Page 6 of Collide (The Rhapsody of Heartbeats #1)

“Sweetie, you’ll look divine in these!” He holds up a pair of nude pumps. Then he presents a shimmering, skintight navy-blue dress, which looks like the night sky. “We’ll pair these with this! You’ll look so fabulous! I’m a genius!”

I can’t help but giggle at his enthusiasm. It’s completely contagious, and even though I’m not usually into designer goods, I know the drill. I need to look the part if I want to make it as a recording artist.

“And for you, Miss Riley.” Rio sifts through the rack.

“You may call me Miss Fisher,” Riley declares in an exaggerated fancy British accent as she curtseys.

Rio throws his head back in laughter, and I can’t help but giggle, the energy in the room abuzz with excitement.

Rio dramatically pulls out an emerald bodycon dress with geometric cut-outs.

He holds it up and runs his hand up and down the fabric like he’s on a cheesy game show, delivering an exaggerated, “Ooh, fabulous! For thee, Miss Riley Fishah , I envision this,” he announces in an equally exaggerated British accent, rolling the last syllable of her name with panache.

I clap my hands in approval. “Oh, Rio, I love that!” His taste is impeccable.

“Miss Montgomery,” Inga calls from the dining room, her voice a soothing contrast to Rio’s theatrics.

Riley stands from the makeup chair, looking smoking hot.

Her usually messy red hair is now tamed into a sleek straight do, framing her oval face.

Her green eyes are lined with black kohl, with green glitter catching the light in the inner corners.

She looks like a sultry version of herself, more glam than I’ve ever seen.

“Do you like?” she giggles, striking a vogue pose.

I nod, laughing, and take a seat. “You look amazing.”

Inga opens another of her metal cases, revealing an arsenal of beauty products: powders, blushes in pinks and rouges, eye shadows of every color, and brushes that could probably double as paintbrushes. It’s an artist’s dream.

“Miss Montgomery, close your eyes, and we’ll begin.” Inga beckons, gently placing her hand under my chin. I close my eyes, letting the soothing motions take over, drifting off as she works her magic.

I stared out at the shadows of the crowd, the bright lights scorching my face. The roar of the audience hummed in my ears, a distant echo beneath the rush of my pounding heart. My hand was slick with sweat, gripping Bella Hunt’s hand—my fellow competitor in the grand finale of Starstruck.

Just moments ago, I had been standing in the wings, waiting, my breath shallow as the world around me slowed to a crawl. And now, here I was, standing under the glaring spotlights, waiting for my fate to be sealed.

My dreams could begin here, right now.

The audience fell into a hushed silence, hanging on Dax’s last words. My heart thundered in my chest, my stomach thick with knots. I glanced at the judges—they were all as tense as I was.

Dax took a long, deliberate breath, stretching out the suspense. He repeated the sentence, drawing it out longer than felt necessary.

“And the winner is…” He paused. “Elena Montgomery!”

A wave of shock and disbelief rushed through me as the crowd erupted in applause.

Jai Silas, my mentor, leapt from his chair, a broad grin splitting his face.

He grabbed me into a fierce hug, lifting me off my feet as if I had just won the world.

My knees were weak, my whole body trembling with the rush of emotion.

“I won,” I whispered to myself, the words almost too surreal to believe.

“You won!” Jai shouted, his voice nearly drowned by the deafening roar of the crowd. He spun me around in his arms as the applause continued to thunder.

“Oh my God, I won!” I whispered again, my breath coming in shallow gasps. My knees buckled, and I collapsed back into Jai’s arms, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the moment.

I scanned the front row, searching for a familiar face. And then—I saw her.

My mom.

Her face was streaked with tears, but her eyes shone with excitement, her grin stretching from ear to ear. She raised her arms in celebration, and beside her, Jack held her close, his expression filled with pride as they both cheered for me.

The sight of them—proud, emotional, here—sent a fresh wave of tears streaming down my face.

In that moment, everything I had ever wanted felt like it had come true. A hefty cash prize, a recording contract with Pacific Records Australia, and eventually, a deal with Pacific Records USA.

My hair is thick with clip-in extensions, and I’m wearing way too much lip gloss.

I glance at myself in the mirror, trying not to cringe at the reflection staring back at me.

Inga’s work is impressive, I’ll give her that.

I scrub up alright. My long raven hair is styled in luscious, voluminous waves, layers of silky curls that could probably sell shampoo.

