33. Alex

Chapter thirty-three

Alex

I t’s the night of the Spring Concert.

When I told my parents a few days ago that I won’t be attending the year’s biggest fundraiser for our school, they were more than just angry. They threatened to disown me. Both of them. Usually, my dad is off on some business meeting, but when Mom told him I was skirting on my “responsibilities”, he paused his activities to shout at me over the phone.

Didn’t work. I feel bad—really, I do—but I told him I have something much more important to attend. Besides, shouldn’t they be here for Victoria, anyway? I’m here for Daphne, but it’s a double bonus that I get to see my sister play too.

After all, family is what’s most important. If my parents really wanted to, they could have changed the fundraiser’s date. You know, because their daughter is playing in the spring orchestra and because they own the entire university. But they didn’t .

Okay, am I blaming my parents unfairly? A bit. At least I can admit it, but perhaps we should stop pitting our athletics department against our music department.

Feeling brave, I also told them how, in addition to skipping out on the fundraiser, I’m taking culinary courses next year. Vic and I even vow to open up a new branch of our family’s business with my upcoming skills. I’ll open a restaurant, run and manage it, while she handles the in-house music of my restaurant. It’s perfect.

Sister happy, Alex happy. Parents will be happy once they’ve cooled down, and hopefully, I’ll make Daphne happy someday.

For the rest of my life, I’ll pine and chase after her as she deserves. So, here I am, standing at the back of the auditorium, listening to Daphne’s solo piece while I’m in the crowd.

It’s stifling, with hundreds upon hundreds of audience members all attentively watching and listening to her masterpiece.

Most of all, it’s magnificent.

I’m standing at the back of the ornate, wood-paneled auditorium, the air thick with anticipation. As Daphne takes her place at the harp, soft, warm spotlights illuminate the stage. The audience, a sea of faces, is hushed, their eyes fixed on her. The scent of flowers and perfume hangs in the air, mingling with the rich tones of the orchestra’s tuning .

Daphne’s playing fills the room with a wave of ethereal sound. Her fingers pluck the strings with a delicate touch, each note a shimmering jewel in a tapestry of melody. The orchestra’s accompaniment swells and fades, creating a harmonious backdrop for Daphne’s solo.

I sit transfixed the entire time, in complete awe. It’s hauntingly beautiful. Gothic even. It’s like every single beat transcribes from the beat of my heart.

Seconds turn into minutes, and I don’t think I’ve blinked a single time. But it still ends much too soon.

The last haunting note of Daphne’s harp lingers in the charged air like a whispered secret, weaving its way into the deepest recesses of my soul. I can’t breathe, can’t think. Her fingers have plucked more than just strings; they’ve unraveled the very fabric of my being. She’s always been this enigma, a melody in human form that I’m forever trying to deconstruct and understand.

“Wow,” I murmur under my breath, the word entirely inadequate for the storm of emotions she’s stirred within me. I’m so glad I’m here.

The auditorium cascades into applause, but the sound feels distant, drowned out by the thumping of my heart against my ribcage. People rise from their seats, their standing ovation a thunderous roar to match the quiet intensity of her performance. But it’s not the crowd I see; it’s her.

As the lights flicker on, piercing through the dim afterglow of her solo, our eyes lock over the heads of the audience. There’s an ocean of people between us, but at this moment, it’s as if we’re the only two souls in existence. The corners of her eyes glisten with tears, and it’s like looking into the sun—blinding and raw.

“Look at her,” I whisper to myself, though I’m not sure why I bother with words when my chest is already so full of her it might burst.

She stands there, a solitary figure bathed in the spotlight, chin-length wavy hair framing her face, the sharpness of her jaw a contrast to the vulnerability in her hazel eyes. Tears trail down her cheeks, carving a path as poignant as the music she’s just shared. She’s beautiful. No, that’s too simple a word. She’s magnificent.

And she’s mine, even if nobody else knows it. Even if she doesn’t realize it yet. I’ll do anything to get my girl back.

