Mag-log inFelicity stares at Adam like he just spoke in a language she doesn't have the capacity to process."What did you say?" Her voice comes out cracked at the edges, all that carefully reconstructed composure fracturing in real time.Adam doesn't repeat himself. He doesn't need to. He turns to Director Harmon with the clean, unhurried certainty of someone who made this decision before he walked through the door and has no interest in being argued out of it."I'll take the role," he says. "Give us the two weeks."Director Harmon looks between us — me, Adam, Felicity, the wreckage of whatever just happened in this office — and makes the calculation that a woman in her position makes when the most magnetic student on campus hands her exactly the outcome that's best for the school's centennial event."Done," she says. "Rehearsals start tomorrow. Don't waste the time."We file out.The hallway outside the administrative offices is w
Felicity lunges.Not at me. At Chloe — hand raised, fury past the point of calculation, moving with the blind momentum of someone who has stopped caring what happens next as long as something breaks.She doesn't get there.My hand closes around her wrist in the same half-second her arm swings, and muscle memory — ten years of Taekwondo, ten years of early mornings and bruised knuckles and my body learning to move before my brain catches up — takes over completely.One pivot. One pull. One clean, practiced throw.Felicity hits the auditorium floor on her back with a sound that echoes off every wall.The room goes absolutely silent.Even I'm briefly surprised at myself.Felicity lies there for three full seconds — stunned, winded, staring at the ceiling with the expression of someone whose brain hasn't caught up with what just happened to their body. Around her, everyone has gone perfectly, identically sti
I grab Julian's hand and we run.Through the wings, past the lighting rig, into the backstage corridor where the noise from the auditorium chases us like something alive — four hundred voices compressed into a single desperate frequency, crashing against the walls and the ceiling and every surface between us and escape.I snatch a coat off the rack as we pass — props department, dark wool, anonymous — and shove it at him without slowing down. "Hood up. Now."Julian pulls it on without argument. For a man who has probably never worn anything under three thousand dollars in his adult life, he does not complain about the costume rack coat. This is why I genuinely like him.We hit the back door at full speed and burst out into the daylight.Behind us — nothing. No one. The back exit of Aldridge opens onto a service path that runs behind the science buildings, and it's empty, and for one full second we both just stand there breat
Eight fifty AM.Ten minutes to curtain.I'm standing in the wings of Aldridge Auditorium looking out at the seats, and I'm counting.Fourteen people.Fourteen — including our stage crew, Chloe's study group friends who came as a loyalty gesture, and one freshman who wandered in thinking it was a different event and hasn't figured out his mistake yet.Chloe appears at my shoulder, close enough that I can hear her without her having to raise her voice. "Felicity's souvenirs worked," she says quietly. "She had people stationed at every path leading here. Anyone who even glanced toward Aldridge got intercepted and handed a gift bag with directions to Harmon."I exhale slowly through my nose."How bad is Harmon?""Standing room. Line out the door." She pauses. "I'm sorry, Allie."I look at those fourteen faces scattered across three hundred seats and feel something hollow open in the center of my chest — not defea
The moment the costume rack rolls under the stage lights, everything shifts.I watch it happen in real time — my team, who forty minutes ago looked like soldiers standing in a bombed-out field, transforming into something else entirely. Tyler lifts a doublet from the rack and holds it up against his chest and lets out a low, reverent whistle. One of the stage crew runs her fingers along a prop sword hilt with the focused attention of someone cataloguing something beautiful. Chloe moves through the costume rail methodically, checking each piece, and I can see from the set of her shoulders the exact moment she realizes these aren't just replacements.They're better.Everything Felicity destroyed was borrowed school inventory — old, worn at the seams, serviceable but faded. What George sent over is production quality. The fabric has weight. The detailing is hand-stitched. The costumes look like they were built for this exact play, for these exact people
When the check comes, George reaches for his wallet.I get there first."I said I was treating." I slide the bill toward me before he can object. "It's beef noodles, not a mortgage. I can handle it."George looks at me for a moment — that quiet, measuring look he has, the one that seems to be doing math behind it — and then puts his wallet away without a word. The corner of his mouth lifts just slightly.We don't linger. There's no time. The audition clock is running and we both know it.The Smith & Co. prop warehouse is in an industrial building three blocks from the entertainment district, and it is nothing like what I expected.I expected a storage room.What I get is a warehouse the size of an airplane hangar.Shelves stretch from floor to ceiling in every direction — row after row of props organized by era, by category, by color. Period furniture. Theatrical weaponry. Lighting rigs and fabric b
Allie’s hands curled into fists as she glared at Liam.“I don’t care anymore, Liam. Julian is better than you, and at least he doesn’t treat me like I’m disposable. I won’t waste my breath arguing. If you don’t sign the divorce papers, I’ll take this to court. Let’s see if you can keep your secrets
Liam Hart’s words cut through the air, leaving the entire room in stunned silence.Wife?What did he just say?The gathered reporters exchanged glances, trying to make sense of the bombshell that had just been dropped. Around the doorway, the secretarial staff, especially Ava, wore expressions of p
At that moment, Preston Whitmore stepped forward and addressed the reporters, his tone authoritative. "That concludes today's press conference. Please make your way back."But one reporter, bolder than the rest, raised his voice. "Mr. Hart, can you two pose in a more intimate position for a headlin
Julian Ford sat across from Allie Brooks with a platter of grilled Argentine red shrimp, peeling one leisurely as he spoke."So, what’s your plan now?" Julian asked, his tone casual but laced with curiosity.Allie let out a slow breath. "I honestly don’t know."Liam Hart had torn up the divorce pap







