Chapter 70
DON’T LOOK BACK
I survived almost setting myself on fire. I can handle two minutes of piano.
Of course I can.
It’s what I’m good at. It’s who I am.
It doesn’t matter that I’ve only ever finished this piece twice without crying. It matters even less that both times I was able to muster it, Colt had to hold my shoulders to keep them from shaking.
The shape of the keys blurs into a sea of monochrome. My fingers burn, but I force them back over their starting marks. Well—where I think the starting marks are.
I suck in a deep breath, choked by Maverick’s cologne. He’s too close. I battle the nausea back. My eyes fall closed. I don’t need sheet music; I just need to do this.
Only, I can’t.
I can still feel them. A thousand watchful eyes waiting on bated breath to see if I’ll break. An all-consuming wave of terror washes over me and suddenly my skin is too tight, my bones too shaky, my lungs refuse to inflate and—
Look left if you need me.
My eyes flick sideways before I can stop them. And he’s there. Waiting in the wings, half shadowed, arms folded tight. He doesn’t acknowledge me, but he doesn’t have to.
For the first time in so long, the voice in my head is mine and mine alone, unguarded and unrestrained, allowing me the only thought I need:
This time, I’ll choose who I’m performing for.
I force my fingers into action; the first note strikes too loud.
The second steadies. My wrists tremble, but I hold them high.
Black and white blur into a lattice of flawless muscle memory.
My heart pounds between each chord, a metronome of terror-bound determination.
Anytime my composure wavers, Colt’s reassurances come in hushed whispers just behind my thoughts.
The final note fades. The room stills, then explodes into an ovation I’m not sure I’m worthy of. I bow my head to hide the residual anxiety welling behind my eyes.
My chest aches. This performance was supposed to settle me. Closure, in a way. I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to play again.
I don’t get the chance to grieve.
Maverick’s behind me in a second, hand firmly on my shoulder as he soaks up the attention. He squeezes again, reminding me that I need to finish, to bow and smile like I’ve done something brilliant. Which I might’ve. I’ll never know.
“You’ve been mine for longer than you could ever imagine,” he murmurs as I rise. The surge of applause swallows the words for everyone but me.
“I hate you,” I whisper, stepping a half-pace in front of him and dipping into a deep curtsy. When I glance back, the grin that spans his face could kill.
“Adorable,” he mocks. “You’ll come around.”
Yeah, right.
Raging applause still thrums in my bones as Maverick ushers me into the wings, slim fingers digging into the small of my back.
“Escort her to the waiting room. I’ll meet her there later,” he orders with a perfunctory nod toward the nearest enforcer, who just so happens to be Colt. He then vanishes, already soaking up the attention of investors who’ve slipped past the curtain.
Colt’s waiting. His shoulders are squared, jaw set. But when his eyes find mine, something real flickers. Relief. Pride. Recognition I don’t deserve.
“You did it,” he murmurs, so rough it could be mistaken for a cough.
The sight of him brings my guilt back tenfold, nipping at my ribs. I force my legs to move.
He walks me down the service hall, his stride careful to match mine. Always watching, always steady. The perfect guard. The perfect tether. My knees want to give, just to let him hold me up like he always does.
I can’t. I want to, but I can’t.
An enforcer calls his name from the far hall, sounding urgent. Colt stiffens, glancing toward the voice but not away from me. “One second,” he mutters under his breath, like he’s reassuring both of us.
The comm in his ear crackles. A clipped order, sharp as glass. Colt claps a hand over it, teeth gritted, turning his head away from me for just a second.
That’s all I get.
I slide sideways into the seam of shadow along the wall, holding my breath until my ribs scream. One more step puts me just around the corner where the maintenance corridor splits off. My gown brushes tile with the faintest whisper, but his boots keep moving. He thinks I’m still beside him.
For three, four, five steps.
Then it clicks.
“Mays?” He halts mid-stride. The silence that follows could crush me.
I press back harder into the wall, nails biting into my palms. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. A lot easier said than done when you’re doused in guilt.
“Maysie,” he says, louder this time. Desperate. I don’t have to see his face to know what’s lingering there. Fear laced with hurt, as if he already knows how this will end.
My heart rips in two. Any confidence I had in this plan dies and buries itself deep in my conscience.
I clutch my gown in both hands, willing myself to hold the silence for a heartbeat longer.
His hesitation hangs taut in the air. Every passing second costs him more than he’s allowed to afford.
The comm crackles again. The order comes sharper this time.
Irrefusable. Colt mutters a curse under his breath, devastation threaded through every syllable.
“Please don’t do this,” he breathes, like the words alone could drag me back. He lingers a suffocating moment longer, then he’s gone, boots pounding down the hall toward orders he’d give anything to refuse.
Only then do I let myself breathe—and realize that he didn’t sound surprised. Not in the slightest. My chest hollows with the truth: I didn’t just slip past the program tonight. I slipped past Colt. My Colt. And he knew.
I don’t look back.
Because if I do—if I have to see even a glimpse of my betrayal on his face—I’ll never make it out the door.
And that’s not an option.