Page 303 of Rush

I look away. Inga grunts and yanks my head back into position. “Stop moving.”

“Put him in a box,” Riley says, crouching in front of me, her tone quieter now. “You can open it tomorrow. Hell, I’ll help you unpack it with tequila and post-award pancakes. But tonight? You’re the show. The main character. You’ve got a performance, two nominations, and eyeliner sharp enough to start a revolution. So whatever Broderick’s doing or not doing—let it go.”

I nod.

“You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. I’m always right.”

Mark clears his throat. “Five minutes until car call.”

Inga spins me toward the mirror. My breath catches.

The girl staring back doesn’t look like someone waiting.

Rio’s poured me into a black gown with capped sleeves and a corset tight enough to launch my chest like artillery. Crystalsscatter across the bodice like the night sky on me. My hair falls in soft glossy Hollywood curls. The borrowed diamonds on my ears catch the light every time I breathe.

And for the first time—I see her.

The person I want to be.

The woman I’m trying to become.

Riley’s right. This is my night. I clawed my way back to this moment.

Tonight, I reclaim it.

I slide my phone into my purse.

“Okay, let’s do this,” I say, more determined than ever.

The limo door opens,and the flashes hit like static. Each step sinks into the carpet, velvet ropes pressing the crowd in close, like I’m walking through a furnace of light and noise.

“Straight ahead, Elena! Gorgeous—right here!”

“Turn to your left!”

“Who are you wearing tonight?”

Rio hisses from behind me as he adjusts the train. “Shoulders back. Chin down. Don’t lock your knees. You pass out on me, and I’m dying with you.”

Riley stands a few feet off to the side, tucked just behind Mark, Kylie, and the rest of the team, phone in hand, already filming. She gives me a thumbs-up, mouthing,Bitch, you’re killing it.

I turn slightly, let the cameras eat it up. My dress shimmers like a thousand jewels under the strobes. Heat climbs up my neck, but it isn’t nerves—it’s adrenaline. All of it. The noise. The chaos. The ache in my ribs.

A carpet handler guides me toward a small platform where a reporter waits, mic poised. I paste the smile back on.

“Elena Montgomery! Congratulations on the nominations tonight—and the performance. How are you feeling?”

“Like I might float away,” I say lightly. “But in a good way. It’s wild. I still can’t believe I’m here.”

She laughs, nodding. “Well, you look incredible. The internet’s already obsessed. And the fans want to know—there’s been a lot of speculation about your love life lately. Can you confirm if there’s someone special cheering you on tonight?”

The box rattles, knocking around like something trapped.

I clear my throat and tilt my head. “Aww, you know I don’t kiss and tell,” I say playfully. “But tonight’s about the music.”

The reporter grins, letting me off the hook. “So—what’s next for you?”