Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Dominic
The recording studio was dark except for a dim light glowing from the console.
The air smelled like stale coffee and exhaustion, a mix of worn leather and faint traces of cologne lingering in the silence.
The entire building was empty at this hour—everyone else had gone home. Everyone except Dominic Beethoven.
I stood in the doorway, watching him.
He sat at the grand piano, shoulders hunched, elbows resting on the keys, fingers curled against his temples. A notebook lay open beside him, pages filled with messy, scribbled lyrics, crossed-out lines, half-finished thoughts. The pen in his hand was motionless, forgotten.
His head was bowed slightly, his breathing slow and controlled, but there was a tension in his entire body, something frayed and fragile underneath the surface.
He hadn’t noticed me yet.
I stepped inside, my boots barely making a sound against the polished floors. "It’s late."
Dominic didn’t move. "I know."
"You should sleep."
Nothing.
I took another step closer. "You haven’t slept in days, have you?"
His fingers tightened around the pen. "I don’t have time to sleep."
I exhaled slowly, crossing my arms. "You mean you won’t make time."
That made him lift his head. His eyes were shadowed, dark with exhaustion, but they still held that familiar sharpness. "Same thing."
I shook my head. "It’s not. You think you’re holding everything together, but you’re burning yourself out."
Dominic let out a short laugh, low and humorless. "I don’t have the luxury of stopping, Dauntless."
I narrowed my eyes. "What, you think if you take a break, the world will end?"
He leaned back slightly, stretching his arms before resting them on his knees. "No. But it’ll start falling apart."
There was something in the way he said it, something quiet and certain, that made me pause.
"You don’t believe that," I said carefully.
His lips curled into something close to a smirk, but it was tired, strained. "Don’t I?"
I frowned, glancing at the notebook beside him. "How long have you been sitting here?"
Dominic sighed, rubbing his jaw. "Long enough."
"Have you actually written anything?"
Silence.
That was my answer.
I let out a slow breath, stepping closer until I was standing directly across from him. "You can’t keep doing this to yourself."
He smirked again, but it was weaker now. "You keep saying that like there’s an option."
I met his gaze, refusing to look away. "There is."
Dominic held my stare for a long moment, something flickering in his expression—something guarded. Then, he leaned forward slightly, voice dropping lower.
"I don’t get to be tired, Grace."
The way he said it—so matter-of-fact, so final—made my chest tighten.
I had spent weeks watching them, peeling back the layers of the illusion, seeing what lay underneath. They weren’t just celebrities. They weren’t just performers. They were survivors, constantly fighting to stay relevant, to stay on top, to keep the world from forgetting them.
But Dominic wasn’t just surviving.
He was carrying all of them.
I had seen him handle every problem, clean up every mess, take every blow so the others wouldn’t have to. He was the leader, the one who made sure everything stayed together—because if he didn’t, who else would?
And the worst part?
No one ever asked him if he was okay.
I exhaled, shaking my head. "That’s bullshit."
Dominic arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"You act like if you stop for even a second, everything will crumble." I gestured toward the notebook. "But tell me this—are you even creating anymore? Or are you just maintaining the illusion?"
His smirk faded slightly, his fingers drumming against the piano keys in a slow, rhythmic pattern. "That’s a dangerous question, Dauntless."
I folded my arms. "Then answer it."
Dominic stared at me for a long time, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he sighed and looked away. "I don’t know," he admitted quietly.
I blinked. I hadn’t expected him to say it out loud.
But there it was.
The exhaustion. The fear.
The truth.
I softened my tone. "Then maybe that’s your problem."
Dominic didn’t answer right away. He just ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.
"You think I don’t know this isn’t sustainable?" His voice was quieter now, rawer. "You think I don’t feel it? The exhaustion, the pressure, the weight of it all? I know, Grace." His jaw clenched. "But I can’t let it show."
I frowned. "Why not?"
His gaze flickered back to me. "Because if I do, they will too."
I knew exactly who he meant.
Ezra. Riley. Jaden. Theo.
He wasn’t just keeping himself together.
He was keeping all of them together.
And for the first time, I saw it—the burden he carried, the unrelenting weight of leadership, the responsibility of being the one everyone else depended on.
I let out a slow breath. "That’s not fair."
Dominic smirked, but there was no humor in it. "Life rarely is."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he didn’t have to carry all of this alone.
But he already knew that.
And he did it anyway.
Because that’s who he was.
Because he didn’t know how to be anything else.
After a long moment, I finally stepped back, giving him space. "Get some sleep, Beethoven."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "You really don’t take orders well, do you?"
I smirked slightly. "Nope."
He watched me for a beat longer before exhaling, closing the notebook, finally conceding—just a little. "I’ll think about it."
That was the best I was going to get.
I nodded, turning toward the door. But before I left, I glanced back one last time.
Dominic was still sitting there, staring at the piano keys, his fingers barely grazing them.
The golden boy.
The leader.
The one who never got to be tired.
That night, long after everyone had gone to bed, I found myself standing by the window, looking out at the city. And when I glanced up, I saw him.
Dominic was on the rooftop, sitting on the edge, his hands resting on his knees, staring out at the skyline.
Alone.
Silent.
Carrying the weight of everything.
Even kings get tired of their crowns.