Chapter 82
CADE
If backstage had a soundtrack, it’d be heavy breathing, rapid Spanish, and the occasional high pitched scream.
“?Pelo mojado?! ?Estás bromeando?!” Rico is in full meltdown mode. Which, to be fair, is his default setting, but today it’s nuclear.
Controlled chaos, if you tilt your head and squint hard enough.
Glitter dust in the air, curling irons sizzling, and half-dressed dancers darting like stage-trained banshees.
Top it all off with Rico screaming in Spanish from atop a folding chair while waving what might’ve once been Haley’s backup costume.
“??Dónde está el sujetador con los flecos?! I swear to God, if you lose one more sequin—!”
I duck just in time as a rhinestone belt flies past my face.
We’ve just come off The Legacy group number.
Bella had landed her last center lift like she was born under a spotlight, not raised in shadows.
Ellie stuck her triple pirouette and Haley threw in a midair hair flip that Knox swore deserved its own slow-mo reel. They crushed it.
And now we were twenty minutes out from The Trifecta’s first set, a Latin fusion trio that has Javi pacing like a lunatic and Rico clutching rosary beads backstage.
And through it all, there’s Bella. She’s ripping off her Legacy set like a woman on a mission, the deep burgundy sequined top already halfway over her head.
“Lex, shoes! Cade, get the purple! Javi, for the love of God, breathe! And someone find Haley’s earring before Rico throws himself into traffic.”
“Wait! What earring?” Haley calls from her chair, spinning as her curls are set with surgical precision.
Bella’s already stripped down to pasties and briefs, standing with one foot braced on a bench like some glittering general, sweat clinging to the lines of her back with glitter still still dusted across her collarbone from the group number.
Lex is on his knees at her feet again, silver stilettos in hand, muttering something about worship and war zones. I grab the next outfit off the rack and damn near forget what breathing is.
The dress is… lethal. Saturated amethyst, so rich it glows under the fluorescents. Rhinestoned fringe down one hip, a slit so high I’m surprised it doesn’t require a license, and a neckline deep enough to start a scandal. Backless, shoulder-baring, and bold.
I hold it out. “Your gown, m’lady.”
“You two are way too into this,” she laughs pointing a finger between me and Lex.
“Rico will cut us all if we don’t get you into this in the next ten seconds,” I counter.
Lex steadies her as she steps in. I guide the fabric up over her hips, careful with the fringe. She finishes securing the hidden side clasps herself, then plants a hand on my shoulder so Lex can zip up the back.
“You’re stressing,” I say, brushing a stray hair out of her face.
Bella’s voice tightens. “He hates Latin fusion. Hates trio sets. With my luck, probably hates purple fr—”
Lex cuts her off. “Baby. Breathe.”
She looks at him and for a second the mask drops. She’s not center-stage Bella. Not the storm. Just a girl trying to measure up.
“You’re not dancing for Santibanez,” I say gently, adjusting one of her earrings. “You’re dancing for the girls next to you. For Javi. For you.”
“And for me,” Lex adds. “Because watching you dance is the only religion I believe in.”
Bella laughs. Just a little, but it’s real.
Hair and makeup rush her. The twin glam artists from hell, curling her high pony into a sleek bounce while reapplying highlighter and triple-lashing her eyes. Someone shoves a water bottle into her hand.
“Baby, even my mother’s impressed.”
Bella’s head snaps toward Lex. “I thought just your dad was coming.”
He shakes his head. “Nope, she’s here too. Second row, dead center. Right behind the judges. Wearing that icy blue silk bullshit she saves for executions and weddings.”
Bella freezes.
Lex adds, “She’s… being her usual terrifying self. But she didn’t blink during Legacy. Didn’t look at her phone. Didn’t whisper to Dad. She watched you. Every step.”
Bella swallows.
Lex continues, quieter now. “When the lights came up, she said, and I quote, ‘She commands well. Dangerous.’”
She stares at him like he just told her she was being reviewed by a war council.
Lex shrugs. “That’s the Bratva version of a standing ovation.”
She turns to me. “Do you really think it’s gonna land?”
I crouch beside her makeup chair, locking eyes with her. The lights above us catch the shimmer on her cheekbones like warpaint made of stars.
“It’s not going to land,” I say. “It’s going to burn.”
“Great, like crash and burn?” she whispers.
“No, sweetheart,” I say taking her shaking hands in mine. “Like make Santibanez question his entire career.”
“Like make my mom blink,” Lex adds.
She takes in a deep breath. “Don’t go far,” she pleas.
“Front row,” I say. “We’ll be louder than Javi.”
