Page 67 of Collide (The Rhapsody of Heartbeats #1)

Go Your Own Way

A s I sit on my green velvet sofa, coffee cradled between my palms, I let my eyes dance over the collection of clothes, shoes, and accessories Rio couriered over this morning.

The soft sunlight spills through the windows, casting golden patches on the floorboards, warming the room that has become my sanctuary.

Tonight.

It’s probably the biggest night of my life. Not just because it’s my twenty-third birthday, but because tonight, the world will finally hear my debut U.S. album. A culmination of dreams, heartbreak, and countless hours poured into lyrics that bare my soul.

I never truly got to enjoy the release of my first album. The ink was barely dry on the press releases when everything fell apart. My first single dropped, and then so did my world.

Mom took a turn for the worse.

We knew the day was coming, a shadow that lingered in every corner, but when it finally happened, it still hit me like a semi-truck—loud, unstoppable, and shattering.

I cancelled appearances. Any plans for further singles or a tour were left to collect dust. I locked myself away from everyone and everything.

Grief consumed me whole.

It took me two years to claw my way out of that darkness, two years to find my voice again, not only musically, but as a woman who knew how to stand on her own.

And now, here I am.

Sitting in this beautiful apartment that still feels surreal to call mine, in a city that both terrified and thrilled me when I arrived a little over three months ago.

Back then, I was bitter and na?ve. But hopeful.

Now?

Now, I get to share this dream with my best friend, watching hers unfold right alongside mine. I have Alex, my first boyfriend, who makes me feel alive in ways I never thought possible.

I have never been closer to my sister, as we slowly stitch ourselves back together from the broken pieces our parents left behind.

Carole, the woman I once hated on principle. Well, there’s an understanding between us now. Enough to not hate her. Enough to see her less as a villain and more as a flawed woman like myself.

And my father…Well, he’s still a work in progress. Some days, I believe we’ll get there. Other days, I wonder if he’ll ever truly see me beyond what he wants me to be.

But despite everything, despite the mess and the past, my old music is getting a new lease on life. Somehow, maybe because of recent events—the media storm, the drama, the unexpected spotlight—people are listening again. They want more.

And I’m ready to give it to them. Tonight, I get to stand in front of Alex, my family, friends, and the people who believed in me enough to take a chance on me.

“You’re up early,” Riley says, emerging from her room, a mess of frizz in an oversized shirt that has paint on it.

“Yeah, the couriers brought these over for us tonight.” I smile, bringing myself back to reality.

Realization slowly creeps onto Riley’s still sleepy face.

“Oh, BABE! Happy Birthday!” she sings, off pitch.

I can’t help but laugh.

“Are you ready for tonight?” she adds, making her way to the coffee machine.

“Born ready.” My heart flutters with anticipation.

A few hours before the event, Rio and his team sweep into the apartment like a glamorous battalion—garment bags hanging on every door, makeup cases exploding across the kitchen island, trays of canapés I’m definitely not touching thanks to the knot in my stomach.

Philippa joins Riley and me for an afternoon of pre-drinks, pampering, and all-out glamming, and for once, it feels like the three of us are just sisters and friends. No tension. There’s an ease to it. A warmth.

“I’m so excited and proud of you.” Philippa beams, standing barefoot on the rug, champagne flute in hand, admiring the lineup of shoes laid out like museum pieces. “Seriously, Elena. I don’t think you realize how far you’ve come.”

I smile, soft and unsure, that familiar tug catching behind my ribs. “I don’t know…it still feels surreal. Like I’m about to wake up and— poof —this is all gone.”

Riley, mid-hair curl and phone in hand, glances at me from the chair by the window. “Girl, please. You’ve worked your ass off for this. Own it.”

She grins, but her eyes soften, and I know she sees me, really sees me, clinging tight to the edge of this moment.

“ Ooh , social media is on fire right now,” she adds with a smirk. “Want me to read some?”

I laugh—light, breathless. “Go for it.”

She sits up straighter, holding her phone like it’s a royal scroll.

I shake my head, smiling, a small laugh escaping.

“That’s so sweet,” Philippa says, glancing over her shoulder. “You’ve touched people, Elena. You should let that sink in.”

Riley keeps scrolling, her grin growing.

My chest goes warm, tight and fluttering. That familiar hum of vulnerability before I step out and show the world something I haven’t fully come to terms with myself.

“Here’s another one—Oh my God, this one’s too good.” Riley snorts and reads it in the most dramatic voice she can muster:

She looks up, grinning. “Oh, wait, that’s me.”

Philippa and I burst out laughing.

“Wow, subtle, babe,” I tease, swiping under my eyes before any of the glam team notices I’m about to cry off my eyeliner.

“I mean it, though.” Riley sets her phone down, all the playfulness gone. “Elena, I’ve watched what you’ve gone through, and now you’re here, about to drop an album that’s going to change everything. You deserve to rise. You deserve all of this.”

Philippa nods, her expression softening. “She’s right. I know I haven’t always said the right thing—or known what to say—but…” Her voice falters, trembling beneath the surface. “Seeing you now, I wish Mom could see you tonight. She would be so proud.”

The weight of it hangs between us. Heavy.

That hits me straight in the chest.

“I wish she could, too,” I whisper as Philippa steps closer, wrapping her arms around me, careful not to smudge my makeup.

“I think she does see you,” she adds quietly, voice shaky.

“Stop, Inga just did my mascara,” I choke on a laugh, brushing my cheek as Riley throws her arms around us in a sloppy group hug, nearly knocking over Philippa’s champagne.

“Look at us, we’re a mess.” Riley sniffles dramatically. “Who needs glam squads when we’re emotionally glowing?”

We pull back, laughing, and for a moment, I let it sink in: how lucky I am to have them. My sister. My best friend. Standing by me when I feel both ready and terrified to show the world who I really am.

Rio claps his hands, breaking the moment with a bright grin. “Ladies, let’s get our star ready to rise, shall we?”

They guide me into the chair, my girls still close. In the mirror, my reflection begins to take shape under their hands—foundation and lashes, shimmer and shadow, like layers of armor.

Once the glam team finishes weaving their magic, we’re ready.

To my left, Riley radiates in a sapphire cocktail dress that hugs every curve.

It’s short enough to show off her long legs, with delicate silver straps that catch the light above us.

Her wild red curls have been coaxed into glossy waves, though a few still rebel, because, of course, she would never be too polished.

On my right, Philippa is elegance incarnate.

She wears a sleek black gown that drapes off one shoulder, her chestnut hair pulled into a low bun that highlights the sharp line of her jaw and the sparkle of understated diamond studs.

Where Riley looks like the life of the party, Philippa looks like she owns the building—poised, composed, her signature resting-serious face softening only when her eyes land on me.

And me? My hair is swept into a sleek high ponytail, giving the illusion of height, of strength. I feel like I can hold something tonight. Like I can carry it.

Dangling from my ears are my mother’s earrings—the ones she wore on that Miss Universe stage all those years ago.

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 it a phoenix on the rise the 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 like she’s the 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.