The hallway behind the stage was dim — just buzzing lights overhead and muffled bass pounding from soundcheck.
Nina spotted him first.
Tall. Hoodie up. Clipboard in hand.
> “That’s him,” she whispered. “His name’s Marco. Production runner. Mid-20s. Quiet.”
Tom didn’t wait.
He stepped in front of the guy, blocking his path. Isadora came up beside him, arms crossed. Nina followed, calm but intense.
> “Hey, Marco,” Tom said. Voice low, not angry — just serious.
Marco blinked. “Uh. Yeah?”
> “We need to talk about a song,” Isadora added. “Ours.”
Marco looked confused — or tried to. But his eyes shifted. Guilty.
> “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
> “Save it,” Nina snapped, holding up her phone. “You accessed a private studio file the night of our session. That access was traced. We know you downloaded it.”
Marco exhaled. “Okay. Okay. But I didn’t steal it.”
> “Then how’d it get re-recorded with someone else?” Tom asked, stepping closer.
> “Look — I didn’t know it was yours. I thought it was an abandoned track. I played it for someone I work with — she’s trying to get signed — and she loved the vibe. I didn’t think it was real.”
> “That wasn’t just a track,” Isadora snapped. “It was private. Between us.”
> “I get it now,” Marco muttered. “I’ll fix it.”
> “Fix it how?” Tom challenged. “Because right now, someone’s using our lyrics. Our melody.”
Marco nodded, panicked. “I’ll delete the copy. I’ll tell the label she can’t use it. I’ll take the blame.”
> “You will,” Nina added, “or we’ll take it public — and blow this whole situation wide open.”
Marco looked pale.
> “I’m sorry. Really. It won’t happen again.”
> “It better not,” Tom said flatly.
Isadora just turned and walked off.
Later, in the dressing room, Bill tossed a cold water bottle at Tom.
> “You good?”
Tom shrugged.
> “Yeah. Just sucks. It’s like… people don’t see us as real. Just… stuff to use.”
Bill leaned back. “It’s the business. But you did the right thing. You stood up for your song — and her.”
> “Yeah,” Tom muttered. “Still doesn’t feel right.”
Back in her room, Isadora sent him a message:
> “I hate that we had to fight to keep something that was just ours. But I’m proud of you. And us.”
Tom smiled. Typed back:
> “Always us. No matter who’s watching — or stealing.”
YOU ARE READING
"Strings Between Us
Romance2004. Germany. Tom Kaulitz is used to getting what he wants - the stage, the crowd, the girls. As Tokio Hotel begins to rise, so does his ego... until she shows up. She's the Brazilian guitarist in a rival band - quiet, sharp-tongued, and completely...
