34. Daphne

Chapter thirty-four

Daphne

5 minutes ago.

I ’m on stage for the Spring Concert.

Months of preparation have led to this.

The harp strings quiver beneath my fingers, each note a painful beauty. The melody weaves through the hushed auditorium, a siren’s song that holds the audience captive.

I close my eyes, surrendering to the music, my soul dancing on the waves of sound. This is where I belong, within these bars and chords, where the world can’t touch me. I’m not the girl with the tragic past here; I’m the artist painting my story in the air.

My entire soul paints these notes. My longing for Alex, my wish for fairness… It’s all here.

As the last notes cascade like gentle rain, I let the silence wrap around me.

Opening my hazel eyes, I offer a small, heartfelt smile to the crowd that rises to their feet. Their applause thunders. A blush warms my cheeks. It’s one thing for me to believe I did well and another to bask in the admiration of others.

And I did it! I have proved myself in a world where money buys power. This moment, born from a journey of solos, heartbreak, and losing my soulmate, is where I finally stand up for myself.

If only Grandma could see me now.

I scan the sea of faces for the familiar ones, the friends who’ve become my chosen family at Whitmore.

And then, I spot him amongst the thick crowd. Alex.

Alex, with his tousled brown hair and eyes that mirror the depth of his sister’s. Standing amid the crowd, clapping, his presence is a beacon that ignites something fierce and warm within me.

He’s not supposed to be here. Tonight’s the night of the biggest fundraiser of the year. Even Celeste couldn’t get out of it, and she’s part of the orchestra.

Yet there he stands, his lean frame easily distinguishable even from the stage. My pulse quickens.

He came back. For me.

The thought sends a thrill through me, chasing away the remnants of melancholy that often cling to me like a second skin. How many times have I relived when I left his life after our last fight? But now, as I watch him push his hair from his eyes—a simple gesture that feels achingly intimate—I can finally forgive .

No more doubts; no more holding back. He’s groveled enough.

Last week, Victoria “casually” mentioned that Alex’s been in therapy too. It was after he dropped off breakfast. No pressure, no urging, just a simple statement that meant a lot.

“Thank you,” I whisper into the microphone, my voice barely above the din, but Alex hears me; I know he does. His gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment, it’s as if we’re the only two people in the world.

I take a step back from the harp—the instrument that’s been my salvation, my bridge to a life beyond the shattered one I escaped. I bow, the movement graceful and filled with gratitude, not just for the applause that fills the room but for the boy who once saved my life and now will again be part of it.

As I retreat from the microphone, my mind is alight with plans and promises. I’ll find him, tell him everything. How his loving meals make me adore him even more, how I appreciate him showing up for me with no pressure, no demand at talking, how I yearn for his arms around me, and how I love him, deeply, irrevocably. Unconditionally.

Alex, I forgive you. I forgive us both.

My hands shake slightly, not from the performance but from the anticipation of what’s to come. A future where I don’t have to hide my love, where I can be wholly myself—the melancholic girl with a passion for music, the survivor, the lover.

It’s a flurry of activity, but I navigate it with ease, my focus singular. I need to get to Alex, to bridge the gap that distance and circumstance have imposed upon us. Tonight, we’ll start anew.

Just a little longer , I tell myself while weaving through the crowds. Then I’ll be in his arms, where I belong.

The applause still rings in my ears; my feet seem to barely touch the ground as I float. The urge to abandon all formality and leap into Alex’s waiting arms is almost unbearable.

“Your music was beautiful tonight,” Victoria’s voice cuts through the chatter, making me pause. It’s the second time she’s complimented my playing.

I turn to find her usual sharp gaze softened by what seems like genuine admiration. A side hug, uncharacteristically warm, follows. I hesitate a moment before returning it, my body tensing with the unfamiliarity of the gesture.

“Thank you. That means a lot, especially coming from you.” The words fall awkwardly between us, weighted with years of criticism and thinly veiled contempt.

“I’m going to see Alex,” I add quickly, eager to escape the uneasy truce .

If she can’t handle my being with her brother, then there’s no point in spending a further second together.

Victoria beams. “I’m glad. He loves you.”

“You know?” I ask, completely surprised. Sure, she’s been more tolerable, but she hasn’t brought our relationship up.