Daphne’s lips part in a tremulous smile, pride shining through the dampness on her skin. That’s my girl, strong and resilient, a survivor of more darkness than anyone should ever know, standing proud in the light of her own brilliance.

I want to rush to her, wrap her in my arms, kiss away those tears, and promise her the world. But I stay rooted in place, my love for her a secret kept in the shadows of my heart. A secret I’ve clung to since the day she pulled me back from the edge, saving me from myself.

Daphne looks happy, her usual melancholy swept away in the tide of applause. I imagine her joy is a fragile thing, something rare and precious, and it fills me with a fierce protectiveness. She deserves every cheer, every tear, and every moment of happiness that life can spare.

The crowd disperses.

I’m not one of them, though, because I’m still caught in Daphne’s gravity, unable to look away. And I know, without a doubt, that I would do anything, be anything, just to see her smile like that again. We make eye contact, and she grins.

Thank fuck, she looks happy to see me.

I have to get to her. I’ll make a grand gesture, including screaming how much I love her, at the top of my lungs in this crowded auditorium .

In tangent, we weave towards each other, still too far away to shout above the heads of others.

Before she can reach me, she’s intercepted by Victoria. I immediately tense, expecting a show-down of sorts, but thankfully, they both glow with crinkled eyes and massive smiles.

Again, I need to give my sister more credit .

The audience’s adulation is a living thing, but it pales next to the storm of emotions swirling within me. With renewed awe, I’m sauntering towards her, but this time she isn’t focused on me. I’m still a few hundred feet away. Daphne’s eyes are still glistening when, suddenly, they widen in alarm. She’s frozen in place while staring at someone to the right of me.

There, like a shadow amongst hues of evening wear, stands a skinny woman with dark, long hair. Her resemblance to Daphne is uncanny—same sharp jaw, same wavy darkness of hair, except five times the length.

A relative? No, there’s something more sinister in the way this woman’s eyes fixate on Daphne, something predatory. My chest tightens as my mind races with possibilities.

Who is she, and why does Daphne look terrified to see her in the crowd?

Before I can dissect further, Daphne turns on her heel and abruptly exits. Something’s not right. The feeling intensifies when the older doppelg?nger follows suit, her movements deliberate.

Alarm bells clang in my head.

This isn’t right. I feel like I’m seconds away from losing her.

“Excuse me,” I say, trying to sidestep a couple locked in an embrace. They don’t notice me, so I push past them.

Must get to Daph.

“Sorry,” I grunt as my shoulder brushes against another bystander, but I’m moving too fast to see if they accept the apology.

The throng of bodies becomes a labyrinth, a maze constructed of laughter and careless chatter, and here I am, the sole frantic figure desperate to break free.

“Daphne!” I call out, but the roar of noise swallows my voice.

I’ve lost sight of her. Both of them.

I dart into dimly lit corridors, every door another chance to find her. Each empty room I burst into tightens the knot of dread in my gut. Where is she? Why did that woman follow her?

“Dammit!” I curse, slamming a fist against the closest wall. The impact does nothing to ease the frustration simmering beneath my skin.

I should’ve been closer to the stage; I should’ve been there the moment she looked afraid.

Focus, I command myself, sucking in a deep breath. I recall how Daphne once told me about her mother. Could that woman be… No, it doesn’t fit. But then, what other danger lurks in a face so similar to hers?

I tried to bring up her mother once, but Daphne shot me down. I figured it was because of unresolved trauma, so I didn’t push her further .

Huge mistake.

Another door, another cold trail.

My desperation mounts with each fruitless search, each turn that leads only to more emptiness. I can’t lose her. Not when I’ve just grasped the magnitude of what she means to me. Not when there’s so much left unsaid, so much passion restrained by the fear of unveiling my true self, the one that loves fiercely and without reservation.

Please, let her be okay. I have to find her; I have to protect her.

“Where are you, Daphne?” I choke out, my voice breaking with the strain of emotions I can no longer contain. The crowd blurs into a tableau of abstract shapes, meaningless in their revelry, cruel in their indifference. Each hallway spins.

