CHAPTER 2. MILLY

CHAPTER 2. MILLY

Gravity betrays me.

Everything happens like a film trick, a glitch in the matrix of my life. I honestly do not see it coming. One second, I am standing my ground, fueled by a righteous fire, ready to tell Madison exactly where she can shove her pom-poms. I am ready to let her know that I am not a doormat, that she cannot continue to shrink me down until I disappear.

The next second, I see the flare of anger ignite in her eyes, a spark of pure malice. I see the moment her hand moves—not in a wave, not in a gesture, but in a violent shove.

Her palms connect with my shoulders, hard. The force overrides every bit of logic and balance I possess. My feet scramble for purchase on the smooth backstage floor, but there is no traction.

"Milly!"

I hear Riley scream my name, a sound warped by panic. I see her eyes go wide, her mouth falling open in a silent ‘O’ of horror. She stretches her hand out to catch me, her fingers desperate to anchor me, but it’s too late. Her fingertips only graze the fabric of my sleeve as I slip away.

I stumble backward, my arms windmilling uselessly through the air. My foot catches on a thick coil of cable, and that is the final nail in my coffin.

I am falling.

I tumble out of the safety of the shadows and straight into the blinding white abyss of the stage.

The world tilts on its axis. The transition is violent—from the cool, dim backstage air to the searing heat of a thousand spotlights. The light evaporates my vision, flashing into my retinas and obscuring everything in a haze of white and gold. I can’t see where I am going; I only know I am hurtling toward disaster.

The roaring of the crowd, which had been a dull thrum in the background, suddenly spikes into a confused, disjointed noise.

CRASH.

I collide with something solid. Something warm. A wall of human muscle.

The impact knocks the breath out of me. I hear the sickening crunch of metal hitting wood, followed immediately by a deafening, high-pitched screech of audio feedback that pierces my eardrums like a needle.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

The sound of a guitar clattering to the floor echoes like a gunshot. A wooden stool topples over with a hollow thud.

For a heartbeat, there is silence. Then, eruption.

The auditorium explodes into a frenzy of shouts, gasps, and confusion. My heart is hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I am panting hard, my lungs burning, as I squeeze my eyes shut against the humiliation. When I finally peel them open, I realize with sinking dread that I am hovering over a body.

I am sprawled on top of him. The huge, muscular fellow who brushed past us earlier. Lucien.

He is on his back, propped up on his elbows, and I am tangled in his limbs. He isn’t looking at me with concern. He isn’t looking at me with pity. He is looking at me with a displeasure so potent it feels like a physical slap.

His chest heaves beneath my hands, radiating heat. I flush, the blood rushing to my face so fast I feel dizzy. I scramble off him, my movements jerky and uncoordinated, acting as if his skin is made of lava.

"Oh crap," I whisper, my voice trembling. "Oh crap, oh crap."

I stand up, dusting off my jeans with shaking hands, and look around in shock. I am center stage. The entire student body of Crestwood Institute is staring at me. Some are standing, craning their necks. Others are shouting their displeasure, booing and cursing at the girl who just tackled their idol.

What the hell just happened?

My survival instinct kicks in, and I whirl around, looking toward the side of the stage where I came from.

There she is.

Madison stands in the shadows of the wing, just beyond the reach of the stage lights. Riley is frozen beside her, hands covering her mouth in horror. But Madison? Madison is glowing. She gasps theatrically, a hand to her chest, but then her face breaks into a grin. A cruel, triumphant grin.

She nudges one of her cheerleading minions, and they begin to giggle. Then, they clap. A slow, mocking applause that cuts through the noise of the crowd. Madison throws her head back in laughter, and that sound—that joyous, wicked sound—strikes a chord deep in my chest.

The embarrassment evaporates instantly. In its place, a cold, hard rage settles in.

I see red. Literally. The edges of my vision blur with a crimson haze. This isn't just bullying; this is war. My fist clenches at my side, my nails digging into my palm until I feel the sting. I don’t want to talk anymore. I don’t want to be the bigger person. My fist is aching to connect with her nose, to force out even a tiny drop of blood to match the internal bleeding she causes me daily.

I take a step toward the wings.

I am going to kill her, I think. I am going to walk over there, grab her by that stupid polyester cheerleading shell, and shake the life out of her.

I take another step, my focus entirely on Madison’s smirking face.

But I never make it.

A large, colossal hand grabs my shoulder from behind. The grip is iron-tight, painful. I am spun around with a powerful force that makes me stumble again, fighting to keep my footing.

I look up. And up.

The fellow I crashed into—Lucien—is towering over me. His stance has shifted completely. Gone is the soulful musician strumming a guitar. In his place stands a man vibrating with the energy of a street fighter. He is glaring down at me with a terrifying intensity, his chest heaving.

