Chapter 21.

JASON

Parker’s door is unlocked, as if she knew I’d come. I close it behind me, heart pounding, the taste of last night’s humiliation still sour in my mouth. The air smells faintly of vanilla but tastes metallic, like old shame. Or maybe that’s me.

She sits on her bed wordlessly, legs tucked beneath her, eyes puffy but glittering, unreadable. Her hands twist absently at her finger, knuckles white.

The tension stretches between us, full of all the things I want to accuse her of and everything I’m afraid she’ll say back. I can’t decide if I’m more angry or ashamed. My hands shake.

She finally looks at me – really looks, something sharp flickering there. She breaks the detente first, voice flat. “You watched, didn’t you?”

I nod, jaw tight. “How could I not?”

Her lips twist – half smile, half grimace. “Cate made sure of it.”

I snap, harsher than I mean, “What did you expect me to do, look away? Pretend it wasn’t happening?”

She laughs, but it’s all teeth. “I don’t know, Jay. Maybe not just sit there and get off while I had to-” She bites off the words, searching my face. “You did watch. All of it. Did you like it? Did it turn you on? Was it everything you wanted?”

“I didn’t want to,” I say, which is only half true. “But I had to know what they were making you do.”

“Don’t lie. I saw your name in the viewer list. You could have stopped it, but you just sat there, hard and helpless, didn’t you?”

My face burns. “It wasn’t like that. I was – I was sick watching it, Parker. I felt-”

“Felt what?” Her voice is a whip. “Jealous? Turned on? Both? Or maybe proud, since you love counting, don’t you?”

I flinch. “Parker, that’s not fair-”

She cuts me off, standing upright now, shoulders back and eyes blazing as any remaining shame burns away. “Fair? Cate almost kicked me out because of you. I had to prove I belonged. I had to prove I was ‘brave enough.’ All because you stormed in and blew up the one thing that mattered. Because you needed to feel like a hero, and now you don’t like the price.”

“You think I wanted that?” I say, voice rising. “I was trying to protect you. They’ve been using you. You’re not even wearing your ring anymore.”

She goes quiet at that, then brushes her hair from her cheek. “I still don’t have the ring back.” She holds my gaze, voice lower. “That doesn’t mean I don’t still wear what it means.”

I start to protest, but she keeps going, voice rising, wounded and weaponized all at once. “Don’t change the subject, Jay. Do you think I wanted this? You think I wanted my first time to be on camera, with someone who isn’t you? You left me no choice. I did what I had to do to save us.”

I look away, the guilt washing over me. “I… I didn’t want to lose you. Or watch you lose yourself.”

She sighs. “Well, you might. Cate wants results. You know your job’s on the line too, right? This isn’t only about me.”

The reminder lands like a punch. I shrink, feeling every inch of my own powerlessness. My whole body sags impotently.

She leans forward, eyes glinting, voice dropping to a low, taunting hush. “Do you want to know what it felt like, Jay? Should I tell you what Verena was thinking – what I was thinking – when his cock pulsed against my tongue, when I tasted him get hard for me? Should I tell you how he shuddered when I let him push deeper, how the whole room smelled like sweat and sex and spotlight? Maybe you want to hear how wet I got, knowing you were watching – how my jaw ached, how my spit slicked down his shaft while I looked right at the camera and thought about you. Should I tell you how easy it was, once I let go? How Verena loved the taste, the heat, the way he moaned my name? Or is that just fodder for your next jerk-off session?”

My jaw falls open, and I am suddenly incapable of words. I feel the blood flowing, but this time to my cheeks. She sees my blush and grins, victorious. I hate that she can tell.

Shame floods my chest, hot and pulsing. I want to deny it, to shout at her, but the image – her lips, his cock, her eyes flicking to the camera – burns behind my eyelids. Pressure builds behind my zipper, traitorous, and I hate myself for it, and her for knowing.