I push on, propelled by the need to ensure her safety, to confront whatever nightmare has followed her from the stage into the shadows. And I swear, if I find her—if we make it through this night—I’ll never let her go again.

I return to the auditorium, hoping that she circled back.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I shove through the throng of bodies. She’s not here. Not. Fucking. Here.

I leave again. The gilded hallways stretch into infinity, taunting me with their opulence—so much space to hide, to hurt, to disappear .

“Excuse me,” I mutter, but it’s lost in the din. “Have you seen her?” I grasp at a waiter passing back into the auditorium, his tray of champagne trembling from my sudden intrusion. “Dark hair, about this high, harpist?”

He shakes his head, his eyes darting away, too eager to escape my frantic energy. I release him, cursing under my breath, and push onward.

“P-p-please,” I hear my voice crack. I’m not sure whom I’m begging—the indifferent faces, the universe, or myself? The facade of Alexandru Whitmore, the one everyone loves, is peeling away, revealing the naked terror beneath.

There’s a pregnant pause in my heart, a moment where everything stands still, and then I hear it . A soft, muffled sound, like a plea smothered by darkness.

“Help!”

It’s faint, so faint I think I’ve imagined it.

I halt, my breath hitching, straining my senses for any sign of her.

That’s her voice; it has to be. It’s coming from behind the heavy curtain that lines the corridor leading to the musicians’ quarters. I tear the fabric aside, exposing the hidden passage, my eyes scanning the dimly lit area, desperate for a glimpse of her .

“Where are you?” I call out, my voice a blade cutting through the roar of the audience milling about.

I lurch forward, tripping over my own feet, my fear a living thing clawing at my insides. There’s a door slightly ajar at the end of the hallway, beckoning me with a sliver of light. I bolt towards it, throw it open, and…

Nothing.

FUCK.

An empty room greets me. Frustrated, I slam my fist against the wall. Blood spurts from my knuckles, but the pain is nothing compared to my inner agony.

I stumble back into the corridor, every shadow a potential hiding place, every whisper of sound a clue. I can’t give up. I won’t. She’s here somewhere, I can feel it. I won’t stop until I found her.

“Alex!”

The cry slices through the chaos in my mind, clear and sharp. It’s not Daphne; it’s Victoria’s voice. What does she want now?

“Not now, Victoria!” I shout back, uncaring about the venom in my tone.

“Alex, wait!” Her footsteps echo closer.

“I have to find Daphne.” I stop, only to recruit her for help.

Daphne was talking to Victoria seconds before she fled, with the stranger following her. My sister has to know something .

Vic is right behind me now. I spin around, desperate to have her help me. We can cover more ground if we split up.

“Have you seen D—”

But the words die in my throat. Victoria’s face is pale, her usual composure shattered, her eyes wide with… Is that fear?

“Yes,” she pants, her breaths short and ragged. “She’s in trouble. Come with me, now!”

I’m frozen for a split second, but that split second is too long. Thankfully, my sister’s got me, as always.

“Follow me!” Victoria grabs my arm, pulling me along with surprising strength. We weave through the labyrinthine hallways.

“Is she—”

“Shut up and run!”

So we do.

As we dash past the last corner, the world blurs into indistinct shapes and colors, all irrelevant except for the singular thought that drives me—Daphne.

We’re headed straight to an obscure bathroom. This particular hallway is dimly lit, being largely unused. The door is shut, but I’ve already decided nothing will stop me.

Victoria grips my arm, trying to get me to slow down, but fuck that. There’s no time for questions .

I don’t care if death greets me on the other side. All that matters is that Daphne is safe.

I throw my body against the door, leaving Victoria behind.

My heart pounds against my ribs, each beat a drumroll to the unknown.

She’s all I see, Daphne. All I care about. I ignore everything else and lunge for her, even as a loud bang aims at her.

The scene before me is—

But no, the story cannot end here.

Not yet.

The world fades into the darkness, but at least she’s here. My beautiful Daphne holds me as she screams.