Our taxi parks in front of a tall slender building with an extravagant water feature out the front. I bet the top office overlooks a magnificent view of the city and the bright colourful lights at night. This view already gives me tingling hopes of happiness. This place feels right already.

"Are you ready?" Dad asks.

I slip out the taxi and head straight inside with Dad flanking behind me. I'm nervous about not wearing my mask in front of other people while discussing this, but honestly, if I sign a contract with them, then I'm going to have to produce my name. Perhaps this will be my beginning step towards letting more people know me.

The outside of the building gives of a sophisticated feel, while the inside speaks more character and refines their sense of funk and good music. The room is painted a soft cream colour and is decorated with mismatched chairs, music magazines, along with record and large print magazines and articles about their musicians. There's some soft music playing in the background which instantly makes me feel at welcome.

Dad and I walk to the desk placed in the centre of the room. The man sitting behind has sun kissed skin, stocky shoulders and a black band t-shirt on. When he sees us approaching, a glowing smile appears on his face.

"Hi, welcome to Del Ray Recordings, how can I help you?"

"We're hoping to have an audience with Mr. Portman," I explain.

"Mr. Portman has a solid booking today, his next free appointment is in three weeks."

"When we spoke previously, he insisted I stop by his studio for a tour," I lie.

Mr. Portman and I haven't talked directly, but his message to me seems like it would favour my visit to his recording studio. I really want to join here, and I bet Mr. Portman would be excited for my name to be printed on his bill.

"I don't have anyone printed down, but I will call Mr. Portman and see if he wants to see you. Can I have a name?"

"The Masked Singer."

The man's face flickers with emotions, but there's a small smile edging onto his lips. He grabs his cell phone out of his pocket and taps away at the screen before pressing the device against his ear.

"Do you have a free moment, I have The Masked Singer waiting for you," he says.

He falls silent and that sends me panicking. I look towards Dad, but his expression is blank and not reassuring in the slightest way.

"She seems like the real deal this time, come and check it out." More silence is followed until the man hangs his phone up.

"So?" I prompt.

"Mr. Portman isn't seeing walk-ins at the moment," he says with a grim face. "But."

"What?" I'm in the middle of wanting to fall into the earth and explode.

"I have an ear for music, and my faith in you. Mr. Portman isn't going to be happy, but I believe you'll have a better chance of seeing him with my help." He pockets his phone and walks from around the desk and heads down a narrow passage with an elevator at the end.

He slips a key card similar to our hotel room one through a gadget plugged to the side of the elevator. He presses four numbers in the keypad and then we all enter the lift. Once we're inside, a few more buttons are pressed and we start moving upwards. Within seconds we walk out into another office.

"Mr. Portman," he says.

"James, what are you doing here?" The chair behind a grand desk swirls around to reveal an older tall man dressed in an immaculate suit.

"You've certainly changed your tune." I cross my arms over my chest, "You were almost begging me to visit," I explain.

"A lot of people are claiming to be The Masked Singer, what makes you special?" I never expected to hear this, but I grit my teeth and straighten my back.

"I don't owe you anything, and frankly, you don't owe me anything either. But what you must consider is what can I do for you, and what can you do for me?" Mr. Portman is taken back by my retort, which sends a swirl of confidence swirling through my system.

"What can I do for you?" he questions.

"I would like a tour of your studio. The graphics of your recording studios look stunning online, way better than Before the Party three blocks away from here," I reply.

"Studio tour it is." Mr. Portman raises himself from his seat and looks at James. "James?"

"Yes, Mr. Portman."

"You're dismissed from my presence." His voice sounds menacing and even sends chills down my spine.

"Actually, I'd rather have James with me." I grab a hold of his hand and lead him back into the elevator with me. "Which is the best studio?" I ask.

"The one below this level." My kind gesture seems to have saved James's mood, but from his shaky glances towards Mr. Portman, he's worried about being in the same room as him. Frankly, I'm starting to feel the same way.

Once everyone piles into the elevator, James takes us to the floor below us. I try not to appear fangirlish when the doors open and I'm met with a room filled with expensive recording equipment and musical instruments.

"This floor is the largest recording studio we have. It features a diverse range of musical instruments in the booth, state of the art recording system which is transferable via blue tooth, along with a chill out zone which is always stocked with refreshments for you.

"This looks beautiful," I say as I enter the room.