“Yes. I gave him shit for playing into Celeste’s manipulations for far too long. I hadn’t know at the time, but once you two broke up, he was a mess. Eventually, he told me everything.”

I nod, unsure what to say.

“Daphne,” she says, brows lowered in a serious moment. “I’ve been stupid.” You can say that again. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you. For implying that you aren’t good enough. For thinking that you didn’t have actual feelings for my brother.

“It took me silently observing you two separately to truly understand. He and Celeste have broken up here and there throughout the years, and he was never so broken up about it as he was with you.

“When we had a heart-to-heart about his feelings and mental health, he expressed wanting to change and get better. For you. And for himself, but you were the catalyst.

“Truthfully, I never should have shit-talked you. Instead, I should have been thanking you. So I’m doing it now, Daphne. Thank you. ”

“Wow.” This is the most Victoria and I have ever spoken, and it’s full of I’m sorry and thank you .

I nod, about to accept Victoria’s apology, when movement over her shoulder snares my attention.

My breath hitches, blood freezing in my veins as recognition dawns.

There, threading through the crowd like a specter of the past, is Lynn. My mother.

“Is everything okay?” Victoria’s voice sounds distant, distorted as though underwater. The last time I saw my mother, I was.

“Wh-when I was twelve, s-she—” My voice breaks, my mind a tumultuous sea of memories. “Lynn tried to—”

“Your mother?” Victoria’s brow furrows in confusion, the warmth of her earlier sentiment evaporating into the cold air of suspicion.

I can’t finish.

I remember the water, the desperation, and the struggle to breathe. Lynn’s hands never relented, and the love in her eyes transformed into something dark and unfathomable.

It was Lynn who had torn me from Alex all those years ago. The reason I’d spent nights awake, fearing shadows and silence.

“I have to hide,” I blurt. Then, remembering how she specifically mentioned Alex and Victoria in her letter, I have a painful realization. “I can’t let her hurt anyone.” If she knows that Alex loves me like I love him, she’ll hurt him. To teach me a lesson.

“Hide?” Victoria asks, but I’m already moving, propelled by a fear so visceral.

If I get her away from him, maybe I can reason with her. Figure out why she’s here. I mean, everything is coming up Daphne tonight. I can only hope that Mom wants to apologize too.

Still, I’m terrified of her, and I’m terrified that she’ll harm those I love.

Every step feels like wading through treacle, every glance over my shoulder a confirmation of my worst fears.

My heart pounds into a frantic rhythm, echoing the chaos of my thoughts as I shove through the throngs of people. The warmth of the crowd does nothing to thaw the ice encasing my spine.

Around the corner, the world narrows to a desolate stretch of emptiness. With a surge of adrenaline, I break into a run. The dim light flickers above, casting long shadows that play tricks on my mind. Is it just my shadow chasing me, or—

A vise-like grip snaps around my wrist, halting my escape.

I’m wrenched back violently, my back slamming against the wall with a force that steals my breath. “No, no, no,” I gasp, terror clawing at my throat .

“Hello, Daphne.” Lynn’s voice is a poison-laced whisper, her face a twisted mask of resentment and fury.

“M-mom, please.” Dread strangles my plea; my words dissolve into sobs as I stare into the abyss of my mother’s eyes.

Lynn’s fingers dig into my flesh, a cruel reminder of a past that refuses to let me go. “Shh, darling. We’re going to have a little talk, you and I.”

I don’t want to go anywhere with her, but it’s better to get far away from Alex, Victoria, and Eden. If Mom were to hurt them, I’d never forgive myself.

I can’t lead Lynn to any of them, can’t risk their safety. I have to protect them, even if it means facing my demons alone.

Then, terrifyingly, cold metal presses against the small of my back. I feel it even through my dress. Everything feels surreal, like a nightmare invading my reality. My mother’s breath is hot and erratic against my ear as she whispers threats that make my blood run cold.

“Walk,” Lynn commands with a hiss, prodding me forward with the gun I can’t quite see.

Alex , I think desperately. I can almost see his brown eyes, warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the chilling situation I find myself in. I should’ve told you everything. How much I love you.

A single tear escapes, tracing a path down my cheek .

I have to protect him.

