Prologue 

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Whenever and wherever was their motto. Tonight, they were backstage in their Green Room at the American Music Awards. Eighteen year old Shyne Miller’s Gemini air stoked the Sagittarius flames of his girl’s. 

Whenever they were together, Shyne just couldn’t resist her. His girl didn’t care one bit! The only thing on her mind was the certified guarantee that she was going to cum at least three, before Shyne got through with her.

At the current moment Shyne had her bent over, hitting it from behind. High as hell, he gripped a handful of her curls.

“Shyneeeee,” Shyne’s girl moaned when he started pounding. 

Nothing had ever felt better than this moment. The way his dick filled her was pure heaven. She thought she would pass out from how good he was dicking her down alone. She immediately began bouncing and throwing her ass back on him. Every single thrust he gave her made her grow weaker with pre-orgasmic tremors. 

“Fuckkkkkk! Your pussy is the absolute best. I’m fuckin’ crazy about this shit…” He groaned through clenched teeth as he tightened his grip on her hips and continued pounding her thoroughly. 

Shyne’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as she met his stroke perfectly. The view of her ass cheeks bouncing mixed with the sounds of macaroni echoing off the walls and her moaning his name was driving him insane with need. Every single thrust and pound into her sent him closer and closer to the edge.

“Yessss! Shyneeeee! Fuck meeeee, baby! Fuck me!” His girl’s entire body shook as before she or Shyne knew it, someone came bursting through the door.

​

Chapter One

 

The first light of dawn crept through the blinds of Shyne Miller’s home studio, casting soft shadows across the room. The studio, nestled within the confines of his parents’ guest house beside their sprawling luxury estate, was a sanctuary where creativity flowed uninterrupted. The walls were adorned with acoustic panels in rich, deep hues of burgundy and charcoal, pulsating gently with the rhythm of the music that filled the space.

At the heart of this creative haven was an expansive mixing console, its array of dials, switches, and glowing LED displays a testament to technological artistry. Surrounding it were racks of state-of-the-art equipment — synthesizers, amplifiers, and interfaces — that transformed the studio into a realm of endless musical possibilities. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one side, allowing the morning light to dance upon the plush, oversized couch in the corner, draped with soft throws and scattered with eclectic cushions. A large, well-stocked bar stood against another wall, offering respite during long nights of creation.

Shyne was deep in the creative process, seated at the mixing console, his fingers moving deftly over the controls. In public, Shyne normally dressed with an urban flair, Shyne often sported a blend of modern fashion with a touch of classic street style. His wardrobe was a medley of crisp tailored jackets, trendy sneakers, and bold accessories that spoke to his confident and creative spirit. 

In private, Shyne was dressed in a comfortable black wife beater and jeans. He wasn’t under media scrutiny. He could just be himself here. He hadn’t slept since the night before, choosing instead to immerse himself in music as an escape from his actions at the American Music Awards. With a determined sigh, he pressed the ‘playback’ button, letting the mellow R&B he had crafted fill the room.

His own voice resonated from the speakers, a haunting reminder of past confidences and late-night confessions. “Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! I was there through it all. Through that nigga’s put his hands on you. Through you cutting yourself and calling me at three in the morning…”

The door to the studio creaked open, and the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted in, accompanied by the gentle clinking of cutlery. Lakeisha Miller, Shyne’s mother, entered the room — a comforting constant in his tumultuous life. She carried a tray bearing his favorite breakfast: Brioche French Toast with Caramelized Bananas and Whipped Cream.

“Shyne, baby, you’ve been at it all night.” Lakeisha set the tray down on a nearby table, her voice tender yet firm. “You need to take a break and eat something. To make sure you do, I had the chef make your favorite.”

Shyne glanced over at her, offering a weary smile. “Thanks, Momma. You know I really can’t help it. Sometimes I swear there’s something up with my mind … once I get the inspiration…” He stopped the playback, turning his attention to the tray of food. “...I just have to start bringing the music to life.”

His gaze drifted to the gleaming trophies adorning the shelves of his studio, reminders of his success and the events of the previous night. SoulSync, the platinum R&B duo he formed with his cousin Shaquasia Haywood, had swept the American Music Awards, claiming accolades for Favorite Pop/Rock Band/Duo/Group, Artist of the Year, Favorite Music Video, Favorite Male R&B Artist, Favorite R&B Album, and Favorite R&B Song. Yet, even amid triumph, memories of last night’s events played out in his mind, a relentless reel of inner turmoil. 