There's a spacious section blocked off with clear glass with a range of instruments inside the room along with a separate booth for recording vocals. The recording panel has hundreds of glowing lights and the chill out zone looks fabulous with is creative style similar to the downstairs entrance.

"Can I play one of the guitars?" I ask.

James looks at Mr. Portman, then back at me. Mr. Portman heaves unpleasantly and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Sure," James answers.

I open the door to the recording booth and wander inside with the rest shortly following. My eyes scan over the variety of guitars hanging on the wall. I've never been given the opportunity to have so many exquisite musical instruments to play with – it's exciting.

The decision is hard, but I pick the one that stands out to me the best. A light wooden guitar that feels perfect in my hands. I slip the strap over my neck and brush my fingers against the strings.

"Just a guitar fan?" asks James.

"All I've learnt to play." I shrug my shoulders.

"You should try a piano, it would complement your sound brilliantly," he suggest.

"I've always wanted to learn a diverse range of musical instruments."

"Now's your chance to learn."

"Good spotting." I laugh.

"Will you play me something?"

"I uh, hm." I look towards the ground.

"Completely your choice, but." His eyes flicker towards Mr. Portman standing a few feet away from us.

"You should play something," Dad encourages.

"I don't have any new material to play." I take the guitar off and hand it back to him. "Sorry."

"Sing from the heart." James presses his hand against his chest.

"Don't lose faith in me if it sounds bad." I put the guitar strap back over my neck and try to think of something to sing.

"I would never." He laughs lightly.

"It's been a long time coming, but I'm finally here. Two feet on the ground, time passing by. I might be hanging by a thread, but this is just the beginning of me." The soft notes flutter through the air and smiles fall upon their faces, even Mr. Portman.

"You sound better than your videos," Mr Portman congratulates me, his smile growing wider.

"So you believe me know then?" I ask.

"Believing and knowing are two separate ordeals. Many people claim to be you, but in fact there can only be one masked singer. Faith in yourself is what I needed to see."

"What happens next?"

"I would like to welcome you to our recording label, if that's what you wish."

"I would really like to be a part of the team."

"Welcome aboard."

We leave the room and head back to Mr. Portman's office to look over documents while James returns to his office downstairs. I let Dad take the front row of talking legal, while I sit back and gaze out the window, enraptured by the stunning view and the fluffy clouds floating effortlessly past.

I only have half a year left of schooling to complete, so dropping out is never going to be an option. I didn't struggle through years or assignments and exams to flake out now. Completing promotions and tours will have to be done through this break, and then after graduation I get more free time to play around with my schedule.

This is an amazing opportunity, but it's scary at the same time. What if I want to do something else with life like go to college? At least I can explore the world and go down pathways I'd never been able to go down before. I'm grateful for the opportunity, but it still worries me to the core.

"A small promotion tour is going to be hard to squeeze in last minute," Mr. Portman explains.

"You're a man of talent, I'm sure if you want it badly enough arrangements can be made."

"Right again, Mr. Brenton," he mumbles.

"We appear to be finished here. Email me through a copy and I'll have it straightened out and delivered to you Monday morning," Dad concludes.

"We shall be leaving then?" I try to sound confident, but it comes out as a question.

"Until next time." Dad stands and straightens out his jacket, then collects the papers off Mr. Portman's desk and places it into his brief case.

"Until next time." He nods in both of our direction.

Without looking too eager, I slip into the elevator and press the ground floor button. The doors shut in a smooth motion and then it rattles and we start descending.

"Did we make the right choice?" I ask.

"How does this place feel to you?"

"Like home."

"Then yes." Dad nods his head.

When the doors open, Dad makes a bee line to the exit, while I head straight to the office desk where James is seated.

"Thank you," are the first words slipping out of my mouth, "For helping me back then, you risked a lot."

"Some things are worth it." He shrugs his shoulders effortlessly.

"I hope we can be friends one day." I smile.

"That would be a pleasure. And-" I bite my lip nervously.

"Your secret is safe with me." He winks, "Also company policy." He laughs.

"Well then, thank you."

"Hopefully we'll be seeing you soon?" Hope spreads across his green eyes.

"I hope so, James, this place has a nice vibe to it."

"Have a good day."

"And you as well." I wave as I walk away, falling in step with Dad. I push the doors open and disperse into the bustling crowd on the side walk. With our affairs in order, I feel like I've been set free from my gilded cage. But as I'm set free, I can't help but feel weighted down by something.