Page 216 of Collide

Just knowing they’re with me now…

It feels like a piece of her is, too.

I take a steadying breath, fingers smoothing over the fabric of my dress—a floor-length gown that starts as the deepest black, darker than midnight, but with every movement, it catches the light to reveal molten streaks of crimson and gold, shifting like liquid fire beneath the surface. The plunging neckline is softened by delicate sheer sleeves that cling tightly to my wrists. The way it hugs me feels like wearing fire itself.

Rio called ita phoenix on the risethe first time I slipped it on, and now, standing beneath the velvet city sky, I finally understand what he meant.

By the time we pull up to the venue, my nerves have morphed into a tight swirl of excitement and anxiety.

Riley squeezes my hand as the elevator glides silently toward the rooftop, her eyes wide and sparkling likeshe’sthe one about to perform.

Philippa stands tall beside me, radiating that graceful elegance she’s known for, but when she catches my eye, she gives me a small, reassuring smile.

The elevator doors slide open, and soft ambient music greets us—a mellow acoustic mix underscored by the gentle hum of conversation and the clink of champagne glasses.

The rooftop is breathtaking.

Strung fairy lights crisscross overhead, casting a warm golden glow that flickers against the deep purple hues of early evening. Clusters of candles burn low in glass holders on tables wrapped in sheer white linens, surrounded by plush velvet lounge chairs. Tall heaters glow at the corners, warding off the early fall chill.

And there—set against the skyline that stretches endlessly beyond—is the small, intimate stage. A simple black mic stand. A wooden stool. And leaning casually against it, my guitar. Waiting.

My heart clenches at the sight of it.

Off to the side of the rooftop, I spot Mark deep in conversation with Kylie, both dressed sharply, champagne flutes in hand, faces bright with anticipation.

Near them stand two women I recognize instantly—Michelle and Sonia, the co-producers who stood by me through every high and low of making the album. They’re deep in conversation with a few label executives, but when they spot me, they light up. Excited little waves, eyes gleaming with pride.

“Wow,” Riley whispers as we step onto the deck, her eyes wide, sweeping across the view, the crowd, the stage. “Elena…this is your night.”

“You did this,” Philippa says gently, slipping her arm through mine. “All of it.”

Before I can respond, the elevator chimes behind us.

Alex?

My heart flutters. Hope flares—sharp and immediate—before I can shut it down.

We all turn.

But it’s not him.

It’s Andrew, looking every inch the perfect gentleman in a tailored dark suit. He runs a hand through his hair, gaze sweeping the rooftop until it lands on Philippa. A grin breaks across his face, and he heads straight for her, pulling her into a hug so full of ease and familiarity it makes my heart ache in the best way.

I hear him murmur the wordsexyand that’s enough to tune the rest out.

Before I can dwell, I’m swept into a round of greetings—Mark, Kylie, a few of the label execs offering congratulations and toasting to the night like it’s all effortless, like I’m not holding a thousand emotions in place with sheer will.

But my eyes keep drifting. Scanning the crowd. Catching on faces that aren’t his.

Off to the side, I spot Carole and my father. She looks lovely, elegant in a sleek navy dress, a soft fur stole around her shoulders, grace touched with something more vulnerable tonight. Beside her, my father stands stiff, adjusting his cufflinks like the entire night is a trial he’s been forced to endure.

Still, when I walk out, he looks up. His face is unreadable, all practiced restraint. But behind the distance, behind the detachment, there’s a flicker of something softer. Like, for the first time, he’s starting to understand what tonight means.

We haven’t spoken since our fight. Since Carole’s quiet revelation cracked open years of silence and resentment.

Because, of course, we’re both too stubborn to make the first move.

But now, I watch him lean in, murmur something to Carole, then head toward me, his steps slow, measured, guarded.