Have to keep this madness away from Alex, no matter the cost. I pray silently, fervently, that he somehow knows my feelings, even if I never get the chance to utter them aloud.

Vic will tell him.

So, I do my best to keep the attention off of my life. “Did you break out of prison?”

“Always thinking the worst of others, aren’t you?”

No. I don’t know what she’s talking about.

She clicks her tongue. “Parole, darling. Off early for good behavior.” My stomach sours. Turns out, fifteen years means ten.

“Move it!” Lynn shoves me harder, and I stumble towards a bathroom door.

There’s laughter nearby, the echo of footsteps.

Someone is coming.

Panic flares within me; the hallway isn’t empty anymore. I can’t let anyone walk into Lynn’s twisted game.

Quickening my pace, I duck into the bathroom, my heart pounding against my ribs like a caged bird desperate for escape.

“Lock it,” Lynn orders once we’re inside the stark, tiled room.

I comply, my hands trembling as I slide the bolt into place. The click of the lock sounds like a death knell in my ears. It’s older and looks brittle, but it’s a lock nonetheless .

I turn slowly to face my mother, the woman who should have been my protector but instead is the monster in every shadow. Lynn’s eyes glint with a dangerous mix of madness and determination.

“Mom, please.” My voice breaks.

“Quiet! This is your fault, all of it!”

This is it , I realize with a sinking feeling. She’s really going to do it.

Every moment with Alex flashes before my eyes. Our secret smiles, the warmth of his touch, and the unspoken promises we made in the silence between them. And now, I stand on the precipice of forever without him.

Still, I wouldn’t change it for the world.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, though I know no apology will ever be enough to quench the hatred burning in her delusional eyes.

As I look at the gun in her hand, I understand. Some loves are destined to be left unspoken. Some words doomed to remain forever locked within a heart that soon might cease to beat.

“Mom,” I choke out between hitched breaths. “Please don’t do this. I-I just want to go.”

“Go?” Lynn sneers. “After everything you’ve taken from me? You think you can just walk away? ”

I feel the accusation like a blow, the weight of years of blame and bitterness suffocating me. I’ve tried so hard to build something beautiful from the wreckage of my past, but it seems all roads lead back to this moment. Alone, trapped, powerless.

“You went to Whitmore Institute; you played your precious harp with money that should’ve been mine!” Lynn’s words are venom, seething with resentment. “Grandma’s money was supposed to be for me! But no, you had to steal it, didn’t you? For your talentless dreams!”

“I-I worked hard,” I manage to say, though my throat feels constricted.

It wasn’t just about the money; it was about the music, the only thing that made sense when the world around me crumbled.

“Worked hard?” Lynn scoffs. “You think playing that stupid instrument makes you special? Your dad left because of you. Because we had a daughter who brought nothing but misery.”

“That’s not—” I begin, but my words die on my lips. What’s the use? Mom is impervious to truth or reason.

“Alexandru Whitmore is obsessed with you,” Mom continues, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “He follows you around like a lost puppy. I’ve seen it. What did you do to him, huh? Cast some kind of witch’s spell?”

No. Fuck no .

“Leave Alex out of this,” I whisper, my heart aching for the boy who saw me when I felt invisible, the boy whose laughter could light up the darkest corners of my soul.

She laughs, a sound devoid of joy. “No, he’s under your spell, and I’m going to break it. I’m going to do what society should have done a long time ago.” Her hateful gaze narrows. “Get rid of you.”

Mom’s words cut deeper than any knife. Is this how my story ends? Not with a crescendo of applause but with the shattered fragments of a life half lived?

I close my eyes, tears streaming down my face. I had him. Had his love. Saw his love for me only minutes ago.

I can almost feel Alex’s arms around me, his breath on my neck, and the way he whispers my name like a prayer. I want so desperately to tell him I love him, that I forgive him.

The cold, unyielding barrel of the gun staring at my skin will ensure I’ll never love again.

Mom’s finger tenses on the trigger, preparing to send me into oblivion. I close my eyes, on instinct, tears cascading down my cheeks.

But the shot never comes.

Instead, the door slams open with a force that shakes the walls, reverberating through my very bones. The lock breaks.

Someone busts through the door.

My eyes fly open.