Chapter 4 – Beneath the Spotlight

Isolde stood frozen in the press of darkness, heart pounding so loudly she was certain Vivienne would hear it too. The stage, usually a place of allure, had become a crucible of fear and hope. She couldn’t see anyone. Couldn’t tell if there was a trap. But she had to move. She forced her breath into control and stepped forward into Velvet’s heartbeat.

“Lights,” she whispered. Click. Dim emergency strips edged through the gloom. She blinked, recognizing the polished wood stage around her. Velvet’s hush paused patrons curious.

“God, thank you,” Isolde murmured, her voice trembling.

“Stay back,” Dorian’s hush came from the darkness beyond the edge. “Let me go first.”

She moved toward him footsteps clicking on polished wood. Penelope followed, silent as a wraith. The trio converged behind the stage curtain at the archway entrance.

At the arch, they paused. The emergency lights were too subdued to illuminate the space properly, but the gleam on polished satin told the story: footsteps. One pair approaching. Someone carrying a single candle. Someone tall. Controlled.

Isolde swallowed. “We don’t know how many are inside.”

Dorian pressed a finger to her lips. “We move on ‘go.’ No sound.”

Penelope’s hand found Isolde’s warm, urgency vibrating between them. “I’ll go flank right,” she whispered. “Cover angles.”

“Good,” Dorian nodded. Then his gaze found Isolde, intense: “Can you do this?”

Isolde nodded once, though legs shook. “For Vivienne, always.”

They slipped in like ghosts. Velvet Stage was coated in red velvet. The air smelled of fresh polish and the remnants of crowd perfume. An unlit chandelier hung above dusty spotlight tracks. The far corridor opened to a narrow backstage hall.

They crouched. A pair of hushed voices echo off rough walls.

“Listen ”

“They named her tonight. Isolde. And her sister she’s on.” The voice was twisted with amusement.

Dorian’s jaw compressed. “We need names,” he breathed. “Who is talking.”

A second voice commanded, “Bring up the lights. Cue the twist.”

The room around them sprang to life. Spotlight flooded the stage, lighting the empty centre. A slim woman’s shape moved beyond the arch: it wasn’t Vivienne. A different hostage stood in the wings anonymous, bound, cloak over her head. A stagehand pressed a remote and velvet curtains parted slowly behind the figure. Music began, a requiem of high, haunting notes.

** Cue. **

They stepped forward, silent but alive. From the other side, someone yelled, “It’s a show!” A cheers and mocking claps rolled from the gallery.

The bound woman was led to a stool in centre stage. Masked patrons whispered behind the velvet ropes above thirsting for spectacle, indulgence, blood.

Isolde whispered to Dorian: “That’s not her.”

Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “They’re toying with us.”

The host was a tall man in a dark suit, mask gilded like polished onyx. He raised a hand and nodded to the masked audience. The music cut. A hush fell.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” his voice echoed. “Tonight, we present a redemption of sorts.” He circled the strapped woman. “Except…she doesn’t speak. So we will let her speak through deed.”

Shadows flickered. Plastic-sheathed knives, metallic gleam. The audience leaned forward. Isolde’s pulse beat her rib cage.

Penelope slipped behind them. She touched Isolde’s shoulder. “Wait.”

Dorian watched. He caught the remote in the host’s hand click-click on a waist coat button. “Lights drop to reveal!” he hissed.

The bound woman’s cloak fell. It was a small framed slip of paper on her dress: a red “X” across its surface. Someone pressed it to her chest with tape.

Then lights flicked high for a moment. Isolde noticed blurry something: necklace glimmering. He moved to point it out, but

Lights clicked off stage flooded with dark. Hushed whispers. A chant of velvet around them: “Light the rose! Light the rose!”

Three spotlights blazed off stage right. Vivienne.

Dressed in white satin. Arms raised, blindfold stained red ribbon. She was center stage alive but obedient like a puppet.

Gasps erupted. The host spoke again: “Behold.” The lights focused on a red rose pedestal beside her. The host beckoned. “The pendant she wears…makes my confession bloom.”

Isolde shook. Dorian issued a quiet growl. Penelope drew a tablet, tapping for footage. Velvet cameras whipped red across the crown. They were being televised live.

Isolde gritted her teeth. “That’s my sister.”

The host hissed into a mic. “Now, my dear: recite your confession ’The rose of Vel’ or your sister bleeds.”

Vivienne nodded slowly and stood her ground.

Isolde felt her heart split open. “Oh God.”

Isolde surged. She raced forward, untethered emotions spilling.

But before she could reach the stage an unseen hand struck her chest. “Move.” Low and soft. She skid. The stage curtain slammed behind her.

Vivienne’s voice echoed on the mic. “Isolde…”

And an explosion of crimson petals rained down as the pedestal bloomed rose uncut, blood-like revelation.

