Chapter 14 （Noah）
NOAH
Reflections are not always an accurate representation of reality. Sometimes, they are nothing more than a facade designed to create the illusion of happiness. Lies in an aluminum pane, polished to convince the world I’m unbreakable.
The lights along the mirror burn hot, a row of miniature suns glaring into my face until my skin glows like lacquer and my smile looks almost human. Almost.
It doesn’t matter how long I sit and stare at myself in the dressing room vanity; gone is the girl who dreamed of stage lights and roaring crowds, and in her place is a wounded bird trapped in a cage of forged steel.
Will I ever recognize the person staring back at me? Pretty as a poster, all shimmer and artifice.
Sure, the eyes are mine, but they’re rimmed in fatigue that concealer can’t mute. A billboard smile masks my true state, teeth too bright and lips too red.
What people don’t see is that this version of me is held together by makeup and glamour. A superstar who’s a far cry from the Noah Lane I once knew.
My eyes squeeze tight, and I swallow back the lump of regret forming in my throat.
Drawing a breath through my nose, I desperately try to find my center, but it’s no use.
Cracks have formed in my showgirl disguise, and they’ve only grown wider since returning from Black River to living in hell with Bradley.
My time back home reminded me of the girl I once was, young, wild, carefree. God, I fucking miss her.
Blinking back my unshed tears, I find my reflection once more. “Pack it away, Noah. Tonight is your big night.” I watch as my shoulders rise and fall. “Now is not the time for regrets.”
The lie I’m living is becoming increasingly difficult to maintain.
It’s been less than a week since I returned to Los Angeles, and all I can think about is how I never should’ve come back here.
The weight of everything I once gave up sits heavily on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
I had a love most people never get to experience, and I tossed it aside, and now I live with the reminder of what I lost every fucking day.
Staying away from Rhett was easier in my absence, but once I saw him again all those feelings I’d buried came rushing to the surface.
Hell, if I’d known the price I’d pay for fame, younger me would’ve made better fucking choices.
A deep sigh turns my bones to mush. How much longer can I pretend I’m okay? How much longer can the armor I dress in hide the reality of what’s underneath the surface—a shell of the woman I once was.
The fringe hemming my black leather dress slides against my arms and thighs like metaphorical chains disguised as sparkle.
My knee-high snakeskin boots feature ornate silver spurs that match the turquoise rings stacked on my fingers, and a bolo choker dips down to my collarbone like an arrow pointing to the place where my heart used to lie.
Before I left it, bruised and broken, in the hands of a rugged rancher.
From a distance, I’m picture perfect—a country star in her prime.
Up close, a different tale is told. There’s no concealing the tremor in my hands as I press them to my thighs, the rise and fall of my chest, the fake smile plastered across lips that haven’t spoken any truth in months.
Closing my eyes once more, I breathe in the illusion, hoping like hell I can keep it in place long enough to get through tonight.
The sound of the crowd leaks through the walls, a low roar of anticipation. It should thrill me. It used to. But tonight, it feels like the ocean building on the other side of a dam.
The dressing room door opens without a knock, and my chest hitches. I don’t need to turn around. I can feel the shift in the air, the gravity of him filling the room.
Long seconds tick by, heightened by the watch somewhere under his cuff that beats like a metronome. As always, Bradley allows the quiet to take the opening act, letting it climb into my lungs and settle until it completely unnerves me.
Stepping closer, he cages me in by placing his hands on the vanity table on either side of me.
His eyes latch onto mine through the reflection of the mirror as he lowers his mouth to my ear.
“My girl.” His condescending tone slithers against the back of my neck.
He doesn’t touch me yet. He doesn’t have to. “Our big night.”
My shoulders rise, then fall. His hand moves until it floats above like a benediction that hasn’t landed.
When it does, it’s gentle, thumb smoothing over skin.
His touch, seemingly innocent enough, completely unnerves me.
I know the game Bradley is playing. This is who he pretends to be when eyes are watching.
And although we are the only ones in the dressing room, the door to the busy corridor is open wide enough for him to keep his mask in place.
Anyone could walk in at any point, and if they did, they’d never guess that the lingering brush across my skin is a mark of ownership, not affection.
