CHAPTER SEVEN

Few weeks and the lights were back. The cameras, the crowd, the pressure; it was all here again.

But this time, it wasn’t a wedding. It was my concert.

The one that was supposed to happen months ago. The one that got ruined.

I had agreed to do a special show something intimate, small, just for my fans. A way to reclaim my story, to take control. Michelle called it a “healing performance.” I called it terrifying.

The stage was smaller, the audience limited, but the world was still watching. My name was everywhere. Not for my music, but for the scandal.

And now I was standing backstage, wearing a silver dress and holding a mic with shaky hands.

Reed stood beside me. Dressed in black, as usual. Calm, as usual.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

I nodded too fast. “Yeah.”

He didn’t believe me, I could tell.

But he didn’t press.

Instead, he reached for my hand. His fingers were warm. Strong. I looked at him, surprised.

“You’re not alone out there,” he said.

It was the first kind thing he had said in days.

And just like that, I felt a little less scared.

The stage manager signaled me. It was time.

I stepped out, my heart pounding in my ears. The crowd clapped. Not as loud as before, but they clapped.

I raised the mic. “Hi.” My voice shook. “I want to thank everyone for being here. For standing with me… even when things got messy.”

A few cheers. A few people shouted, “We love you, Angie!”

I smiled. I felt my voice coming back.

“I lost a lot recently,” I continued. “But I also found something. Strength. Honesty. And maybe… a new beginning.”

I sang three songs. Just three. That was all I could handle. By the last one, my voice cracked.

When I came offstage, Reed was waiting. He handed me water, his eyes searching mine.

“You did good,” he said.

I blinked fast. “Thanks.”

We drove home in silence. But not the usual kind. This silence felt… softer.

When we got to the apartment, I kicked off my heels and sat on the floor. My head spun.

“Angie?”

I shook my head slowly. “I don’t feel good.”

He knelt in front of me. “What’s wrong?”

“Dizzy. Cold. Just… tired.”

He pressed a hand to my forehead. His eyes narrowed. “You’re burning up.”

I didn’t have the energy to respond.

He helped me to the couch, grabbed a blanket, and wrapped me in it. He moved fast, pulling off his jacket, adjusting the room temperature.

I watched him. He wasn’t cold now, he wasn’t distant.

He was here.

“Did you eat anything today?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Couldn’t keep it down.”

He stood up, walked to the kitchen, and returned with toast and water. “Try this.”

My hand shook as I reached for the glass. He steadied it for me.

“You didn’t have to…”

“Yes, I did.”

His tone was soft, but firm.

I ate a little. Sipped slowly. He sat beside me, watching closely like I might break.

It was the first time since before the wedding I saw him like this. Like he cared.

He stayed by my side all night. When I dozed off, I felt his hand brushing the hair off my face. I heard him whisper something I couldn’t make out. I didn’t sleep well. The fever was bad. But knowing he was there helped.

The next morning, I opened my eyes slowly. The blanket was still wrapped around me. Reed was asleep on the floor next to the couch, his jacket over him like a blanket.

My throat hurt. My head was pounding. But my heart felt… weird. Like it was full.

I sat up slowly. He stirred.

“Hey,” he said groggily.

“Hi.” My voice cracked.

He sat up, stretching. “You look better.”

“I still feel like crap.”

He smirked. “That’s fair.”

I stared at him. “Why are you being so… nice?”

He shrugged. “You’re sick.”

“I was sick two weeks ago too. You barely looked at me then.”

He looked away. “That was different.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer.

I didn’t push.

A knock at the door broke the moment. Reed stood up and opened it.

And there he was.

My dad.

Back from Switzerland. He stepped inside with his suitcase, looking tired. His eyes met mine.

“Angie.”

“Hi, Dad.”

He looked around. “You okay?”

“She had a fever last night,” Reed said. “She’s getting better.”

My dad nodded, then looked at me again. “Can we talk?”

Reed glanced at me. I nodded. “It’s fine.”

He left the room quietly.

My dad sat across from me. There was space between us. Not just on the couch, but in the air.

“How was the trip?” I asked.

“Busy.”

Everywhere was silent.

“You look thin,” he said.

I laughed without humor. “Thanks.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

“You were handling business.”

He looked at me with tired eyes. “That doesn’t mean I should’ve left you alone in all this.”

I swallowed hard. “I wasn’t alone.”

He glanced at the door Reed had gone through. “You like him?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Reed. You trust him?”

I didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t know,” I said finally. “Some days I think he hates me. Some days… he makes me feel safe.”

Dad nodded slowly. “Marriage is hard, even the fake kind.”

I looked down. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Dad.”

“You’re surviving. And that’s enough right now.”

I leaned back, exhausted.

He stood up, kissed my forehead, and left the room.

Later that night, Reed came back into the living room. I was curled up with tea.

“You should rest in bed,” he said.

“I like it here.”

He sat down across from me. “You and your dad talk?”

I nodded. “It was weird. We’re not like we used to be.”

“Life changes people,” he said quietly.

I looked at him. “What changed you?”

His eyes flicked to mine. “That’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

He didn’t speak. Just looked away again.

I sighed. “Reed, I don’t know what’s happening between us. But thank you. For last night.”

He met my eyes. “You’re welcome.”

We sat in silence again. But it wasn’t empty this time. Something was there.

A crack in the wall.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the start of something real. But before I could finish thinking, he stood up to make calls again, whispering softly.