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EPILOGUE

Seven months later

The curtain hadn’t even risen yet,and already my hands were shaking. Backstage smelled like dust, old velvet, and hairspray—the scent I’d grown to love. Actors whispered lines under their breath around me while stagehands moved props in practiced silence. Somewhere beyond the curtain, the audience buzzed with anticipation, hundreds of conversations blending into one restless hum.

Opening night.

My opening night.

I stood in the wings dressed as Hero, pale blue gown brushing the floor, fingers twisting together so tightly my rings dug into my skin. Across from me, Beatrice was pacing dramatically while Benedick stretched like he was preparing for battle instead of Shakespeare. We’d started to call each other by our character names, so we didn’t fuck up on stage and accidentally use our real names. I’d started to do it in my own head too.

I was so nervous. How had I ever thought I could do this? I couldn’t do this. It was ridiculous. Stand up in front of a whole audience and play a girl who is wrongly accused of loose behaviour. The character that strove to make the audience question their own flawed ideals of purity and reputation. The one who kept her dignity despite many around her treating her poorly.

It was too on the nose. Nope.

I was almost hyperventilating by the time Aisha found me and pulled me into a hug.

“You’re going to be amazing, just breathe.”

“I can’t do this. This is all my fault. Why did I think I could do this? You told me I could. It’s your fault. You convinced me.”

Aisha laughed. “Wow, that was a fast turnaround.”

“Help!”

“Here, I’ve got just the thing. I was prepared for this.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and pressed play on a voicemail.

“Heathen, don’t tell me you’re bottling it now, just before the curtain rises?”

Brody’s warm, goading tone came to me, and my tension immediately faded. With the universe’s worst timing, Brody had an important meeting in Tokyo today, one that couldn’t be moved, and would, therefore, miss the opening night of the play.

I felt relieved and oddly disappointed at the same time. He wouldn’t be here to see me fuck up, on one hand, but on the other hand, he wouldn’t be here to pick up the pieces either.

“Now, I’m recording this from a skyscraper in Shibuya, planning on all the places I’d take you here one day, about to sign the biggest deal in Sinclair Industries history, and the only place I want to be is in the audience, watching my heathen do what she does best… raise hell.”

I gripped the phone tighter, as if his confident tone could somehow suffuse my body.

“Don’t forget who you are, Selena Carmichael. Break a leg, and show them.”

The voicemail ended, and Aisha tugged the cell out of my hand as I gripped onto it.

“Just once more,” I begged.

“Nope, we are out of time. Break a leg, you’re going to be amazing. I’ll see you on stage!” she said with an infectious enthusiasm. She rushed away and, halfway across the stage, turned back to toss over her shoulder.

“Remember it’s meant to be fun!”

Right. Fun. I almost forgot.

While I was waiting for my cue, I peeked around the edge of the curtain, eyeing the audience. There was a sea of faces. It was nearly enough to put me back into a state of terror, but then a large rectangle caught my eye.

What? No way. Who brought a placard to a real play?

My friends, that’s who.

Winter was holding on to the end of the rectangular sign, sitting beside Beckett, with Eve on the other side. Asher was on Winter’s left, with Cayden, Lily, Marcus, Ari and… Cal , makingup the rest of the row. My throat got tight, strangling the emotion threatening to burst out.

There was an empty seat beside Cal and as I watched, a dark shadow made its way along the busy row towards it.