If rage were a scent, she’d be wearing it like perfume.
They reached the first press booth and she turned on the charm, determined to finish the night strong, then go home and drown her sorrows in a bottle of tequila.
“You two! That performance! Was that kiss scripted or spontaneous?”
Holly’s mouth curled, saccharine and sharp. “What kiss?”
The reporter laughed, enchanted. Cameras snapped. Beside her, Nate gave a soft laugh, the kind that might’ve sounded nervous if she wasn’t currently visualizing his obituary.
She kept moving. Step. Pose. Smile. Comment. Repeat.
TikTok was already stitching clips with “Maybe I’m wrong, but maybe I’m right…” and labeling it “the almost kiss heard ‘round the world.”
They were trending before they even got back to the stage for their overall results.
And he had the nerve to look at her like he wanted to explain.
“Holly,” he murmured, low enough to keep out of mic range, “can we just?—”
“We’re still on camera,” she cut in without turning her head, lips barely moving as she continued to smile.
She didn’t let her expression break. Not for a second. If she let go now, she’d either scream or sob, and there was too much at stake for her to do either. So she gave ice princess realness. She was theCEO of I’m Not Mad I Just Think It’s Funny™. She was every viral audio of a girl saying “I don’t care” with tears in her throat and murder in her smile.
They were finally ushered back to the main studio for results, still riding the wave of controlled press chaos. She could hear her name being chanted by the crowd, like this was avictoryinstead of seismic rejection in 4K.
Her heels clicked against the stage, and her jaw ached from smiling. Tension radiating off Nate like heat from a blown amplifier.
Good. She hoped he fucking marinated in it.
Indie was doing her elimination setup, but she was only half-listening. In her mind she was at home in the bath, listening to something sad so she could finally cry.
“And the couple going home tonight is…” Indie said, stretching the words out for maximum effect. “...Maya and Eli!”
A single breath escaped her chest, jagged and bitter, as the couple said their goodbyes amidst a round of polite applause.
“Which means,” Indie purred, “our winners for the week are…”
She could already feel it coming.
“... Lars and Jorja for theirshowstoppingSamba!”
The name landed like a punch to the solar plexus. Holly’s smile didn’t falter, but something behind her ribs shrank in on itself like a dying star. She clapped on autopilot, nodding toward Lars and Jorja like she hadn’t just bet her entire emotional mortgage on a win that never came. The cameras swept past her, none the wiser. For a second, she’d thought the world had seen what she didn’t dare say out loud.
Now it just looked like she’d leaned in for nothing.
@ballroombaddie on X:
"‘What kiss?’ Holly quipped backstage, but the tension on the floor told another story. With a perfect score and a perfect storm of fan theories, they’ve officially become the show’s obsession-in-chief."
@softswordsandsequins on Instagram:
"Holly saying ‘What kiss?’ while looking like a goddess of vengeance in heels??? Mother. Absolute mother."
New Haven Hammerheads on Facebook:
Posted 14 mins ago
We tuned in for a Viennese Waltzand ended up getting acinematic masterpiecestarring our defenseman Nothing prepared us for what just happened on that stage. Proud of you, #5. Can’t wait to see what’s next.
