Mozart bursts to life—sunlit, triumphant. I don’t hear any of it.
I sit through Act I locked in place, hands white-knuckled on my knees, smiling and nodding whenever Joy’s mother glances our way, but inside it’s just white noise. My skin feels too tight. My chest won’t expand all the way.
She didn’t tell me.
She slept in my bed, let my mom feed her on Christmas morning, wore my bracelet, and she didn’t tell me.
The world snaps back in when the lights rise for intermission.
Applause rustles around us. Silk whispers. Champagne flutes clink. My body finally registers that I haven’t breathed properly in an hour.
Serena stands, smoothing emerald silk. “Let’s stretch our legs, shall we? There are some people I’d like you both to meet.”
People. My stomach tightens.
We file out into the hallway. It’s crowded now, tuxedos, gowns, low laughter floating on money and perfume. Light glances off crystal and polished brass.
I’m still trying to pull air all the way into my lungs when a cheerful male voice booms, “Wesley Kane!”
A tall blond man in an expensive suit materializes, moving like a person who’s never been bumped in a crowd. His hand is already out. Signet ring, cuff links, family-crest energy.
“Bennett Vance the Fourth,” he says brightly. “I’ve heard so much. Congratulations on the engagement. Serena mentioned it.”
What the actual fuck?
“The engagement looks excellent on paper,” he continues, still smiling. “Serena said you’re very…media-friendly. That’s invaluable these days.”
My jaw tightens. Somewhere way back in my head, I hear that joke from the locker room—pretty boy Kane, walking billboard—but it lands different here, standing in silk and cut glass.
“Thanks,” I say, keeping my smile polite. “Have we met?”
“Not officially.” Bennett’s grin widens. “But I know the Preston family very well.”
Beside me, Joy goes still. “Bennett,” she says flatly.
“Bennett was just telling me about his family’s new endowment for the Philharmonic,” Serena trills, appearing like she’s been staged at his elbow the whole time.
“How generous,” I say coldly.
Bennett chuckles. “Well, when you can, you should. Right, Julian?”
“Ah, yes,” Julian intercepts lightly. “A generous sum, indeed. And while we’re on impact, Wesley here led the push that got half of Anchorage’s youth facilities funded. Rinks, training centers. That’s impact you can skate on.”
The tension shifts. A lifeline disguised as small talk. I should thank him, but my throat won’t work.
Serena’s face falters a fraction. Bennett blinks. Joy’s eyes flick to me, a subtle pulse, there and gone.
Bennett turns away to greet someone else, Serena glowing beside him. Joy’s fingers are digging crescents into my arm.
And then it happens.
I don’t even mean to look. My gaze just slides past Serena’s shoulder to a gleaming brushed-metal panel mounted on the wall.
PRESTON FAMILY ENDOWMENT
Metropolitan Opera House — Est. 1957.
My stomach drops clean out of my body.