She softens a little, reaching for my hand. She looks thoughtfully into my eyes as she gently strokes, raising gooseflesh in an instant. “I know it’s not fair I gave someone else head first. I want to make it up to you.”

My pulse jumps. “What do you mean?”

She traces her fingers down my wrist. Her touch trails a slow, electric path down my arm, making my whole body hum. “We always said we’d wait. But maybe it’s time. If you want me, really want me – then I want you to go down on me first. Make this our real first time. Something we’ll both remember. We deserve something for us.”

For a second, I can’t breathe. The ache in my chest is mixed with relief, hope, lust. I nod, swallowing hard. “Anything you want.”

I move closer, hands tentative, but when I reach for her, she pulls away, shaking her head, a sly smile ghosting her lips. “Not yet. I’m still mad at you.”

I blink, confusion and frustration boiling together. “Parker, please-”

She kisses my cheek, lingering long enough to make my heart race. “I had to prove myself, now you’ll have to prove yourself, Jay. You’ll get what you want, but first… You owe me.”

She’s right. I do owe. Fuck, I’d probably give her anything in this moment, as long as I still get to keep her.

I open my mouth to apologize again, but she hushes me, her lips brushing my ear. Then she slips off the bed, leaving me kneeling, hard and helpless, her challenge echoing after her. I stay there watching the empty doorway, cock drooling, sick with need.

Chapter 22.

JASON

Parker texts me after midnight:

My hands tremble as I type my reply. I tell myself it means she forgives me, that things are healing, but the knot in my stomach never loosens. By the time she arrives, my dorm is dim and quiet. My nose first catches her usual grapefruit shampoo, but underneath there was something else clinging to her skin, something she’d brought back with her. A dark, faintly bitter fruitiness, wine-like and tangled with the sweet, chemical ghost of that floral lozenge – the scent haunting the air between us.

She crawls under my covers without a word, hoodie draped over her tank, bare legs tangled against mine. Her skin is cool and feverish all at once. The backs of her knees find my thighs, goosebumps along her calves, the slight prickle of stubble on her shin where it brushes my ankle. We lie face to face, inches apart, our limbs braided together in that old, familiar way – except nothing feels familiar anymore.

For a long time we just breathe, lost in the hush of distant streetlight glow and the muffled hum of the hall vent. I inhale her scent, letting it gently overwhelm me. The zipper’s rasp as she pulls at her hoodie slows to a clank – my mind clutching each beat for an eternity. My cock is already hard, throbbing against the thin cotton of my boxers, straining for friction.

Her hand finds my chest, fingertips sketching slow circles over my heart, almost possessive. I shiver. There’s a new confidence in her touch, a sense that she knows exactly what she wants from me. I can feel it – a shimmer of Verena even now.

“Parker?” I plead, desperate for something real to hold onto.

She kisses me, slow and gentle, then leans in, her voice low. “We’re not doing that tonight,” she says, reading the hope in my eyes, the ache in my body. “But there’s still something we can do together.”

She swings her thigh over mine, straddling it, her breath warm in my ear. The heat between her legs is palpable through her panties, slick and fever-hot. I feel the weight of her bare thigh pressed to my hip, the firm, almost greedy pressure as she settles in. “Just hold me, okay?” she whispers. I nod, dizzy with anticipation, the taste of salt and pennies singes the back of my throat.

Her hips start to move – slow, unhurried, grinding against my bare thigh. Her panties are almost soaked, the cotton clinging damply to my skin with each pass. The edge of her mound sliding along my leg, heat seeping through the fabric, the slickness leaving a trace. She rocks in tiny circles, the pressure building as her breath grows ragged, her soft curls leaving a humid, heady warmth against me.

I cup her waist, fingers digging into the hem of her hoodie, aching to slide under her tank and cup her breasts. When I try, she catches my wrist, her grip iron. “No,” she pants, voice tight with need. “Don’t move – let me. I’m so close, Jay. Please. Stay still.”

Every time I try to move, she presses down, hips rolling harder, always in control – never letting me take over, not even for a second.

