Dylan finally returned to the luxurious villa he shared with his uncle, Henri Lenoir. The day had been long, filled with meetings, forced smiles, and handshakes with powerful people. He went straight up to his room, took off his shoes, collapsed onto his bed, and closed his eyes. Exhaustion overcame him in seconds. But in his heart, another kind of tiredness lingered — the weariness of keeping a heavy secret. He wasn't really Dylan. He was Victoire. And no matter what the world believed, he always would be.
The next morning, bright sunlight streamed through the villa's large windows. Dylan was awakened by the buzzing of his phone. It was a message from his uncle:
"Get ready. Tonight is the birthday of someone called Ryder — a very popular boy, rising star in music. He's throwing a party with lots of influential guests. I got an invite, and so did you. Look your best."
Dylan froze for a moment.
Ryder.
That name echoed in his mind like a haunting melody. He hadn't heard it aloud since everything had fallen apart. Could it really be? Ryder, his former friend — one of the ones who had left him alone without a single word — was now a rising star in the music industry? And he didn't even know Victoire was still alive, hidden behind the identity of Dylan.
Dylan spent the day preparing. A sleek black suit, polished shoes, neatly styled hair. He didn't just want to attend — he wanted to shine, to command respect. He wanted those who had forgotten him to look at him with admiration, without knowing he was the one they had left behind.
As night fell, Henri dropped him off in front of a massive, modern villa glowing with lights. Luxury cars lined the driveway, and a well-dressed crowd was already gathering in the courtyard.
"Keep calm," Henri whispered. "Tonight, you're not Victoire. You're Dylan Lenoir — the future king of the music scene."
Dylan nodded silently and stepped inside.
The villa was buzzing with music and laughter. People danced, laughed, and clinked glasses of champagne. Everyone was elegantly dressed. Producers, artists, influencers — the elite of the industry. Dylan walked among them confidently. He didn't go unnoticed. Several people greeted him, recognized him, praised his recent song.
Then, in the middle of the crowd, he saw them.
Ryder. Daniella. Andréa.
They had changed. More mature, more polished… but to Dylan, they were the same. Laughing together, united, as if they had never hurt anyone. As if their success erased the pain they had left behind.
At one point, Ryder stepped onto a small stage set up in a corner of the room.
"Thanks to everyone for coming tonight!" he shouted with energy. "It means so much to me. And as a special gift… I'd like to invite an artist I admire a lot — Dylan Lenoir — to come up and do a live remix of his latest song!"
The crowd cheered. Dylan felt his heart pounding harder. He gave a polite smile and walked up to the stage.
Daniella approached him with a drink in hand.
"I just wanted to say your song… it moved me," she said softly. "There's such pain in the lyrics… it felt like someone I knew had written it."
Dylan looked at her. Her gaze was kind, sincere… but empty of recognition. She didn't recognize him. None of them did. And yet, he was right there in front of them.
"Thank you," he replied simply. "I wrote that song during a very dark time."
Andréa joined them.
"Do you think you could remix it now, for us? Maybe improvise a bit?"
Dylan hesitated. It was strange. If he accepted, he would be singing the words he wrote as Victoire, in front of the people who had ignored his suffering. But part of him wanted to do it — precisely for that reason.
"Sure," he said at last. "But don't be surprised if the song… hits you harder than expected."
He took the mic and signaled the DJ to start the beat. The music thumped, and Dylan closed his eyes. He changed a few lyrics, making them sharper, more personal:
"You left when I was at my lowest,
You sang while I cried in silence,
Now you dance on top of my scars,
Without knowing they wear your names."
Silence settled over the room. Even the music seemed to soften to make space for his words. Daniella stared at him, visibly shaken. Ryder frowned slightly, as if he recognized something.
But no one said a word. When the song ended, applause erupted. Everyone cheered for Dylan Lenoir, unaware he was Victoire.
Henri approached him quietly.
"You were brilliant. You threw the truth in their faces… and they clapped."
Dylan nodded slowly.
"I don't know if that's funny… or just sad."
He stepped off the stage, greeted a few more guests, then walked away to breathe. In the garden, under strings of lights, he looked up at the stars. He thought of his parents, of the boy he used to be, of the man he was becoming.
A mask. A living lie.
But that mask… had allowed him to be reborn.