Page 24 of Bewitched by the Phantom (The Bewitching Hour #6)

Chapter

Twenty-Three

I slam the common room door shut behind me later and brace my back against it like I’d just escaped a fire.

I’m not sure I haven’t. Every nerve feels raw, like I grabbed a live wire and let it course through me.

That’s why it takes me a few minutes to realize I’m not alone in the room.

I should have expected I wouldn’t be, but I also didn’t expect to find Raoul waiting around for me after his confrontation with Erik.

He's watching me from the couch, his phone in his hand, concern etched across his ridiculously good-looking face. “You okay?”

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I cross to the mini fridge and grab a bottle of water.

I twist it open like I’m throttling something invisible, imagining someone’s neck, before I tip it up and take a long pull.

My pulse is still too fast. Erik’s voice still curls around my ribs like smoke that I can’t cough out. And here I am, faced with Raoul now.

Raoul stands, cautious. “He was with you again, wasn’t he?”

I freeze, my eyes on him. “Don’t.”

“I’m not trying to fight, Chris,” he says, his voice soft. “But you don’t see what he’s doing to you. You’ve changed.”

“I’ve always been like this,” I snap. I don’t mean to, but it comes out that way. “You just liked the version of me that fits your narrative better.”

My words hit. His mouth opens and then shuts again and I can see the hurt in his eyes. I don’t mean to hurt him, and I open my mouth to apologize, but before either of us can speak further, Ted bursts in, all corporate swagger and dad-coded backstage chaos.

“Found you!” he grins, waving a tablet. “Okay, major update. Just came down from the top.”

I turn toward him warily. “What now?”

“The final round,” he says, tapping his screen. “The label wants something different now. It’s no longer just about the music. They really liked the last performances.”

I narrow my eyes. “What does that mean? Please don’t tell me we have to do another duet.”

“It means the label’s going full gladiator.

No rules. No holds barred. You want to sabotage another band?

Go ahead. You want to pull a stunt for attention?

Even better. We’ve got a full production crew ready to film you twenty-four-seven for the next two days.

Candid stuff. Behind the scenes level content. Fans eat that shit up.”

Raoul actually looks sick. “That’s insane.”

“It’s viral gold,” Ted counters. “And speaking of which—Chris . . .” He steps closer to me and I tense.

He lowers his voice into the coaxing, comforting dad tone he uses with all of us.

“I’ve seen the metrics. Your duet with Erik?

Insane numbers. We’re talking overnight growth, new fanbase crossover, and algorithm magic.

You two could blow the whole thing wide open if you perform together again. ”

I laugh bitterly. “Of course you want me to duet with him again. This is ridiculous. He’s an asshole.”

Ted blinks. “Look, I don’t care if he’s got horns or a halo, as long as he gets clicks.”

I look away, my jaw tight, not sure how I feel about being told to sing with another band again just to win this label. They can’t keep changing the rules. I was pissed before, but now I’m seriously contemplating if this is even worth it at this point.

Raoul takes a step closer. “You don’t have to play their game,” he says quietly. “Not like this. Not with him.”

I turn to face him. Raoul’s hands are in his pockets, but the vulnerability in his voice is laid bare.

He genuinely cares about me. This isn’t just about jealousy—though there’s plenty of that, too.

This is about him trying to protect me from a perceived threat.

The problem is that I’m just as much of a threat. I always have been.

“I know we’ve changed,” he admits. “But I still remember who we were before this. Who you were. You don’t need shadows and masks to win this, Chris. You shine on your own.”

“Do I?” I ask, too softly.

He takes another step closer. “Come with me. After this is over, win or lose. Let’s disappear. No labels. No cameras. Just us, writing songs that matter.”

For a heartbeat, I want to say yes. I want to choose the warmth of memory over the unknown, to go back to something simpler, safer. But Erik’s voice is still in my head, singing like he’s cracked me open and poured himself into the empty places.

You were never meant for white-picket grace. You’re carved from fire, stitched from bass.

I take a step back. “I need to think,” I admit.

Raoul’s expression stutters. “He’s in your head, Chris. You don’t even realize it.”

I swallow. “Maybe, but he’s not the only one who is trying to rewrite me.”

Ted claps his hands. “So dramatic! This is gold. Just keep doing whatever you’re doing. And seriously, consider the duet. Think of the fans.”

He leaves us there, but the cameras don’t disappear.

Now, there are people standing around silently with their large cameras, focused in on us as we stand in front of each other.

I stand in the middle of the room, torn in every direction, by love, by music, by whatever Erik has become to me. And now, the world will see all of it.

They’ll see exactly what kind of woman I really am. And I’m not sure I’m ready to be flayed so wide open for them.

I’m not sure what they’ll see when they look deep inside.