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He nodded in understanding, his expression conveying empathy rather than pity—a subtle distinction that meant everything in that moment.
He pushed off from the wall and took a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine. "Remember this—it's your performance. They don't define your ability to sing or dance. You've spent years honing your craft. The worst that happens? You're not as good as they expect and you'll work to improve."
I absorbed his words, feeling their weight and sincerity.
"You're young," he continued with an encouraging smile. "You'll have plenty more opportunities if this is truly what you want to do."
His eyes held a glint of humor, as if he was about to share a secret that the night itself was leaning in to hear. "I remember when I was younger," he began, a chuckle threading through his words. "I had stage fright so bad, my knees would knock together like a pair of maracas."
I couldn't help but let out a small giggle, imagining this confident alpha before me as anything less than sure-footed.
"Oh, it's true," he insisted, his smile growing wider as he recalled the memory. "I had to speak at this big event—everyone who was anyone was there. And there I was, sweating bullets and ready to bolt."
My laughter faded into a warm smile as I listened, the absurdity of his confession making him seem more human, more relatable.
"So you know what I did?" He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I pictured the audience as nothing more than cardboard cutouts. Just lifeless mannequins staring back at me."
The image was so ludicrous that I couldn't contain the laughter bubbling up inside me. The idea of reducing the esteemed guests to mere props in a storefront window seemed both irreverent and brilliant.
"Thank you," I said between fits of laughter, feeling the tension drain away from me like water through open fingers. "That's… that's actually helpful advice."
He shrugged with feigned modesty, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Or," he added with a smirk and a mischievous glint in his eye, "you could just picture them naked. Works for me every time."
The suggestion was so unexpected that my laughter erupted anew, loud and genuine in the quiet night. It felt good to laugh like this—to let go of the worries that had been clinging to me like shadows.
"You finally smile," he observed with a note of satisfaction in his voice.
As our laughter subsided into comfortable chuckles, I took in his smile—warm and familiar in a way that tugged at the edges of my memory. There was something about him, something I couldn't quite place…
And then it struck me—his bearing, his build… it reminded me of X and also, oddly enough, of the Davenport triplets. The resemblance was uncanny.
"Weird," I murmured under my breath, puzzled by the connection my mind was trying to make.
He raised an eyebrow at my whispered word but didn't press for an explanation. Instead, he simply smiled at me—a smile that seemed to acknowledge our shared moment of mirth.
I sighed, the laughter still lingering in my smile. As much as I wanted to stay in this quiet moment, reality beckoned. "I should really go back in," I said reluctantly.
He nodded, a gentle understanding in his eyes. "Have fun performing," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to carry the weight of the night.
I smiled at his parting words, struck by how they differed from the typical well-wishes people offered before a show. Most would say good luck or break a leg, but his sentiment felt more profound. Have fun. It reminded me of why I was here in the first place—because I loved singing and dancing, because performing was my passion.
As I headed back inside, I couldn't help but feel brighter than I had all evening. The nervous energy that had plagued me earlier had dissipated, replaced by a renewed sense of purpose and joy.
With newfound lightness in my step, I pushed open the door to the makeup room and was immediately enveloped in the bustling energy. Zara and Eli were there with Lena, the three of them deep in conversation. As soon as I entered, Lena's face lit up, and she ushered me back into the chair with an affectionate grip.
"There you are!" she exclaimed, her eyes studying my features. "You look better. Did the fresh air help?"
I nodded, my smile widening. "Yes, I feel much better now."
Eli, his youthful face alight with the kind of excitement that only those who truly love their craft can exhibit, said, "The music is all set. We're ready whenever you are." His pale eyes mirrored the calm I felt.
At sixteen, Eli was the youngest of us, his age belying the depth of his talent. It was no wonder his adoptive parents, Thomas and Patricia—or Pat, as she preferred to be called—were here to support him. They doted on Eli with an affection that warmed my heart. Their presence tonight wasn't just to chaperone their underage son; it was a testament to the unwavering support they showered upon him, wanting nothing more than to witness his blossoming talents on full display before such a prestigious audience.
Lena's hands moved with practiced ease as she put the final touches on my makeup. She stepped back, her lips curling into a satisfied smile as she nodded at her handiwork.
"Perfect," she declared. My reflection stared back at me—a vision of shimmer and ethereal beauty I scarcely recognized as myself.
With a wink, she gestured toward the changing area where my dress awaited me. As I slipped into it, the luxurious fabric caressed my skin like a lover's embrace.