The raw rage in his face makes me shiver. I step backward, feeling small, insignificant, and completely intimidated by his overwhelming height.

"Are you crazy?"

His voice is a low thunder roll, audible even without the microphone.

"Are you mad? Are you stupid?" He steps into my personal space, forcing me to retreat further. "Are you dumb in the brain? What the fuck is your problem?"

I blink, stunned by the venom in his tone.

"What the hell brought you here?" he continues, his voice rising, projecting over the murmuring crowd. "What are you doing here? Don't you know how to maintain your lane? If you wanted autographs, you couldn't wait until the show was over? You rabid little stalker. Are you stupid?"

"I..." My voice dies in my throat.

"Why the hell did you have to drag your insignificant, nobody self onto my stage?" he roars. "What the hell were you thinking?"

I flinch as if he struck me. The words hit their mark with precision. Insignificant. Nobody.

I try to steel myself, try not to let it get to me, but it strikes against the most vulnerable parts of my heart. It feels like someone is thrusting a spear into my chest, over and over again. Goddammit, it hurts.

And worse, beneath the anger, I feel remorse. I look at the toppled microphone stand, the guitar lying face down on the floorboards.

Oh my God, what have I done?

"Do you have any idea what you have just ruined, you waste of space?" he shouts, raking a hand through his messy dark hair. "Do you know how important this is to me?"

He looks like he wants to knock me unconscious. For the first time, I realize the magnitude of the night. Riley said this was his big break. This was his moment to shine, to get signed, to change his life. And I just turned it into a slapstick comedy routine.

My lips tremble. I clasp my hands together in front of me, a subconscious plea for mercy.

"I am so sorry," I whisper, my voice cracking. "I didn't mean to—"

"Shut the hell up!"

He cuts me off instantly, his voice cracking like a whip. "Don't you know what a boundary is? Close that stupid mouth of yours!"

I frown, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. He isn't even giving me a chance to speak. To explain. To tell him that I was pushed.

"Please, just listen to me," I try again, my voice shaking. "It's really not my fault—"

"I said shut up!"

He continues to thunder, veins popping in his forehead. His rage is ugly, unfiltered. The crowd below has gone silent, hundreds of eyes watching the drama unfold, struck dumb by the raw aura of his anger.

I feel small. I feel hated. A complicated swirl of emotions floods through my chest—shame, guilt, fear, and a deep, aching hurt. A tear escapes, sliding down my hot cheek. I can't wipe it away. I am paralyzed.

"Relax, Mr. Devereaux."

We hear the heavy stamping of feet as security officials rush onto the stage, their headsets bobbing.

"It's okay, we're going to handle this, okay? Just calm down." Two burly men step between us, trying to separate him from me as if I am a contagious disease.

One of the officials turns to look at me, his expression worried. "Are you okay, miss? Are you hurt?"

I can't even open my mouth to answer. I am struck dumb by the harsh words Lucien has just impaled me with.

Then, I hear soft, frantic footsteps. Warm hands grab my arm.

Riley.

She stands beside me, breathless, looking up at Lucien with wide, pleading eyes.

"I am really so sorry," she says, her voice breathless. "It was not her fault, okay? She was pushed. Please, you do not have to be angry about this. It was an accident."

Lucien looks like he is about to explode again, but another heavy set of footsteps vibrates the floorboards.

A figure enters from the opposite wing. He is the same height as Lucian, with the same broad shoulders and the same dark intensity. He moves with a predatory grace, his eyes locking onto him.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" the newcomer asks Lucian. His tone is caring, but sharp.

He turns to look at me, and the recognition is instant.

Twins.

They aren't perfectly identical, but the resemblance is undeniable. They share the same magnetic, annoyingly good-looking structure—the sharp jawlines, the brooding brows. But where Lucian is fire and chaos, this one feels like ice and steel.

He moves toward me, his glare threatening. It looks like he intends to pounce on me right here and now.

One of the stage officials moves quickly, placing a hand against the newcomer's broad, muscular chest, pushing him back.

"Mr. Damien, you have to take it easy, okay? Just calm down. We will handle the situation."

Damien.

Great. Lucien and Damien. The Double Trouble of my nightmares.

Damien pushes against the security guard's hand, his jaw grinding. I can see the muscle in his cheek twitching as he struggles to contain his temper.

"Do you have any freaking idea what the hell you have done?" Damien spits the words at me.

"Do you know how you've messed up?" He steps closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "You used your insignificance to trash another man's dream. What the hell do you think you are, you party crasher?"

He is screaming now, his face inches from the security guard's shoulder. "Why the hell did you have to ruin the show with your irrelevance? Why can't you just maintain your own lane, you lowlife scum?"

Lowlife scum.

Something inside me snaps.

The sadness I felt moments ago vanishes. The guilt evaporates. The tears stop falling.