She kisses my neck, bites my earlobe, and I can smell her arousal – sweet, sharp, dizzying. The memory of her on camera, of Verena devouring Noah, flickers in my mind, and my cock aches so hard it almost hurts.

I freeze, letting her use me, her slick heat rubbing faster and faster against my thigh. My cock throbs so hard I worry she’ll feel it through the sheet. My mind spins: I try to memorize the way her sweat beads along her temple, the way her lashes stick together, how her mouth falls open and her voice breaks on my name.

I want to save this, lock it away – her hips pumping, body shuddering, the hot, sticky burn she leaves behind. But every time I try, another image flickers in: her lips stretched wide around Noah’s cock, her tongue flicking the head, the look she gave the camera right as she swallowed him down. I want to forget it, but it burns behind my eyelids, threading pleasure and shame together until I don’t know which is which.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” she gasps, voice high and breathless. Her fingers claw at my shoulders, nails digging crescents into my skin as her hips buck erratically. “Don’t stop – just let me…”

She shakes against me, riding out her orgasm, gasping my name, her thighs squeezing tight around mine. The flood soaks through both layers, scald blooming in the crevice of my hip. For a second she feels animal, wild – then all at once, she melts, limp and satisfied, into my arms.

I’m left aching, painfully hard, my cock leaking into my boxers, trapped against her thigh by my own need. She collapses against me, shivering, breath coming in little sobs.

I wrap my arms around her, desperate to feel like a boyfriend instead of a prop, but she only kisses my forehead and murmurs, “Later. I needed to feel close. Thank you, Jay.” Her voice is sweet, soporific, brimming finality.

She falls asleep tangled in my arms, legs still thrown over my thigh, her breath slow and even. I lie awake for what feels like hours, trying to etch the memory of her orgasm into my mind, trying to banish the images of what seared on the screen last night. But every time I close my eyes, it’s her mouth opening for Noah, not me. I shiver, staring at the ceiling, every muscle taut with need. The room smells like sex, sweat, vanilla mingling with that dark-fruit scent, and the faint, electric tang of lozenge residue.

Eventually I slip out of bed, body aching with need, and lock myself in the bathroom. I jerk off to the memory of Parker’s body, still sticky against my thigh, but the image always blurs – her gasps fading, replaced by the sight of her lips stretched around Noah’s cock. I finish fast, hunched over, shame burning through me. Her breathy moans ring in my head as I reach my limit in the dark bathroom. As I spray my load on the floor, an inaudible “Verena” escapes my lips, and I hate how right it feels.

Chapter 23.

JASON

It’s just after 8:00 when Parker leaves for the theater, tossing a “I’ll text when I’m done” over her shoulder. She doesn’t kiss me goodbye, simply slips out, lines and script in hand. “Noah wants to run the new scene,” she said. “Shouldn’t take long.”

The door shuts softly behind her – a polite sound, too gentle for the panic it leaves stuttering in my chest. The faint smell of vanilla-wine haunting me after she’s gone, sweet and stinging as regret.

Cate’s latest request was keeping me busy. The rush request had come in earlier.

At first, it was great to have the distraction. By ten, my foot’s bouncing. I tell myself to relax – rehearsals always run over, right? But when eleven rolls around, I’m wide awake, checking my phone every two minutes, unable to focus on anything.

Every time I glance at her last message, my thumb trembles. The screen glows in the dark room, cold and blue as a fish tank, and I feel like I’m the only thing still moving inside it.

I text her:

Nothing.

I imagine her in the wings, laughing at some in-joke with Noah, her attention somewhere I’ll never touch again.

I try to distract myself – dashboard tweaks, a YouTube hole, mindless scrolling. It’s not helping, the knot in my chest tightening.

The light from the laptop feels hostile. The keys blur as I type, sweat slick between my shoulder blades. Every sound in the dorm hallway makes me jolt, half hoping it’s her, half hoping it’s not.

