My shoulders sag.
"Idiot," I mutter under my breath, scolding myself for hoping, for slipping back into that same lovesick high school girl who used to dream up fairytales about him.
For believing, even for a second, that things would be different this time.
Had I made a mistake giving him another chance?
Because these last few days—him being quiet, distant—it felt like he was slipping through my fingers again. And God, I wasn't sure my heart could take that twice.
I exhale sharply, forcing my thoughts to a stop. "Not now," I tell herself. "You've got a performance to nail. Sponsors to impress. No time for heartbreak."
I start pacing, dress swishing softly with every step, trying to calm the nerves twisting in my stomach. Ten minutes tick by—no sign of Lucy or the girls.
Then my phone buzzes.
LUCY
Care, I'm so sorry, we can't make it back to you right now—things got crazy.
LUCY
The sponsors just arrived.
LUCY
Meet us backstage, okay?
I groan, running a hand through my curls. "Great. Except I have no idea where backstage even is."
ME
Where exactly?
LUCY
Go straight down the east hall, take a right at the end, then the double doors on your left.
Phone in hand, I take one last glance at the mirror and heads out.
The hallway feels too long, the air thick with the faint patter of my ballet flats against the floor. Each turn looks the same, each step feeding my doubt.
Was I even going the right way?
I frown.Backstage should've been closer to the locker rooms, right?
And where the hell is everyone?
Just as I'm about to give up and turn back, movement flickers at the end of the corridor.
A tall figure stands a few doors down, his back to me—broad-shouldered, dressed in a red and gold Nutcracker Prince uniform. The ornate coat gleams faintly under the muted hallway lights, gold buttons lined like armor down his back. Relief floods my chest so fast it makes me dizzy.
"Adam," I breathe out, half-laughing as I start toward him. "Oh, thank God. I thought I was—"
The words die somewhere between my throat and the air.
Because he moves. Slowly. Purposefully.
The turn feels like it happens in slow motion—the kind of cinematic pause right before everything changes. His handdrops on his sides, and when he finally faces me, it's like the entire hallway exhales.
