It sounds... fair. Practical.Smart.The kind of structure my mind actually responds to.
“Okay,” I murmur. “Thanks.”
She lightly touches my arm. “You’re in control, Jane. This is a choice, not a demand.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow it down. When was the last time someone told me I was in control of anything? “Okay.”
“I’ll find you after,” Gwen says with a reassuring smile before heading off to speak to another woman.
My heart races, but not from fear. It’s from something wilder, like standing on a cliff andwantingto jump.
Backstage is filled with women waiting for their turn, all dressed in outfits of their choice—one in a sleek black dress, another in something soft and peachy.
A tall redhead catches my eye—Jessie, according to her name tag. Her hair is twisted back, with a few strands escaping, and her blue dress makes her look like she belongs on a runway. She meets my gaze, and something flickers there—recognition, perhaps. The kind you feel when you spot someone else pretending not to be terrified.
On the other side of the room stands a woman in a soft teal dress—Sadie—set apart from the others, her dark hair falling forward as if she’s trying to disappear. I don’t know her story, and I don’t need to. We’re all here for our own reasons.
They don’t speak. Neither do I. But when our eyes meet, something passes between us.
The redhead lifts her hand in a small wave. I tip my hat in return. She offers a smile, and just like that, I feel less alone.
The coordinator approaches Jessie. “Ready?”
Jessie takes a deep breath and nods, then disappears behind the curtain and onto the stage.
It feels like only seconds before Gwen is back.
“Ready, Jane?”
No.
Yes.
I don't know.
I nod. “Ready.”
The music shifts, and a subtle hush rolls over the crowd.
Then I hear the announcer call my name:
“Next up... Jane!”
The spotlight hits me like a wall. My brain screamsrun. Everything is too bright, too many eyes, too much. But my legs carry me forward anyway. The smile I paste on is the one I’ve practiced in a thousand mirrors: bright, confident, untouchable. It’s a lie, but a convincing one.
I scan the crowd. Cowboys, businessmen, and ranchers all look at me as if I’m something to be evaluated. My skin crawls. I want to run. I want to hide. I want?—
My gaze lands onhim.
And everything else falls away.
He’s sitting at the back of the room with two other men, all big, still, and commanding without even trying. He’s not dressed like the rest—no flashy tie, no sleek designer jacket. Just a dark button-down, rolled sleeves, and shoulders that look like they were built to carry the weight of the world.
His unblinking green eyes captivate me, fixed on me as if I’m a fuse burning down.
My breath catches sharply, completely beyond my control.
For the first time in as long as I can remember, my loud, chaotic brain goes quiet. The static stops. It’s just him.
