Samantha White looked into the mirror but no longer recognized herself. She’d come a long way from the girl who lived in the back seat of her mother’s car. With blue hair and a five-thousand-dollar leather jacket, she hardly knew the woman staring back at her.

“Indigo, you’re on in five,” Brenda, the assistant to her assistant called from the door.

She looked into the mirror. “You can do this,” she said to the scared girl who lived inside her. The young woman she’d buried under hair dye and designer clothes. “You have to do this.” She pulled her ID card and a wad of cash from her purse and shoved it inside her back pocket. “I will do this,” she said to herself as she walked toward the stage.

At the edge of the curtain stood her agent, Oliver Shepherd, and her manager, Dave Belton. One handled her career, the other handled her life. She was tired of being handled—manhandled.

“You ready?” Dave gripped her arms too tightly. She hated it when he was pumped up on something. She wouldn’t call him abusive in her opinion. She’d seen what abuse looked like firsthand when her drunken father beat her mother nearly to death. No, Dave was a control freak and a cocaine freak—not a good mix when the star of your show wasn’t keen on continuing to be an indentured servant. That’s why Oliver Shepherd was here tonight in Denver. He was present to secure their futures.

“Don’t forget the playlist. None of that slow, lover’s-lament shit you want to sing lately. No one wants to hear sad stuff. These are hard times, and people look to you to lift them up.” He turned her around and gave her a push toward the stage.

“Knock ‘em dead, Indigo,” Oliver said. “We’ll meet up at the hotel to sign the new deal.”

She smiled on the outside and put on her headset. Her hand reached to her back pocket to confirm the presence of phase one of her escape plan, a plan that took her years to put into place. There was no walking away from the power of the Shepherd Agency or the grip of Dave Belton.

It wasn’t an easy decision to run away from her life when so many people depended on her, but Samantha knew she’d never survive another year like the past one. Thirty-six countries and two hundred and ten concerts in fifty-two weeks. Add two new albums and three music awards, and she was done. While her alter ego Indigo was a powerhouse, Samantha White was burned out.

The sold-out venue hummed with the deafening chant of “In-di-go, In-di-go, In-di-go.”

Her heart raced. The rush of blood to her head dizzied her. The minute she walked on stage, she earned five hundred and sixty thousand dollars, but it wasn’t enough. There wasn’t an amount large enough to keep her in the spotlight. There were at least three things Samantha wanted more than money.

She wanted a life.

She wanted to love.

She wanted the freedom that came from being invisible.

She’d get none of those things living under the microscope of fame or the strong arm of her manager.

She was America’s sweetheart. At twenty-nine, she still looked sixteen, which was a curse because the public’s perception was everything when you were famous. She wanted to act her age, but having a glass of wine or a date went against her squeaky-clean brand.

Her real life wasn’t too far off from the lie they told the public. She drank, but she did it alone in her hotel room or on her bus. She dated, but only in secret, and she was limited to band members and stage hands. When she complained, Dave offered her his magic elixir—a concoction of drugs and alcohol he guaranteed would cheer her up. She knew then it was time to go. She didn’t want to be another Amy Winehouse or Janis Joplin.

When the drummer started the distinctive beat of her last platinum single, “Your Way” she walked out onto the stage for what she hoped would be her last contractual live performance.

For an hour and forty-six minutes, she gave the audience everything she had. For her final song, she walked to the band and told them what she wanted to sing. They gave her that look, the one that said Dave would be furious, but if she was going to walk away, it would be on her terms.

Gary, her lead guitarist, counted off the beats to start the song “Empty Box”. She glanced over her shoulder to stage right, to the red-faced Dave flailing his hands in the air. Behind him, Oliver Shepherd frowned. It wasn’t what they wanted, but it was what she wanted. After ten years of contract slavery, wasn’t it time she got her way?

She belted out the song about a life not lived, and on the chorus she walked down the steps and disappeared into the crowd.

The fans swarmed around her as she pushed her way toward the back of the arena.

“Ohmigod, Ohmigod, Ohmigod!” a blue-haired teenage girl, dressed in jeans and a gray hoodie screamed. “It’s you! It’s really you!”

