Page 18 of The Sound Between Us (Vinyl Hearts #1)

ugly cry

Seren

I’m somewhere backstage—a corridor lined with gilt mirrors that reflect my humiliation back at me in endless recursion.

The hotel’s service wing, probably, where they keep the dirty linens and broken dreams. My hands claw at the neckline of my dress, trying to find air that doesn’t taste of champagne and public execution.

The applause is still echoing in my ears. That polite, professional clapping—industry rain on a coffin lid. They loved it; they fucking loved watching Damon Rogers’ damaged daughter perform her trauma in high definition.

I can’t breathe. The walls are closing in—hotel beige pressing at the edges of my vision, shrinking everything down to the sound of my own ragged breathing and the low hum of the ballroom, where they’re probably already dissecting my performance over crème br?lée.

“Did you see her face when he called her up?” “Absolutely electric. Raw talent.” “Just like her mother, but with more damage.”

I need out. Any exit; a fire door, a service corridor, a window I can launch myself through. Just get me out of this building before someone finds me hyperventilating in my mother’s legacy.

“Seren, wait?—”

Harrison’s voice cuts through the spiral, and I spin to see him at the end of the corridor.

“Don’t.” It comes out jagged, hard enough to draw blood. “Don’t you dare try to fix this.”

He steps closer, hands up. I’m some wounded thing that might bolt. “I’m not trying to fix anything; I just want to make sure you’re breathing.”

I try to push past him, but he moves, blocking the narrow corridor—not forceful, just immovable. A wall of expensive fabric and too much care.

“Move.” I shove at his chest with both hands. “Move, Harrison, I need to get out.”

But he doesn’t move; just absorbs it—my fists, my fury, all of it. “Where are you going to go? You’re three thousand miles from home with nowhere to run.”

“You don’t get to save me from this.” My voice cracks, glass under pressure. “You don’t get to be the hero in my humiliation.”

Heat shifts in his face; a quiet flicker of understanding. Not sympathy. Recognition.

“I know what it looks like when someone sets you up to shine for their benefit. I’ve been the dancing monkey in enough rooms like that one.”

The fight drains out of me so fast I almost fall. All the adrenaline, all the rage—gone. Just me; shaking, hollow. Stripped down to nerves and silk and breathlessness.

“This isn’t the same.” Even though I know it is.

“Isn’t it? The setup; the performance. The way he positioned that piano. It was always part of the script?” He takes a half-step closer. “You were magnificent. But he didn’t ask if you wanted to be.”

And that’s when I break .

Completely; spectacularly. Ugly-crying in a service corridor while Harrison Carter watches me unravel.

“I can never just be.” The sobs rip out of me. “I’m always Damon’s daughter, or Faith’s legacy, or the talented one who’s wasting her gifts. I can’t even order coffee without someone projecting their expectations onto my DNA.”

Harrison reaches for me. His hand lifts—fingers brushing the air just near my face. I flinch; but I don’t pull away.

I’m too tired to pull away.

“That song. It wasn’t his to use.”

“It wasn’t.” Quiet. “Nothing changes that.”

For a second, I almost let him in; almost lean into the warmth of his hand. But then shame slices through, and I remember who he is—what he knows.

“I hate you seeing me this way.”

“Like what?”

“Real.” The word lands. “Weak.”

He flinches. “You think this is weakness? Seren, this is the most fucking real thing I’ve ever seen.”

“There’s my superstar!”

Damon’s voice barrels down the corridor. He rounds the corner, flushed with alcohol and self-satisfaction, smile wide enough to split skin.

“You were magnificent up there, treasure. Absolutely fucking magnificent. Did you hear that applause? They loved you.”

The fury hits. Fourteen years of swallowed words rise up and detonate.

“How dare you.” My voice is whisper soft. “How fucking dare you use Mum’s memory to ambush me.”

His smile wobbles. “I was honouring both of you?—”

“You were performing. Like you always do.” I step in, and he steps back. “She spent her last six months asking where you were. Wondering if she’d ever meant anything to you—or if she was just another song you got bored of playing. ”

His tan goes pale. “That’s not fair?—”

“Fair? She loved you until it killed her. And you’re still wringing applause out of that love.”

Damon’s face crumples. “I thought... I thought you’d be proud. They loved you up there. I just wanted?—”

“You wanted to show me off. Like a party trick.”

“Without you, I’d be happy.”

The silence that follows is cavernous.

Kimba materialises—flawless, composed.

“Seren, darling, you were wonderful tonight. Everyone’s asking for you.”

She leans in for an air kiss. I recoil. “Don’t touch me.”

“Sweetheart, you’re upset?—”

“Don’t call me sweetheart. You’re not my mother; you’re just the woman who replaced her.”

Kimba’s face cracks slightly. “There’s no need to be cruel?—”

“Cruel? You were busy playing wife while my mother was dying. Don’t act the victim.”

“Seren—”

“You were the groupie who got the ring; the woman who stood beside him while my mother faded out of her own life. Don’t act victim. You stole everything from her—and you’ve been trying to wear her legacy ever since.”

“That’s enough.” Damon tries to bark, but it’s just noise.

“No. It’s not even close to enough.” I’m screaming now; I can hear voices, footsteps—people coming to watch.

“You turned my mother into a ghost in her own home. And now you want to use her death to make me dance for your friends?”

Phones are out now; cameras up.

“I can’t...” My voice snaps. “I can’t do this. Not here.”

Harrison steps between me and the crowd. “Then we leave. Right now.”

“Seren, don’t be ridiculous.” Damon’s words slur. “You can’t just walk away. These are important people; this is your career?—”

“I don’t want a career built on performing my trauma.” I grab Harrison’s hand. “I’m done. With all of this, with you. With being your redemption arc.”

Damon reaches for me. For once, there’s regret. But it’s too late.

“Seren, please?—”

But I’m already moving. Dragging Harrison behind me; out, away. Anywhere but here.

We move through back corridors, service exits, staff-only signs. Harrison handles the logistics; he’s done this before.

“I don’t know where to go.” The cold night hits my face. “I don’t know anyone here except...”

“Except me.”

“Except you.”

In a city of millions, he’s the only safe place I’ve got; the only person who’s seen me come undone and didn’t flinch. Didn’t try to capitalise.

I slide into the car. Leather; silence. Night blurred into lights.

I close my eyes and let go—let myself fall into the unknown with the one person who might either save me or finish what tonight started.

Right now, I don’t care which.