A half hour later:

No response. The knot is a softball.

I scroll through our old texts – her old selfies, a voice memo where she said my name just to hear me smile. All of it feels a million years away.

I can’t shake the image of her and Noah, alone in the green room, “studying.”

Was she on her knees again for him? His cock stretching her lips wide, her enthusiasm building? My brain torments me with flashes – her flushed cheeks, the soft hitch in her breath I used to think was only for me.

It’s now past midnight, and I’ve texted Parker three times with nothing back. My stomach roils, imagination working overtime.

Finally, I try calling. It goes straight to voicemail.

The empty dorm bristles with mundanity.

Even the hum of the old mini-fridge sounds like a threat. I press the phone to my ear, desperate for the static of her voice. The line is dead and my heart is hammering so loud it feels physical.

I try calling again. Still nothing.

I try one more time. This time, the line picks up – and hangs up. My stomach drops.

A cold sweat prickles under my arms. The rejection feels surgical: a clean, deliberate cut.

I text again, fingers clumsy:

My pulse throbs at my temples. There is no knot in my chest now. I am the knot. I watch for the typing dots that never appear, my mind spinning out on everything that could be happening right now, the thought of her hands in someone else’s hair, her hands gripping someone else’s thighs.

The reply comes almost instantly – not from her, but from Noah, in the Stagelights channel:

His words land like a punch to the gut – blunt, territorial, final. Dani leaves a laughing emoji. I want to throw my phone through the window.

I close the app, heart thudding, feeling like I’ve been locked out of my own life. Whatever’s happening, it’s clear I’m not supposed to know.

The darkness feels accusatory. I stare at the glow of my phone until it hurts my eyes, the blue haze leaving a phantom afterimage when I blink.

I stare at the message, at my reflection in the window. I can picture them in some corner, bodies pressed close, voices low.

I picture storming over to the green room, dragging her out by the wrist, making a scene. But I do nothing, staring at the screen, the words ‘she’s busy’ a pinball in my skull until they lose all meaning. I can feel how that would end.

My own face looks ghostly, smaller than I remember. I want to be angry, but all I can feel is the gnawing, crawling humiliation. How did I end up here?

I don’t reply. I sit in screen light, the dread prickling down my spine.

Every second is a new reason to doubt her. Every minute is a new humiliation. I count them like wounds.

At 2:11 a.m., Parker finally texts:

No heart, no warmth, nothing to hold on to. Just the shape of her absence.

I reread it ten times, looking for subtext, for a mistake, for a sign. But it’s empty, and I’m emptier.

I lay in bed until 4:30. At least, that’s the last time I remember looking at the clock. It’s painful, restless sleep. I dream of her in Noah’s arms, skin slick and flushed, mouth parted in a gasp I can’t erase.

I wake up again and again, hard and aching, covered in cold sweat. Every dream ends the same way: Parker looks at me and smiles, then turns away to kiss someone else.

I finally lurch fully awake, late in the morning, damp with the cold sweat of nightmares. Her things are scattered across my room. She must have been in and left.

The smell of her shampoo is everywhere, sweet and sharp, and it makes me want to scream.

I go to collect her laundry and find the panties she changed out of – wadded, liner peeled off, tucked into my hamper. They’re damp, musky, and the scent hits me like a memory I never wanted. My gut twists.

I lift them, but for a second. They’re heavier than I expect, dark at the crotch, the sharp tang of her arousal cutting through any hope I had left. It’s not just sweat. I know it in my bones.

Almost like they burned me, I drop them back in the basket, hands shaking. I stand there, staring at the trash, breath shallow and tight. My mind runs wild, replaying every possibility, every awful image. There’s no proof, but there’s no way to unknow what I know now.

I want to go back in time, a day, even an hour, to before I knew any of this. I want to believe her, but my body won’t let me.

I text:

I delete three other messages before sending it, all of them too desperate, too raw.

It’s afternoon before she replies:

Three words and a period, and I know there’s no room for me tonight. The chill in my chest is worse than anger; it’s the dread of being replaced.