Samantha smiled. “It’s almost me.” She pointed to the girl’s hoodie and then back to her studded leather jacket. “Want to trade?” Samantha heard the security team closing in, telling people to, “Move aside.” She had minutes to make her escape.

“You want to trade with me? Ohmigod, Ohmigod, Ohmigod! Yes!” The teen stripped her jacket off like it was on fire and traded it for Indigo’s custom-designed look. While the girl stood putting her new fashion-forward coat on, Indigo pulled the hoodie over her blue hair and blended in with the crowd.

She felt bad for the girl who would soon be accosted by her security team in seconds and whisked away to the back room. Eventually, they’d figure out she wasn’t Indigo, but a super fan who had the perfect shade of blue hair and the same physique. She couldn’t feel too badly because whoever the girl was, she’d get her fifteen minutes of fame and a rockin’ hot custom leather jacket.

At the front of the arena with Indigo left behind, Samantha White flagged down a cab and gave him the address to the second phase of her plan. He drove her to the airport, where a used front-wheel drive was parked in space number nine-three-seven.

She tipped the cabbie and watched him drive away. Inside the front right wheel well, she felt for the keys her assistant Deanna promised would be there. They fell off the tire and into her palm. She opened the door, sank into the driver’s seat and sent a silent thanks to her assistant and only real friend. Deanna had watched Samantha wither under the constant stress and abuse. She’ll never forget the day they sat down and planned Samantha’s escape. She’d be forever grateful for her loyalty and help.

It took over two years because she needed to fulfill her public engagements or face multiple lawsuits. She couldn’t believe she’d made it out alive and mostly well.

Samantha was young and naïve when Oliver Shepherd discovered her singing in a honky-tonk bar in Nashville. He saw what she didn’t. She had star power, and he took advantage of her by offering her a ten-year deal. She thought he was being generous, but in reality, he was hedging a sure bet and locking down his talent.

While Samantha thought how freeing a steady paycheck could be for her and her mom, the management team added up the millions she would make them.

She bought her mom a house and gave her the life she’d always wanted. Samantha continued to dream about her life ahead. While her mother enjoyed the fruits of her daughter’s labor, Samantha was a workhorse who didn’t get a second to breathe.

She couldn’t complain about her life too much because she’d been the one to sign her name on the dotted line. She was slow to investigate and quick to act.

One bright note was her management team was fair with compensation, but they were relentless when it came to work ethic. They would get their pound of flesh from her one way or another. At five-foot-five and down to a hundred and four pounds, she had no more flesh to offer.

She glanced around the car. The back seat was filled with suitcases of clothes. The front seat held a bag with more cash than the car was worth. It was risky to leave it all out here in a parking lot, but what price could she put on survival? She opened the cooler on the floor and found her favorite drink, a sugar-free, calorie-free lemonade that tasted almost as good as the real thing. For the next five minutes, Samantha White sat in silence and enjoyed freedom and anonymity. In the glove compartment was a knit cap, along with a pair of sunglasses she wouldn’t need until tomorrow.

She pulled off the hoodie and stuffed her sapphire locks into the hat. She laughed at how they’d come up with her name and brand. No wonder she was blue.

“You can’t be Samantha White. It’s a boring name,” Oliver said. “Let me see your eyes.”

She lifted her face into the light. Her mom always said her eyes were blue, while drunken Daddy said they were black as tar, like her soul. Then again, he didn’t see straight after having a fifth of hard liquor for breakfast.

“Indigo,” Dave said. “Her eyes are a black-blue.” By that time, Dave was hired to be her manager—really a babysitter because she had recently turned nineteen. Not old enough to know better, but old enough to make legal decisions. It made her dangerous in their eyes.

Once they’d named her “Indigo,” her future was set. She’d adopted a persona with blue hair, edgy clothes, and a squeaky-clean image. It was the dichotomy of her appearance versus her persona that drew attention. She was every parent’s nightmare and dream in the same girl. Throw in a voice with a range to rival Whitney Houston, and she was a hit. All she had to do was show up. That was where Dave Belton came in.