My bright blue eyes are winged with black liquid liner, a hint of glittery shadow on the lids, and heavy lashes that make my eyes look like they’re about to fly off my face.

My cheeks are pink and rosy, complementing my nude glossy lips.

I look innocent—sweet, even—but with a bit of an attitude problem; looks like a doll, will slit your throat.

Riley and I are dressing together, and she looks hot.

“Your hair is amazing.” Helping her with her zipper, I notice how sleek and straight her normally wild curls are. It’s a total transformation.

“You excited for tonight?” she asks, her fingers fussing with her hair, probably not used to how smooth and flat it is.

“Nervous.” I sigh, shoving my phone and ID into my borrowed designer clutch. The butterflies in my stomach feel more like an actual swarm, and I can’t shake the thought of how unprepared I feel for everything that’s about to happen.

The car pulls up in front of Bungalow 8, its headlights briefly blinding as the driver makes his way through the crowd that’s formed out front, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite artists.

Riley links her arm through mine as we make our way inside, discreetly sneaking past the crowd.

It’s surprisingly open once we’re in, with lush potted plants framing the striped booths.

There are a fair few famous faces here tonight, along with some selected media representatives and some bigwigs from Pacific Records.

I spot Mark standing around with a few others, and the only familiar faces are those of Kylie Turner, my Public Relations Manager, and Sonia and Michelle, my album co-producers.

After a round of pleasantries and some brief introductions to a few key players , as Mark calls them, Riley and I grab some champagne from the passing waiters, clinking glasses with strangers who probably won’t even remember our names by tomorrow.

“We need to talk about your social media presence as well as a bit of media training for interviews,” Kylie practically yells over the booming music.

I nod, taking another gulp of bubbly. It tastes sweet but sharp, warming me from within.

Bleh, social media.

A concept I haven’t fully jumped on board with. Comes with the territory, I suppose.

“Kylie, easy with the shop talk, let Elena have some fun and network.” Mark winks, taking a sip of his drink. “We’ll talk strategy another time.”

The night rolls on—casual, easy banter, and a constant stream of drinks. Riley and I have long moved on from champagne to hard liquor cocktails. I will regret this in the morning, but for now, I’m doing my best to forget about my gnawing anxiety.

We mingle with a few fellow artists, most of them new to me, but all signed to the same label. Mark insists on introducing me to people, so that I can network for future collaborations and producing opportunities, as if I don’t already have a million things on my mind.

“Have a good night. We’ll talk soon, okay?” Kylie beams, her face slick with perspiration from the heat of the club. She hugs me, and then she’s gone.

I head to the ladies’ room, hoping for a moment of peace, but when I come back, I see Riley getting way too cozy with Mark. Oh, this is not good.

“Riley!” I say a little too loudly, trying to grab her attention. “Want to hit up The Avenue?” I ask, trying to drag her away from the scene before things get too uncomfortable.

Her eyes widen with excitement. “Heck yeah! I’m ready to dance and shake my thing!” She laughs, wiggling her hips dramatically.

Mark laughs too and shoots us a look. “You ladies have a great night. It was lovely to meet you, Riley.” His voice drips with smooth charm.

Riley giggles and almost melts into the ground.

I roll my eyes, but Riley—of course—grins and flirts back. “Call me.” She winks, holding her hand to her ear like she’s taking a phone call.

“Riley!” I hiss, pushing her out of his line of sight. “Really?!”

“What? He’s hot in a silver fox kind of way.” She snickers, taking my arm and leading me out of the club before things get more awkward.

The night air is cool as we step outside, the sounds of the city alive and buzzing around us.

It’s late in the night—or early morning, whichever side of the clock you look at—and the city that never sleeps is proving its point.

Riley and I are notorious for pulling all-nighters, so this is another night of many, now in New York.

The Avenue is jam-packed. The car pulls up to the front, and I see the massive line snaking around the corner. Riley groans beside me, but we step out of the car anyway, the familiar smell of alcohol, cheap perfume, cologne, and cigarettes greeting us like an old friend.

We start heading toward the back of the line when a bouncer calls my name.

“Elena Montgomery!” he shouts after me, his voice cutting through the noise.

I turn, squinting, and see a tall, dark-skinned man with a bald head and earrings in both ears.

“Yes?” I ask, a little confused.