Chapter 4: Curtain Calls and Old Wounds

The brownstone was quiet, the air heavy with memories. I packed quickly, hands shaking, stuffing dresses and sheet music into a battered suitcase. I didn’t look back as I left, the door closing softly behind me. Gone. Just like that.

His hair had gone gray, deep lines etched into his face. He stared at me for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether I was real or just another ghost from his past.

She lounged in a battered armchair, legs crossed, cigarette dangling from her lips. Her tone was mocking, but I heard the jealousy beneath it. I braced myself for another round of old rivalries.

The sound was harsh, brittle. Lila always laughed too loudly, as if daring the world to challenge her.

He’d say, “You’ve got a face for trouble, Lila. Play to your strengths.” Lila hated that, but she couldn’t deny it.

She resented the roles I got, the attention I drew. I tried not to let it bother me, but it was hard sometimes.

His voice was stern, the old authority back in full force. Lila rolled her eyes, but she quieted down.

She spat the words, voice shaking with anger. I felt a pang of guilt, but I knew there was nothing I could do to change her mind.

His voice softened, concern replacing anger. I nodded, feeling a lump rise in my throat.

The words were final, a line drawn in the sand. The director studied me, then nodded, accepting my choice.

The news spread quickly. Old friends stopped by to welcome me back, their faces a mix of relief and curiosity. The city had changed, but the troupe still felt like home.

The gossip was relentless—everyone wanted to know what had happened, why I’d left, whether I’d really been cast aside. I learned to tune it out, focusing on the music instead.

The theater was standing room only, the air thick with anticipation. I felt the old nerves return, the thrill of the spotlight warming me from the inside out.

He sat like a king surveying his kingdom, every inch of him radiating power. He owned the place, and everyone knew it. The crowd gave him a wide berth, but I could feel his eyes on me from the moment I stepped on stage.

It was a private joke, a secret shared between us. I felt my cheeks flush, but I kept my gaze steady, refusing to let him see my nerves.

The music carried me away, the audience fading into the background. By the final note, I was breathless, the applause washing over me like a wave. For a moment, I forgot everything else—Victor, Harrison, the city outside.

He didn’t look away, his eyes dark and intense. I felt a jolt of something electric pass between us, and I looked down, heart racing.

It landed with a satisfying clink, the message clear: he was here, and he wanted me to know it. I pocketed the coin, tucking it away as a keepsake.

The dressing room was crowded, the air thick with powder and perfume. I caught sight of Victor’s reflection in the mirror, leaning against the door, watching me with a lazy smile.

I took a drag, letting the smoke curl around my head, masking the nerves that still lingered. The velvet dress felt like armor, soft but strong.

He spun the gun idly, his gaze never leaving mine. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air charged with something dangerous. I felt a prickle of fear, but I refused to back down.

My voice was sharper than I intended, but I couldn’t help it. He just smirked, unfazed by my anger.

His tone was mocking, but there was a hint of something softer beneath it—a challenge, maybe, or an invitation.

I let out a shaky breath, realizing just how powerless I was in this world. Still, I refused to show fear.

I moved quickly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me rattled. The hallway outside was cool and quiet, a welcome relief.

His voice was softer now, almost curious. I kept my back to him, refusing to let him see my face.

The lie came easily, rolling off my tongue. I wanted to hurt him, to remind him that he didn’t own me.

His grip was tight, his eyes burning with jealousy. I tried to pull away, but he only held on tighter.

I let the words hang between us, daring him to let go. I wouldn’t be controlled, not by him, not by anyone.

I moved with purpose, refusing to look back. I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn’t falter.

His footsteps echoed behind me, a silent shadow. I tried to ignore him, focusing on the street ahead.

He looked every inch the soldier, his presence commanding. People stepped aside as we passed, casting nervous glances our way.