Dave’s superpower was his ability to instill fear. He scared the hell out of her. After the first time she mouthed off at him and found herself locked inside her hotel room, she rarely gave him trouble. He reminded her of her father. If he could hold her hostage, he was capable of anything.

Mixing attitude with alcohol made the impossible possible. She’d learned that lesson the hard way. She thought of the time her father put her mother into the hospital. Yvette White was unconscious for three days. After she was released, she packed her and Samantha’s belongings and moved from place to place, never staying anyplace long enough for Harlan White to find them. Funny how life had come full circle; now she had packed up her stuff and was hiding again.

“Welcome to your life, Samantha.” It was odd to hear her real name, even from her own voice. Everyone called her Indigo, even her mother. She turned on the dome light and pulled down the visor to inspect herself in the mirror. “You’re almost you.” She plucked the false lashes from her eyes and flicked them out the window. That was her past. This was her beginning.

“Aspen Cove, here I come.”

She took an hour to get used to driving. Although she maintained a driver’s license, she rarely got behind the wheel. The last time she went out for a drive, she was swarmed by paparazzi and had to call her security team to come and get her. She loved the fans, but there was something to be said for freedom.

Before she entered the mountain pass, she pulled into a fast-food drive-thru. It was her first test at being invisible. She checked herself in the mirror and tucked the remaining strands of blue away.

“Welcome, what can I get you?” said the young female voice through the speaker.

“One second, please.” Samantha couldn’t remember a time when she’d sat in a drive-thru looking over the menu. Her food was portioned, calorie-counted, and delivered. She’d spent the first year starving and the next nine pretending food was poison. It made it easier to not eat. Now a menu of burgers and fries were staring at her. She was the proverbial kid in a candy shop. “I’m ready.”

“Me too,” the girl called back.

“I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries and a chocolate shake. Oh, and can I have a box of those animal cookies, and maybe some apple slices?” She didn’t know if she’d get to the apple slices, but she ordered them because it at least made the meal seem balanced.

The girl gave her a total and told her to drive around.

Samantha held her breath when the window opened and the teenager looked at her. For a second she thought she’d been recognized, then the girl said, “I have the same cap.”

“Cool.” Samantha handed over a twenty and took her food. She was on a roll. She pulled into the parking spot reserved for to-go orders and texted Deanna.

Operation Indi-go-go is a success. She shot a picture of her food and laughed.

Dave would have an aneurysm if he saw what you are eating, she wrote back. I’m glad you’re safe. Everything is taken care of. The key is under the mat. The furniture is in place. The place is basic, but the view is nice. You’ll need lots of stuff once you get settled. I found a cool headboard at a consignment shop in town. It was closed for the season, but when I said I had cash, some lady named Abby was happy to open for me. You’ll love it.

She pulled the phone to her chest and hugged it.

I appreciate everything you’ve done.

Deanna took a vacation and traveled to Aspen Cove to accept a delivery of basic furniture and a bed before she started her real vacation hundreds of miles away in Alaska.

You might not thank me when you don’t have coffee in the morning, but there’s a diner in town and the food is decent. Now turn off your phone or they’ll track it. Enjoy what time you get. Hugs.

Samantha powered down her phone and headed for Aspen Cove. She turned on the eighties station and sang to the old-school music she loved while she had her first burger and fries in years. She knew this wasn’t a permanent vacation. She still had commitments left to fulfill. Her last real planned public event was important. Although her management team was pissed off she was doing it for free, the event was for victims of domestic abuse, and she was excited to help. She had a final album due for the record label, but at least she’d get downtime until they found her. They would find her. That was a certainty. Between now and then, she’d need to come up with a plan B.

Nearly three hours later, she pulled into the tiny town of Aspen Cove. Everything was dark except the diner where a group of people seemed to be celebrating. If it weren’t so late and she weren’t so tired, she’d consider crashing their party. She had a lot to celebrate, too.

She pulled into the driveway of 7 Lake Circle and took in a deep breath. This was it. She danced her way to the front door. Under the mat, like Deanna said, was the key. She slid it into the lock and opened the door to a whole different world.