Sensing his unease, Lakeisha approached, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Shyne, I know you’re thinking about last night, but you need to remember why you did what you did.”

“I just ... I can’t shake the feeling that I crossed a line, Mom.” He met her gaze, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Even though I’ve crossed so many already.”

“We’ve worked so hard to get here, Shyne.” Lakeisha’s eyes softened, her grip on his shoulder comforting. “Everything you did was necessary to protect what we’ve built together, especially your father. Sometimes, tough choices have to be made to keep what we have.”

With a deep breath, Shyne nodded, acknowledging the truth in her words. “Thanks, Mom. I just hope it was worth it.”

Lakeisha gave him a gentle smile, her faith unwavering. “It was … and it will be, Shyne. You just have to keep believing in yourself and in what we’re doing.” Lakeisha let out a saddened sigh. “Ra’s Light. Now eat, baby.” As Shyne sat down to eat, the weight of his actions at the American Music Awards settled over Lakeisha. Doubt lingered, but so did the promise of what lay ahead, a future shaped by the choices both of them made.

◇◇◇◇◇

“Fuckkkkkk! Your pussy is the absolute best. I’m fuckin’ crazy about this shit…” Shyne groaned through clenched teeth as he tightened his grip on his girl’s hips and continued pounding her thoroughly. 

Shyne’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as she met his stroke perfectly. The view of her ass cheeks bouncing mixed with the sounds of macaroni echoing off the walls and her moaning his name was driving him insane with need. Every single thrust and pound into her sent him closer and closer to the edge.

“Yessss! Shyneeeee! Fuck meeeee, baby! Fuck me!” His girl’s entire body shook as before she or Shyne knew it, someone came bursting through the door.

But the lustful bliss was shattered as the door burst open, revealing Jennifer Collins, the talent producer for the awards. Her eyes widened in disbelief at the scene before her. Shyne Miller and the last person on Earth that he should be sleeping with, caught in a moment of raw vulnerability, exposed with no room for doubt of what just occurred. 

Time seemed to slow. Each passing second was heavier than the last with the weight of impending disaster. Shyne’s heart pounded, adrenaline surging through his veins as the reality of their exposure sank in. The potential fallout loomed large in his mind — a scandal that could obliterate the carefully curated image he and his family had worked so hard to build.

Jennifer Collins’ voice broke the silence, her tone a mix of shock and incredulity. “Shyne, what the hell—?”

In that fleeting moment, Shyne’s mind raced, desperation and fear colliding with an instinctive drive to protect everything he held dear. His hand moved almost of its own accord, reaching for the blaster rifle that lay carelessly on the couch nearby.

The next few seconds unfolded in a blur of movement and sound. Shyne’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but his actions were swift and decisive. He pointed the blaster rifle at Jennifer, the weight of his decision pressing down like a storm.

Without another thought, he pulled the trigger. The room was illuminated with a flash of indigo energy, the beam finding its mark with surgical precision. The deafening crack of energetic discharge was followed by the sight of Jennifer Collins crumpling to the floor. Shyne watched her life fade from her eyes in an instant.

Silence fell. Shyne stood frozen, his mind grappling with the enormity of what he had just done. The reality of his actions settled over him like a crushing weight.

“S-S-Shyne, what did you just do?” His girl’s voice was a tremulous whisper.

Clarity hit him like a lightning bolt. “I did what I had to.” He turned to face her, the blaster slipping from his fingers as he sought to justify the irreversible. “If anyone finds out about us … our careers are over. You don’t want that, right?”

“No,” Her nod was slow, reluctant, but there was an understanding in her eyes — a shared recognition of the stakes they faced. “Of course not.”

“Then I did what I needed to, right.” His words were a plea as much as a statement, seeking assurance.

She nodded again, sadness etching her features. “Yeah.”

“Get dressed,” With a measured breath, Shyne picked up her panties, tossing them to her with a semblance of normalcy. “I’ll meet you in the audience after I call my dad.”

She watched as Shyne retrieved his cellphone, her expression a mix of awe and trepidation. “It never ceases to amaze me how powerful your dad is.”

He smirked slightly, dialing his father’s number with practiced ease. “He definitely has his uses.”

“You say that like he’s a tool, Shyne.”

“I treat him the way he treats me.” Shyne said just before the call connected.

“Reality Records,” Shyne’s father’s voice filled the space. “Da’Rell Miller speaking.”