I sit back on my bed, the evidence cold and silent in the trash. Every answer is worse than the last.

It feels like being ghosted in real time by the person I love most in the world. I wish she’d lie to me. I wish I could still believe her. I wish I was enough.

Chapter 24.

JASON

The conference room is a holding pen for anxiety – fluorescent lights humming, water glasses sweating on a plywood table dressed in rented linen. My badge still hangs from my neck, the StageLights logo now so familiar it’s almost invisible. Evan’s laptop is open to the event checklist; he glances at me every few minutes, face unreadable, fingers drumming a soft, arrhythmic warning on the trackpad.

Cate enters last. She doesn’t hurry, doesn’t have to. She stands at the head of the table, calm and camera-ready, her tablet already open to a color-coded run of show. She sweeps through the Gala logistics – seating assignments, live cue lists, donor shoutouts, Parker’s solo, the afterparty. Everything precise, everything polished. No mention of nerves, or risk, or the thin crackle of panic at the edge of my vision.

“We’re counting on you for a flawless dashboard performance, Jason,” Cate says, voice low and even. “Donor engagement is already at record highs. If this goes smoothly, Dr. Laird will have your name at the top of his list. And of course, the bonus was just processed – you’ll see it by Monday. Parker’s scholarship renewal, too. Just stay focused now.”

She meets my eyes. Her smile never reaches them.

Evan mutters something about testing the house mics and slips out, leaving me alone with Cate. The door clicks shut. I’m suddenly aware of how small the room is.

Cate lowers her voice. “You remember last time you got emotional, right? The donor stream? I need you calm. No surprises. No drama. You keep your head down and the night will go well for everyone – especially Parker. Especially you.”

She taps the table with her pen. “If there’s a problem, if anyone’s ambitions get in the way… Remember I have a direct line to the registrar and financial aid. Your upcoming hearing can go one of two ways, so I’d hate to see all your hard work, or Parker’s, go to waste.” Her gaze holds mine a beat longer, until I look away.

My mouth goes dry. My hand finds my badge, twisting it absently, the plastic edge biting my palm. I try to speak, but all I manage is a twitch of my head – a half-shake, a half-nod, neither yes nor no. It doesn’t matter. Cate’s already moving on.

“Good,” Cate says, gathering her things. “Glad to see we’re all professionals here.”

She leaves without another glance, her perfume hangs in the air like a verdict.

The silence stretches. Evan returns, stands by the door with his messenger bag slung over one shoulder. He stares through me, jaw working.

“Jay,” he says finally, his voice tight, “I’m out. After tonight’s gala, I’m done with StageLights, done with all of this.” He gestures vaguely at the room, the schedule. “I see how you are… you’re just sitting here, watching the numbers go up. It’s like this screen has grown into you, man. It’s got its hooks in you, and you can’t even see it. I can’t do it anymore.”

I look up, surprised. “What are you talking about?”

Evan runs a hand through his hair. “Man, that livestream disaster a couple of weeks ago? When Parker almost… and you charged in? I was in the tech booth, remember? I saw Cate afterwards. The way she tore into Parker, then threatened both your asses… scholarships, internships, everything. That’s not ‘mentorship,’ Jay. That’s not ‘art.’ That’s… fucked up.”

He takes a breath. “And you, man… look at you. You’ve been a ghost since that night. Remember what I said about the topless dare? Slippery slope? We’re way past that now. You don’t have to go along with her, with any of it. You know, I was digging through the backend source last night, trying to fix that polling bug. Found a commented-out API stub. It was labeled ‘HTM_TALENT_PORTAL’. The endpoint URL had ‘Hecate Talent Management’ right in the domain. What the fuck is that, Jay? This isn’t just a fundraiser. It’s a business plan. There’s still time to walk away. Get out with me.”

I try to answer but my voice catches. I shake my head, helpless. What else can I do now? It’s too late.

