Chapter One
Holly
I can barely contain my excitement.
My dreams are finally coming true. Never in a million years would I have guessed I’d be here someday. Wished for it, yes. Thought it would actually happen, no. But I’m here, and with the last person I ever expected to help me. It’s my own Christmas miracle.
My stepfather’s car stops at the curb outside an ornate building in the historic downtown district of the city. Eagerly, I look out the car window and up at the structure with the potential to change my life forever. I’m surprised how quiet it is.
The building itself is three stories of wide white stone broken up by large, black-framed windows. The sign above the main entrance is inscribed with gilded letters and reads:Zoltoy Dom—Golden House. The light snow falling makes it seem somehow otherworldly. Everyone from around here is familiar with this place, though few have ever stepped foot inside. Golden House is a members-only auction house. It’s a satellite location for a larger trading company in New York City, about an hour away that specializes in the acquisition and sale of rare, expensiveantiques. A shiver of nervous anticipation runs down my spine as I take it all in.
“Stop your gawking and get out. We’re going to be late,” my stepfather Craig barks at me, and I quickly comply, straightening my dress and smoothing my straight blonde hair once I’m standing on the sidewalk next to the car. Without a glance in my direction, my stepfather walks briskly toward the building’s entrance.
At street level, large display windows showcase beautiful vases, pottery, and jewelry artfully arranged on black drapery in front of a black curtain that obstructs the view of the inside. The front doors are darkly tinted so passersby cannot see within and a lone guard dressed in a black suit stands outside the door. Otherwise, the sidewalk is empty, the sharp sting of the cold night air seems to be keeping everyone inside.
Craig approaches the guard and pulls a card I’ve never seen before from his jacket pocket before offering it to the guard. Nerves prickle my skin as I shift from foot to foot behind him. The guard takes the card, then glances at me. He eyes me for a moment, and I give him what I hope is a friendly smile, then he nods, passes the card back to Craig, and pulls the heavy front door open, gesturing us inside. We enter into a wide showroom with oil paintings on the walls above ornate couches and chairs. Pedestals holding glass display cases are set throughout the room. I’ve never been to one, but I imagine this is what a gallery in an art museum might look like.
Despite the elegant furnishings and the tasteful holiday decorations artfully arranged among the displays, the interior of the building is eerily dim and silent, and I can’t help but feel confused. “Are you sure we’re in the right place? There’s no one here,” I say.
“Of course we are,” Craig snaps at me. “Do you want this opportunity or not? I didn’t go to all this trouble just to listen to you whine.”
“S-sorry,” I respond, twisting my fingers together so I’m not tempted to bite my nails—a nervous habit I’m trying to break.
Craig opens his mouth to respond, but we’re interrupted by a stylish-looking man dressed in a burgundy suit. His dark hair is styled with so much product, it shimmers in the low lighting of the wall sconces. The stranger approaches my stepfather with a wide smile and offers his hand.
“Mr. Martin, I presume? I’m Ivan, your host for the evening. You’re right on time.” Craig shakes his hand, and the man turns to me, but doesn’t offer to shake mine. “And you must be Holly. You’re going to be the hit of the night; you’re absolutely stunning.” His words make me blush, and I stammer out a thank you, but Ivan interrupts, handing me a tablet. “Before we go any further, sign this. It’s a copy of the consent form and the NDA we sent earlier in the week.”
“Oh, I didn’t—” I start, but Craig cuts me off.
“Just sign it, Holly. I looked it over already, don’t waste the man’s time.”
I do as he says, quickly adding my signature to the highlighted box, and pass the tablet back to Ivan. I still have so many questions, but Ivan has already turned away, leading us down the hall in the direction he’d come from. “Right this way,” he says. “We have three others ahead of you, so you have some time to catch your breath and powder your nose.” He leads us into an elevator with engraved golden doors and upholstered walls the same color as Ivan’s suit. It’s easy to see that the auction house lives up to its name.
We take the elevator to the second floor and exit into a wide hallway. The floor is black marble with white veining and a burgundy runner down its center. The walls are a rich, dark wood, and the windows are covered by heavy curtains the same shade as the rug, elevator, and Ivan’s suit. It must beZoltoy Dom’ssignature shade, and Ivan is perfectly dressed to blend into the background, which I assume was intentional, given that he seems to be some kind of host or assistant.
I can hear the low murmur of conversation coming from the far end of the hall where two oversized doors stand open, flanked by expressionless guards in black suits. Nerves skitter across my skin again as I realize how close I am to a real shot at achieving my dreams. But before I can get too lost in my thoughts, Ivan guides my stepfather and me in the opposite direction, to the end of the hall and around a corner. We stop at an unmarked door, which Ivan opens, motioning for us to follow him inside.
I gasp when I enter what is obviously a dressing room. I knew tonight’s event would be something special since it’s being held here of all places, but I hadn’t anticipated I’d get my own dressing room. My smile is wide and delighted as my gaze meets my reflection in the vanity mirror before spinning toward my stepfather.
But before I can utter a word, Ivan says, “I can see you’re excited. That’s great, the bidders love to see liveliness. I’ll give you some time to get yourself ready and come back when it’s your turn to go on.”
“Wait,” I call out just as he’s about to leave. “Don’t you need my music for the band? I haven’t told anyone my song choice yet.”
Ivan looks confused and turns to Craig, who says, “Yeah, her song choice. I’ll follow you out and make sure it’s all settled.” My stepfather ushers Ivan out of the room without a look or a wordfor me, shutting the door behind him and leaving me alone in the dressing room.
“I can’t believe it,” I whisper to myself as I take a seat on the vanity stool. I’m actually here. I’m going to audition for a real singing competition. I’ve grown up watching shows likethe X FactorandAmerican Idol. I’ve always dreamed of being a professional singer, but with no money and no connections, I figured I’d never get a chance. That is, until my stepfather came home with the news that he’d gotten me an audition for a new show. He’d told me that when he’d heard through his job as a janitor forZoltoy Domthat the producers of the show would be holding invite-only auditions for the pilot episode at the auction house, he’d used his work connections to secure me a spot.
At first I’d been confused about why a show would hold auditions in our town when New York City is little more than an hour away. Then I’d remembered hearing rumors about the family who ownedZoltoy Dombeing related to some entertainment executive in LA. I could hardly believe it.
Since the moment my mother married him, Craig made no secret of his dislike for me. He called me a brat more than he used my actual name. When my mother passed away unexpectedly three years after their wedding, his dislike of me intensified. The only reason I didn’t end up in foster care was because of the monthly support check he received from the state to take care of me.
Those checks had stopped last month when I turned eighteen. Since then, I’ve been worried about what would become of me now that I am a legal adult and Craig is no longer getting paid to keep me. It never occurred to me that my stepfather might actually do something to help me secure a future as a singer.
I stand up, kick off my heels to give my feet a break, and slowly start to circle the room, shaking out the nerves in my hands as I warm up my voice. I can’t help but pull at the hem of my dress a bit. It’s shorter than my usual style, but Craig had picked it out, saying he’d heard from others at work that contestants should wear something flashy to make themselves memorable for the judges. Well, this sparkling sequined mini dress will certainly do that. I just hope the judges aren’t seated too close to the stage, or they’ll see more of me than I want them to.
God, I am nervous. Aside from the school choir, I’ve never performed in front of a crowd before. What if I freeze? What if I trip? There is so much that could go wrong! Before it can spin out of control, my internal panic is interrupted by the dressing room door opening and my stepfather’s return.
“What are you doing? Get your shoes on, girl. It’s your turn!” he snaps at me. I hurry to comply and am just slipping on the second heel when Ivan also returns.
