself in the mirror, looking utterly defeated.

I locked the door behind me.

"Leah?" he asked, startled. "What are you doing? I didn't ask for anything."

"I'm not Leah," I said.

I reached up and pulled the wig off. My hair tumbled down. I took off the glasses. I wiped the smudge of makeup off my cheek. I stood there, Eva, his best friend from the tiny town he left behind.

"Look at me, Ryland," I demanded. "Really look at me."

He squinted, confusion clouding his features. He stepped closer, tilting his head. For a second, I saw a flicker of something—hope? Fear?

"I…" He grabbed his head, wincing in pain. "I don't… who are you?"

"It's Eva," I whispered, tears stinging my eyes. "Ryland, it's me. We grew up together. Sky is my sister. We built the treehouse. You have a scar on your arm from the bike accident."

He looked down at his arm, then back at me. His face was pale. "I don't know you," he said, his voice breaking. "I don't remember anything before three years ago."

"What?"

"The accident," he murmured. "Lucky said I was in a car crash right after I signed. I woke up in the hospital. He said I had amnesia. He said he was the only one who cared about me. He said my family was dead."

"He lied," I said fiercely. "Your mom isn't dead. He's holding her hostage."

Ryland stumbled back, hitting the counter. "How do you know that?"

"Because I heard him. He's using you to launder money, Ryland. He's smuggling tech through your concert equipment. You're not a star to him; you're a mule."

Before he could respond, the trailer door burst open. It wasn't Lucky. It was two of his goons—massive men in black suits.

"Found the rat," one of them grunted.