Demanding my gaze through the reflection, his features harden as he drops his voice to a low, unsettling grit.
“Do you remember where you started?” A smugness lights his beady stare, poised perfectly to burrow under my skin.
“Dive bars, neon beer signs, and bad soundboards.” Bile rises to the base of my throat, and I swallow it down, unwilling to let him see how much he rattles me. “Look at you now.”
I hear what he doesn’t say aloud. All this. Everything you are. I. Gave. You. I don’t know why I stayed long enough to be trapped in a life without escape. To him, I am a pawn—incremental, barely visible.
“Tonight is about us. When they call your name, you smile. Not that scrunched thing you do either, the other one—the practiced one.” His free hand grips my chin, marking the corners of my mouth.
“You thank the right people. Starting with your future husband.” His reflection tilts as he adjusts the angle of my head, and the air gets thinner as I fight to keep my breathing even.
“Follow the fucking script Annabel wrote for you.”
Forcing me to maintain eye contact in the mirror, the pressure on my jaw tightens. “Don’t cry on camera.” His menacing tone deepens through gritted teeth. “Don’t cry at all.”
The taste of copper rises as the memory of the last time he put his hands on me bleeds through my nervous system. The room goes a click quieter; the world narrows to the circle of his touch burning my skin.
He leans closer, his mouth near my ear. “You steer the conversation to the wedding, and how you’re having so much fun planning our big day. Sell the illusion, Noah.” The breath on my skin cools in warning. “You tell them I take good care of you.”
He sweeps my long tresses off my shoulder with a tenderness that could read as affection. The ends whisper against my skin, and I hate myself for shivering. He sees that too. He always does. I sit straighter, like a child in church.
“Phone.” He opens his other hand, palm up, patient.
“It’s—”
His brow lifts once, enough to show the flash of steel behind his gaze.
In response, I reach into the side pocket of my dress and place the phone in his palm.
“Nobody needs your attention but me until the end of the night. Now, smile.” He waits.
I deliver the right one this time, teeth and gloss, the shape he coached into me like choreography.
He watches it settle into place. Pride slicks through his eyes, bright and obscene.
He doesn’t move for a moment. He just exists in the space behind me, a heat source my body detects despite every instruction to ignore him. The mirror fills with the two of us—his dark suit framing my smallness, his hands calm, mine folded in my lap like a girl who knows her lines.
“I hope you enjoyed your final trip home.” His gaze skims the turquoise rings stacked on my fingers, the spurs, the choker’s pointed tip.
Heat punches the base of my skull. I keep my smile firmly in place, even though it aches to do so.
He lowers his mouth, punctuating his next words with a warning.
“Whatever you thought you were looking for in that Podunk town—leave it there.” A hiss accompanies the threat.
“There’s nothing for you in Black River.
Your future is here. With me. Convince yourself if you need to. ”
My spine straightens as I shift in my seat, hiding the fear that laces my veins.
Bradley’s obsession is becoming more and more unbearable.
It’s like seeing the photos of me with Rhett drove him past sanity.
I was never afraid of him, but this past week has me fucking terrified.
As hard as I try, the glass tightens around my image until the room shrinks to the mirror’s frame.
A tear escapes my painted lashes, sliding down my cheek.
In the corridor beyond, a door clicks, voices rising and falling, laughter slicing by.
He measures the distance to that sound. Then he leans, the pressure of his fingers changing under my jaw, still delicate, still so control-clean it might not exist from any angle but mine.
“No more tears, Noah.” A ghost of amusement.
“Do you know how you look when you cry? All the artistry leaks right off. Not very pretty. Not very professional.”
He softens his mouth the way he does when he’s about to ask for a favor he’s going to use against me. “Don’t be selfish tonight.”
My throat closes around every word I want to say, so instead I nod once—fake smile still in place.
He releases my jaw in a gesture that looks like affection, the pad of his thumb grazing my chin as if blessing my compliance.
Bradley steps back enough, allowing me to breathe.
“Stand up, honey. It’s almost showtime.”
My knees listen to him before my brain does. The fringe of my dress kisses my thighs when I rise. The room tilts, then rights. He watches me find my balance like he’s grading it.