He looks at me sadly before he continues. “Jay… wake up. You’re not only losing Parker, you’re losing yourself. I keep waiting for you to snap out of it, man, but it’s like you’re not even here anymore.”

He looks resigned when I fail to respond, but tries one last time. “Look Jay, I wasn’t there, and I have no way to know what actually happened, but that so-called rehearsal the other day? When Parker didn’t come home? I heard Dani wasn’t even in town that weekend.”

A cold chill runs down my spine, Parker’s message that night flashing behind my eyelids. I still wave him off, my eyes downcast, “What do you want me to say Evan? This is my future. Parker’s future… I- I love her, you know?” I shake my head, trying to make myself make sense to him.

Evan sighs, shoulders slumping, the fight going out of him. “I hoped… Jesus, Jason. Then I hope you find a way back from whatever cliff they’re pushing you over. But I can’t watch anymore. I’m not going to let it chain me down, too. I tried to yank you free; only you can stand up.”

“And besides… I have to go. Caltech rang this morning—twelve‑month fellowship on Project C.E.R.B.E.R.U.S., three‑array deep‑space survey. Monster opportunity, Jay. Life‑changer. I can’t pass it up. I’m sorry.”

Evan’s gone a second later. The door swings shut behind him. The hum of the fluorescents seems louder. I stare at my hands, numb, Cate’s perfume still clinging to the air. Copper swirls in my mouth, biting the inside of my cheek raw. My future, my failure, my part in all of this – already bought, already spent. No way back.

Chapter 25.

JASON

The Theta Lambda ballroom smells like spilled champagne and ambition – every surface polished, every spotlight uncompromising. The fundraiser is a show, not a party. Rows of white linen tables glitter with donor badges and crystal glasses. Screens cycle through glossy slides: scholarship stats, last year’s winners, Parker’s face – always Parker, always smiling.

I hover near the back, pressed against the tech booth, one eye on my laptop, one on the stage. My name’s on the program as “lead tech,” but nobody looks at me twice. I’m just a line of code to them, a piece of infrastructure. They’re all here for the main event: the debut of Verena.

Parker’s nowhere to be seen at first, only Cate making rounds, laughing with the biggest donors – her arm tight around shoulders, voice low and conspiratorial. My stomach twists. Every so often, a StageLights notification dings in my pocket – donor Q&A, selfie requests, analytics dashboards to keep the money flowing. It all feels a million miles away.

Then the lights drop. A hush falls as the band starts up, a slow, sultry chord progression. Cate takes the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, our final act tonight – your new Verena. Give a warm welcome to Parker St. James.”

She appears at center stage, spotlit, wrapped in a red gown so tight it looks painted on. The dress sinuous, slit high on her thigh, neckline daring. Her hair is up, lips blood red, eyes glittering.

Her dress is the color of arterial blood – deep, luminous, impossible to forget. There’s a single, strange gold clasp at her hip, gleaming under the lights, and a necklace – a bold, angular setting with a faceted garnet, dark as a pomegranate seed, strung on a modern, almost chainlike collar. It’s something Cate pressed into her palm right before she walked onstage. I’ll remember that shape forever.

For a second, she looks right at me – a flicker of nerves, or maybe something else. Then she smiles for the crowd and I know I’m not there at all.

Even now – especially now – she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Every detail is burned into me: the faint dimple at her hip, the way the gown clings to the soft swell of her breasts, the tremor in her hands as she lifts the mic. I want to believe she’s singing for me, but her eyes keep slipping past me to the sea of strangers. I’m in love with her, hopelessly – maybe even more so with every inch of her that slips away.

The music swells. Parker sings – low, husky, some torch song about secrets and temptation. Her voice is clear, sure, more confident than I’ve ever heard. The way she moves – hips swaying, one hand trailing down her leg, the other clutching the mic – makes the room hold its breath. She doesn’t perform; she seduces. Every word seems aimed at someone, but not me.

