Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Grace
The concert was over, but I still felt the weight of it pressing against my chest. Even as Olivia and I left the stadium, surrounded by fans still giddy with excitement, their voices high and buzzing from the energy of the night, I couldn’t shake the feeling.
The music still hummed in my head, the rawness of their new song lingering like an aftertaste I couldn’t wash away.
And I hated it. I hated that it had gotten to me.
I hated that when Dominic’s voice cracked on that last chorus, something inside me had cracked with it.
I hated that for the first time since I took this job, I wasn’t sure if I could keep pretending I didn’t care.
"You’re totally a fan now," Olivia chirped, her voice cutting through my thoughts.
I snapped out of it immediately, shooting her a glare. "I’m not a fan."
She practically skipped beside me, grinning like she had just won an argument I hadn’t even agreed to have. "Oh, come on. You literally wiped your eyes during their new song. It was a moment."
"It was dust," I said flatly.
Olivia’s smirk widened. "Dust?"
"Yes."
"In an air-conditioned stadium?"
I clenched my jaw. "Shut up."
She giggled mercilessly, nudging my arm as we walked toward the car. "Face it, Grace. You felt something tonight. It’s okay. DreamCrest does that to people."
I scoffed, looking anywhere but at her smug face. "I didn’t feel anything. It was just… unexpected."
"Right," Olivia teased. "Totally normal reaction to get all misty-eyed over unexpected music."
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face, refusing to accept what happened back there, refusing to acknowledge the way my stomach had flipped when Dominic’s eyes met mine—even if it was probably just my guilty conscience playing tricks on me.
Maybe it was just the music. Maybe it was just the atmosphere, the lights, the crowd, the illusion of it all. Maybe it was just?—
I sighed, shaking my head. No. I wasn’t doing this. I needed a distraction.
Later that night, I was lying on my bed, staring at my phone, telling myself to go to sleep, but my fingers had a mind of their own.
I didn’t know why I had opened my browser.
Didn’t know why I had typed their name into the search bar.
Didn’t know why I was watching a years-old interview of DreamCrest sitting in a studio, back when they were younger, before they had learned how to perfectly filter their expressions.
I didn’t know why I was really watching them.
But I was.
And I saw things I had never paid attention to before.
I saw Dominic, talking about their music, not like a businessman, not like a celebrity trying to sell a product—but like someone who actually loved it.
Someone who needed it. Someone who carried too much of it on his shoulders.
I saw Ezra, laughing, the kind of laugh that took up his whole face, nothing like the sarcastic, guarded smirks I usually saw from him.
I saw Riley, pretending to be unbothered by the backlash of a bad press cycle, but his smile was a little too forced, his fingers picking at the hem of his sleeve like he was holding something back.
I saw Theo, always composed, but when the interviewer asked about their first big paycheck, his expression flickered—just barely—like he was remembering something he wasn’t ready to share.
I saw Jaden, quiet, thoughtful, listening more than speaking, but when he did, it was something real, something that wasn’t meant for the cameras but just slipped out anyway.
I watched the way they looked at each other when one of them spoke, the silent cues, the unspoken understanding that only people who had built something together could have.
I had spent weeks with them. I had memorized their schedules, their habits, their tells. I knew the mechanics of how they operated. But I had never actually looked at them. Not like this. And now, lying here in the quiet of my room, I hated that I couldn’t unsee it.
I hated that I finally understood.
I wasn’t a fan.
But I wasn’t just their bodyguard anymore either.
And that scared me more than I wanted to admit.
By the time I got back to the penthouse, it was late.
The place was quiet, dimly lit, the distant glow of the city filtering through the massive windows.
I was exhausted, my brain still cluttered with things I didn’t want to process, and all I wanted to do was crash in my bed and pretend today didn’t happen.
But then I felt it.
That prickle at the back of my neck. That unmistakable awareness of being watched.
I turned.
And there he was.
Dominic.
Leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed, completely at ease—but his gaze? His gaze was sharp, calculated, like he had been waiting for me.
"Enjoy the show?"
I froze, pulse stuttering in my throat. "How did you?—"
He smirked. "You think we don’t keep track of our security?"
Damn it.
I should have known. Of course he knew. Of course, he had found out.
I kept my expression neutral, forcing my shoulders to stay relaxed as I folded my arms. "So what? I went to a concert. That’s not a crime."
Dominic tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering across his face. "No. But it’s interesting, don’t you think?"
I narrowed my eyes. "What is?"
He took a slow step forward, voice dropping just slightly. "That you’ve spent weeks pretending we don’t matter to you." Another step. "And yet, there you were."
I stood my ground, ignoring the way my skin felt too warm under his gaze. "My sister dragged me there."
"Sure."
"It was just a concert."
"Of course."
"And I’m not a fan."
Dominic stopped in front of me, a breath away, eyes glinting with something dangerous. Something knowing.
I clenched my jaw, refusing to let him see that I was wavering.
But he just smirked. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Dauntless."
Silence stretched between us, thick and charged.
He didn’t push further.
Didn’t say anything else.
He just watched me.
And for once, I didn’t have a comeback.
I just met his gaze, something unspoken hanging between us, something I wasn’t ready to acknowledge yet.
I wasn’t a fan.
But I wasn’t their enemy anymore either.
And I wasn’t sure which scared me more.