Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Grace
The rehearsal studio was massive, designed to replicate the actual concert stage with precision.
Bright white overhead lights illuminated every inch of the room, casting sharp shadows across the polished floors.
Multiple cameras were set up in different angles, capturing their movements for playback and analysis.
Large LED screens simulated the visuals they would use on tour, and a team of sound engineers sat behind a long table, adjusting levels, tweaking effects, ensuring everything was perfect.
The place smelled of sweat, faint traces of expensive cologne, and the ever-present burn of stage lights.
I had been to a few rehearsals before, mainly as part of security briefings, but I had never stayed long enough to watch.
To really see what went into their performances.
I had assumed it was just another day for them—run through a few songs, practice some choreography, go home. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The moment DreamCrest stepped onto the rehearsal floor, they transformed.
Dominic took center stage, adjusting his mic pack, rolling his shoulders before the music blasted through the speakers.
Riley and Ezra flanked him, their movements effortlessly smooth, while Theo and Jaden positioned themselves behind their instruments, ready.
The second the beat dropped, they snapped into motion, their bodies moving in perfect synchronization, their voices cutting through the heavy bass.
The energy was electric, raw, something otherworldly—but what struck me the most was the sheer force of it.
They weren’t just singing. They weren’t just dancing.
They were giving everything.
And it wasn’t enough.
"Again!" Theo’s voice cut through the room before the last note had even faded. He was standing near the production crew, arms crossed, brows furrowed. "Jaden, the reverb is off. The transitions are lagging by at least half a second."
Jaden ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "That’s because the sound system here doesn’t match what we’ll have on tour."
"Then we fix it now so it’s second nature later," Theo shot back.
Dominic didn’t say anything, just walked back into position, ready to start over. His breathing was heavier now, his posture rigid, but he didn’t complain. None of them did.
The music started again, and I leaned against the wall, watching.
Every move was practiced, calculated, deliberate.
They had done this a thousand times, but each time, they pushed harder, chasing something I didn’t quite understand.
The first few runs were nearly flawless, but Theo wasn’t satisfied.
He called out adjustments, pushing them further, demanding sharper transitions, smoother harmonies.
And they listened.
No one argued. No one questioned him.
Because perfection was the only option.
As the hours dragged on, the wear and tear started to show.
Riley was visibly drained, his shoulders tense, his usually bright expression dimming between songs.
But the second a camera turned toward him, he flashed a grin, pretending he wasn’t exhausted.
Ezra was drinking straight from a bottle of water between runs, rolling out his stiff neck, his usual careless charm replaced with silent focus.
But the one I really watched was Dominic.
He was relentless.
His voice was raw from overuse, but he kept pushing. His body moved with controlled precision, but his limbs were stiff with exhaustion. Even when the sweat dripped down his temple, even when his breathing grew slightly uneven, he didn’t stop.
No one told him to take a break.
No one dared.
After the fourth straight run, he finally stepped back, pulling the mic from his ear, pressing his fingers into his temples like he was trying to will away the headache forming.
And I’d had enough.
I pushed off the wall and crossed the studio floor, stepping directly into his space. He barely glanced at me, still catching his breath, but I didn’t let that deter me.
"You need to stop," I said, voice firm.
Dominic gave a small huff of amusement, shaking his head. "Not happening."
"You’re running yourself into the ground," I shot back.
He finally met my gaze, his smirk tired, but still infuriating. "That’s kind of the job, Dauntless."
I clenched my jaw. "No. The job is performing, not destroying yourself before you even get on stage."
He exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, before stepping away to grab a towel from one of the assistants standing nearby. "If we’re not perfect, we get replaced."
The words were so matter-of-fact, so effortlessly spoken, that it took me a second to process them.
I narrowed my eyes. "No, you don’t."
Dominic let out a quiet chuckle, but there was no amusement in it. "You think this industry cares about who we are? About how hard we work? They don’t. They care about results. The moment we slip, the moment we’re not the best, someone else will take our place."
I hated that I didn’t have an argument.
Because deep down, I knew he wasn’t wrong.
The industry was brutal. Ruthless. Unforgiving.
It chewed people up and spit them out without hesitation.
And yet, knowing all of that, they still pushed forward. They still chased perfection, no matter the cost.
Dominic slung the towel over his shoulder and gave me a look that felt like a challenge. "This is what we signed up for, Grace. No one forced us. No one made us do this. We chose it."
I wanted to ask why.
Why put themselves through this? Why endure the sleepless nights, the exhaustion, the constant pressure to be more? Why sacrifice so much for an industry that wouldn’t hesitate to throw them away if they stopped being profitable?
But I already knew the answer.
Because they couldn’t be anything else.
This wasn’t just a job for them. It wasn’t just about fame or money or success.
This was who they were.
And for the first time, I wondered if they even had a choice.