She’s a vision – my vision – and for a breath I let myself believe she’s still mine. That if I can only reach for her, she’ll remember who she was with me, how we started, how we promised. But she’s so far away now, I feel like a ghost watching her through glass, desperate to be touched but powerless to change anything. Every move she makes, every note she holds, it’s for them, not for me.

I try not to notice how many eyes are glued to her. Donors, students, faculty – all of them caught in her orbit. Every so often, Cate’s phone glows from the side of the stage. She grins at something on the screen, then gives a subtle nod toward the tech crew.

As the final verse builds, the screens behind Parker suddenly flicker – a familiar StageLights interface appears. I see the thumbnail and my gut turns to ice: it’s from the pool party, one of the rush photos I shot for Cate. Parker, topless, hair wet, promise ring glinting, nipples barely blurred behind a playful splash. I never meant for that shot to go public.

Parker can’t see the projection, but the crowd can. The ballroom erupts – surprised, delighted, a few scandalized gasps. In that moment, a spotlight hits Parker dead-on. Her red gown goes sheer, the outline of her body shockingly visible. She doesn’t flinch, just lifts her chin, voice unwavering as she finishes the last line. She owns it. Or Verena does.

It shouldn’t hurt to see her like this – so powerful, so sure – but it does. It’s everything I ever wanted for her, and everything I’m afraid of. I want her to be seen, to shine. I just never imagined I’d be the one left in the dark.

The applause is thunderous, a standing ovation before the music fades. Donors clap, some shout her name. My face burns. People are watching me now too – some with envy, some with pity, a few with sly smiles, like they know a joke I don’t.

I break through the edge of the crowd, heart in my throat. “Parker!” I call, my voice nearly swallowed by applause. She glances over – for a second, her gaze searching, something real and raw flickering through the dazzle. For a second, it’s her. My Parker. Her lips part, and she mouths it-

“Sorry, Jason.”

It’s so soft, so quick I wonder if anyone else even saw it.

It’s sincere, but not enough to stop her. Not enough to come back. Cate’s hand finds her elbow, possessive and confident, steering her toward the tent. She turns Parker with a pressure that brooks no argument. “Verena, darling, our donors are waiting,” Cate purrs, her smile a razor. Parker hesitates – a breath, long enough for hope to flicker – then lets herself be led away, face smoothing into that public, rehearsed smile, already turning toward the light, the cameras, the applause.

I reach out, but the velvet rope, the security, the swarm of VIPs close in behind her.

The flashes strobe the air, burning afterimages into my vision. With my eyes closed, all I see is her – framed in white light, unreachable. The crowd’s roar rises, tidal, a wall of sound that swallows her name before it can leave my lips a second time.

The last thing I see is her silhouette – crimson and gold, radiant under the spotlights, vanishing into the VIP tent. The applause drowns me out – drowns everything but her name.

Suddenly, I see the future laid out in cruel clarity: Parker, always moving forward, the center of every room; me, left clutching the fragments of her voice and the smell of her perfume, watching her disappear into another world where I can’t follow. It feels familiar, a wound I know will never really heal.

I stand there, frozen, as Parker disappears into a knot of donors, her laugh high and bright. The ballroom closes around me like a fist.

I wait for her to turn back, to give me one last look – just us, just for a second. But the curtain’s already fallen. There’s no coming back now.

Even after she’s gone, the crimson and gold linger on my retinas – her signature burned in. A warning. That necklace – garnet glinting darkly – haunts me every time I close my eyes.

My phone buzzes – an automated StageLights update:

I stare at the screen, the sound of Parker’s name stamped over the applause. In the rush of celebration, I realize I’m just another spectator – watching the story unfold, always a beat behind.

The crowd roars, the lights shimmer, and somewhere in the noise Parker laughs – a sound I know by heart, a sound I’m already losing.

I want to hold onto her, to the girl who used to save her brightest smiles for me, but tonight I see her clearly: she belongs to the room, to the donors, to Cate, to everyone but me.