“You better be louder than Rico,” she mutters.
“Impossible,” Lex deadpans.
The headset tech calls two minutes. Hair and makeup back off. The insanity ebbs around her like a tide pulling out to sea. Ellie and Haley are already standing near the wings, breathing in sync. Bella rises, smiles at us, and nods before heading over to the girls.
We weave our way through the velvet ropes again, slipping into our seats just as the lights dip and the crowd quiets. Knox leans back to let us through.
Front row is packed now, everyone’s here.
My parents are to my right, Mom’s hand resting on Dad’s arm, both of them dressed to the nines.
Mom’s wearing a sleek navy jumpsuit with diamond studs and a glass of white wine that somehow hasn’t spilled through everything.
Dad’s in a tailored black suit, proud and beaming, already clapping before anything’s even started.
Cal’s leaned forward two seats down, elbows on his knees, jaw set in quarterback-mode. August is bouncing his leg like he’s the one about to go out there and dance.
And then there’s Roman. Perfect suit. Calm, cool, collected. Hands folded in his lap like he’s watching his daughter take the throne he always knew she’d claim. His eyes track movement across the stage, then flick toward Lex. Just once.
Lex doesn’t look back. He drops into the empty seat beside me, jaw tight. I don’t need to ask. I can feel it, that quiet storm that always brews behind his eyes whenever Roman’s around.
Irina and Daniel sit directly behind us, second row.
She leans forward, just a little, and says over my shoulder, “How’s she looking back there, Cade?”
Before I can answer, Lex beats me to it voice dry and a little too loud. “Like a red flag with my name on it.”
Daniel clears his throat. Mom chokes on her wine. Irina just hums, like that’s exactly the kind of answer she expected from her son.
“She’s good,” I say, glancing toward the wings where Bella’s just stepped into position with Ellie and Haley. “She’s steady. She’ll be okay.”
I pause, then add under my breath, “We’ve just gotta make it through today.”
Daniel leans forward now, brow furrowed. “Why just today?”
Lex finally turns his head. “Because today’s when it counts.”
I nod. “Trios and duos have two rounds. Only the top three from each category qualify for tomorrow’s finals. If they take first tomorrow, then they get go to Worlds.”
Dad lets out a low whistle. “No pressure.”
Callum grins, all cocky confidence. “We win or we pack.”
Daniel leans in a little closer, voice mild but curious. “And the solos? The big groups? How do they work?”
“They dance once,” I say. “Solos and full-group routines are one-and-done. If you place top in either, you get your spot at Worlds.”
“Ellie’s a shoe-in,” Lex adds, still watching the wings. “Her solo’s ranked first in prelims and trending higher. Judges love her.”
“Legacy’s group set could go either way,” I admit.
“That’s not the one they care about,” Lex finishes.
Daniel raises a brow. “No?”
Lex shakes his head. “It’s the trio. That’s the one that matters.”
I nod, eyes drifting back to the stage. “They’ve danced solos. They’ve danced in groups. But The Trifecta? That’s different. They’re not just teammates, they’re family.”
“They want Worlds,” Lex says softly, almost like it’s a prayer.
“Those girls,” I say, “are sisters. And they want it all.”
The opening chords of Mi Gente snaps through the sound system like a shot of adrenaline as the girls step forward.
Bella center, Ellie and Haley on the sides like a perfectly calibrated V-formation in violet and silver fringe.
The moment they hit the first count, it’s not chaos anymore.
It’s precision. Fire and control in every step.
They don’t just dance to the beat, they shape it. Cha-cha and salsa footwork flickers beneath them, sharp and cut like glass. Their arms slice the air, fluid and fast. Feet pivot and snap through lightning-fast directional shifts, turns that land clean.
But it’s not just the movement. It’s the chemistry. The way they react to each other mid-spin, the unspoken sync in their spacing, the collective inhale before every dramatic pause. Like one organism split into three.
Judges are scribbling. Even the hardass ones. Their brows furrowed and nodding like they just got hit with something they didn’t expect. The judge on the left looks like he’s already added them to the winner’s sheet. The blonde woman beside him mouths wow.
And then there’s him, Santibanez. The Latin ballroom tyrant.
The one Bella is so terrified of. He’s not writing.
He’s watching, and not in the way he watched the Phoenix girls before.
Those poor dancers who got a whole head shake and a scribble mid-performance.
No, this time? He’s leaned forward, elbows on the table, lips parted just slightly. Like he’s… enchanted.
Lex notices too. “Is he—?” he whispers.
I nod. “Hooked.”
“Thank fuck.”