Dorian turned fast his coat trailing.

Isolde froze. Between her and Vivienne: A steel trap.

Isolde’s heart hammered as she stumbled back, breath catching. Vivienne stood frozen onstage, blindfolded and trembling rose petals cascading like blood over satin. A steel trap gleamed at her feet. Dorian surged forward, but a pair of masked guards intercepted him with cold efficiency.

“No!” Isolde screamed, but her voice was swallowed by the gasps of Velvet’s horrified audience.

Dorian fought against the guards, sending them reeling with fierce blows. “Let her go!” he roared. Velvet’s elite sat stunned, masks frozen, cameras still rolling as red rose petals layered the stage.

Behind him, Penelope grabbed Isolde’s arm. “We need the fire exit!” she hissed. “This is a show controlled chaos.”

Isolde shook free and sprinted toward the backstage passage, but the stage curtain snapped closed metal rails grinding in finality. Vivienne’s muffled cry echoed: “Isolde…”

Lights flashed red and blue in the corridors Velvet’s private security in rapid lockdown. Guards swept the backstage halls.

Isolde and Penelope weaved through alcoves. Penelope blocked a guard’s blow. Isolde saw the hallway open into a side door marked Service Exit – Emergency Only.

“Here!” she yelled, and they flung it open only to find themselves in a short, narrow corridor with no way back.

“Flip to the left,” Penelope ordered, leading them into an underground maintenance tunnel.

Behind them, muffled shouts and scuffles echoed.

Isolde’s mind raced. Vivienne. Trap. Steel. Rose. She pressed on, adrenaline empowering each step.

The tunnel descended in dim flicker of emergency lighting. Dirty pipes, cracked concrete, bits of peeling plaster. Every echo reverberated like a warning.

They paused at a junction. Penelope held up a map on her phone security schematics modified from leaked archives.

“Live cameras there but none here.” She indicated a blind-spot near the loading dock. “We can move around the stage, breach from above.”

Isolde swallowed. “So we go back up behind them?”

Penelope nodded grimly. “We flush them out.”

They crept through the tunnel, ascending a ladder into a dusty crawlspace just above the stage’s rafters.

They pulled themselves through narrow beams, crouching beneath dusty stage lights.

Below, velvet curtains rustled as guard boots marched. Vivienne’s stuttered sob slipped through the thin floorboards.

Isolde clutched her sister’s duplicate necklace Vivienne’s name now etched in steel across final treachery. She pressed a hand to the floor, cupping her ear. “Please,” she whispered.

Dorian’s voice rumbled beneath them straining, savage: “Come out!”

Suddenly, stage lights in the rafters flashed on blinding them. Angled beams cut through the rafters.

Penelope tugged Isolde back. “They saw us.”

Footsteps on the catwalk. Guards were above, not just onstage. They poured out from above and below.

Isolde unhooked one of the stage spotlights, brandishing it like a weapon. “We can’t fight them all.”

Penelope slid quietly behind a steel support. “We create noise lure them away.”

Isolde weighed her options. She looked at Vivienne with rose petals pooling beneath her feet, blindfold falling askew. Blood slick at her mouth.

A guard’s boot rattled wood.

Just then, the spotlight’s bulb shattered in her hands. Flames licked the edge of the stage.

Dorian’s voice roared: “Stay with me, Vivienne.”

He surged onto the stage, ripping off his mask. Guards hesitated at the sight of the billionaire.

Isolde slid down the catwalk ladder, rushing onto stage. Penelope followed, dropping through a hidden hatch.

They reached the trap. Dorian knelt beside Vivienne, cutting the hood straps. She slumped into his arms.

Isolde tore at the steel latch. “Stand back!” she commanded, ripping it open. Sparks flared. She yanked her sister free, and the trap’s teeth clanged shut.

Dorian steadied Vivienne. “It’s okay, love. I’ve got you.”

Vivienne clung to Dorian, sobbing, her breath shaking. Isolde slumped beside them, lightheaded and stricken.

Penelope helped her sit. “You saved her.”

Isolde looked at her sister. Vivienne clutched the necklace to her chest, trembling. Then she whispered softly: “The promise…you betrayed it.”

Isolde’s jaw fell. Vivienne collapsed again, tears propping her ankles.

Dorian knelt, concern tearing through stoicism. “What promise?”

Vivienne’s hand pointed weakly to the crowd. “They know.”

Silence enveloped them until Velvet’s host stormed the stage bullhorn in hand. “Clear the room!” he thundered.

Red curtains fell. Stagehands scrambled.

Dorian stood, arms protective around his sister and Isolde.

Isolde whispered to Penelope: “Pack us out.”

Penelope nodded. “Let’s go.”