That phrase strikes a chord so deep, so violent, that it overrides my fear. The anger I had toward Madison twists, returning with massive force, but now it has a new target. It burns through my chest like acid.

My adrenaline spikes. I look up at Damien, glaring at him with enough hatred to snap his neck. He glares back, fueling my fire with his own.

"You know what?"

I step forward, shaking off Riley’s grip.

Riley looks at me, eyes wide. "Milly, no. No, no, no. Please don't." She tugs at my arm. "Control your anger. Now is not the time. Please."

But I can’t. This has always been my weakness. My temper is a dormant volcano, and they just threw a grenade into the crater. Once it is released, there is no going back. I am a runaway freight train without brakes.

"I don't actually blame you," I say, my voice ringing out in the hoarse silence of the auditorium.

Everyone stops. The security guards, the brothers, the crowd. They stare at me, wondering what the crazy girl is going to say next.

"I don't know what makes you think that because of the so-called nonsense power you have, you can just open those filthy mouths of yours and talk to anyone who crosses your path like they are garbage."

I step closer, invading the space of the twins. They look down at me with disbelief, as if a mouse has just roared at a lion.

"Do you want to know what I think?" I continue, my voice gaining strength. "I think you both are just full of shit."

A collective gasp ripples through the crowd. I hear the murmurs starting, the shockwaves rolling through the room.

"And I think you actually deserve what just happened," I spit at Lucien.

The gasp increases. Riley looks like her eyes are about to pop out of her sockets.

"Milly! You can't say that!" she hisses, trying to drag me away.

I shrug her off violently. I push past the security guard, standing toe-to-toe with the brothers.

"Just because you have the attention of the world screaming your name doesn't mean the entire world revolves around your feet," I sneer, locking eyes with Lucien.

He looks like he wants to strangle me, but he is too shocked to move.

"You have no talent," I lie, wanting to hurt him. "You have nothing. Nothing added to your name. You're only feeling pompous, proud, and high up in the clouds because you've got Daddy’s purse to back you up."

The auditorium goes wild.

"Oh my God, she's insane," someone whispers loudly from the front row.

"Who the hell is she?"

"She has no remorse. She's crazy."

I can see the rage in their faces—both Damien and Lucien. They look like they could tear my head from my neck with their bare hands. And goddammit, I am satisfied with that.

Let them be angry. Let them know that I am not someone they can trample on just because they are pretty and popular. I am so done with this.

The mumbles and whispers surround me like a swarm of bees.

" The audacity of her... talking to the Devereaux brothers like that... who does she think she is?"

Honestly? I really do not care. I don't give a fuck.

"It was a mistake," I shout over the noise. "A simple mistake! That doesn't justify you insulting me like I’m dirt!"

"Okay, this is over!"

One of the lead officials steps between us, his face stern. "Everyone, the show is over! Back to your dorms. Let's end this right now."

There are grumbles of protest from the students, reluctant to leave the spectacle.

I see Lucien move. He kicks his beautiful acoustic guitar across the stage with rough fury. It slides across the floor with a discordant twang.

Damien is still standing there, glaring at me like a statue carved from hate. I can see the disgust etched into his features. I can tell, right in this moment, that this is the beginning of a lifetime of enmity.

Fine. Let them hate me. I didn't know they existed an hour ago, and I plan to go back to not caring about their existence by tomorrow morning.

"That does it," Riley mutters.

She grabs my hand, her grip bruising. She doesn't think twice. She drags me toward the stairs, pulling me off the stage and through an open aisle in the crowd.

I feel the eyes on me. Hundreds of piercing stares, looks that could kill. I keep my head high, but my insides are shaking. Riley uses her body to shield me, blocking the worst of the glares.

"Relax," she whispers, patting my back as we push through the exit doors. "Calm down. Just breathe."

The drive home is a blur of silence.

Riley gets me into the car, closes the door, and drives with a focus I’ve never seen in her. I stare out the window, watching the campus lights blur into streaks of neon.

When we finally arrive at our apartment, I don't wait. I scramble out of the car, rush up the stairs, and storm straight into my room. I leave the door open, not caring about privacy anymore.

I dive onto my bed, burying my face deep into my pillow.

The dam breaks.

The adrenaline fades, leaving behind a crushing wave of hurt. I break into sobs, my body shaking with the force of them.

God, what the hell is wrong with my life?

Why? Why did I have to let her drag me there?

I feel the mattress dip. I don't turn around. I know it’s Riley.

She sighs, a long, weary sound, and places a soft hand on my back. She begins to rub circles between my shoulder blades, trying to console me. She doesn't say anything. She knows there is nothing to say.

I cry harder, the memory of their voices playing on a loop in my mind.

Lowlife scum. Party crasher. Insignificant nobody.

The insults ring loudly in my ears, striking like knives against my heart.

Who the fuck do they think they are?