Page 11 of Vengeful Melodies (Heaven’s Guilt Revenge Tour Duet #1)

Chapter Eleven

Alix

The drums sit on the edge of the stage like a wild animal crouched and ready to pounce. Steel and stone. A throne for chaos.

They’re built to hold my weight. To hold my demons. To carry the blood, sweat, and filth of who I’ve become.

But now, as I stare down at the kit, all I can think is— Don’t fuck this up. Don’t slip on those steep-ass stairs. Don’t faceplant in front of a sold-out crowd. And please, don’t fall apart in front of her.

Grey said he dropped off the merch earlier—shirts Bash and I picked out for Dreya and Wren. Told me Sebastian couldn’t stop staring at her. Said the guy looked wrecked just being near her.

I wish I could say I’m surprised. I wish I didn’t feel the same way. I wish it had been me standing in her doorway instead of locked in this endless loop of rehearsals until my hands go numb.

Takoa demands perfection tonight. And for me, perfection is the price of admission.

The overhead lights flicker in blinding white as I step onto the platform. My boots echo against the metal with every step—a countdown beating in my chest.

My fingers twitch. My stomach knots. Adrenaline floods my veins, but it doesn’t calm me—it sharpens everything, making the nerves electric and raw.

The stool slides back beneath me like muscle memory. I drop into it. Everything clicks into place—physically, anyway.

My heart is another story.

I pick up my sticks and start twirling them, testing their weight like old friends. But my hands feel tight, dry, wrong.

I exhale slowly. Tap my foot on the pedal. Let the rhythm creep back in like a ghost I thought I’d lost.

Close my eyes. Breathe. Focus.

The beat starts soft in my mind—a steady pulse. Then it builds. Louder. Harder.

My hands explode into a rapid-fire solo, tapping and slamming the drums like I need to prove they still belong to me.

The first song on tonight’s setlist is new. A song about loving someone who doesn’t love you back. We barely knew if it would make the cut.

But Sebastian insisted. Said we needed it—to remind the fans, remind ourselves, that beneath the smoke, the screaming, the lights— We’re still human.

We bleed like they do. We break like they do.

We’re not gods. Just ghosts with microphones.

The rhythm floods through me, and for a moment I forget about Dreya. Forget about the pressure. Forget that we’re all barely holding it together.

Then comes the clapping—slow, sarcastic, mocking.

I open my eyes. The guys are down there, watching with smirks that say they know exactly what I’m feeling.

“Gentlemen,” Takoa’s voice cuts through the noise—low and heavy. “Label called. We’ve got something to go over before we hit the stage.”

“Let me reset everything,” I say, voice too thin, too unsure. “I’ll meet you in the dressing room.”

Koa nods, pulling Bash and Kaiser with him. But he shoots me one last look—something like sympathy tangled with warning.

I look down at my hands again. Steady now. But calm? Never. Not when the lights are about to burn. Not when the crowd waits to tear us apart. Not when she’s here.

I slip my sticks into their sheath, stand slowly, and descend the stairs one careful step at a time—each echo like a countdown to war.

Backstage hits me like a freight train—roadies shouting, guitars tuning, bass thumping through the floor like the heartbeat of some ancient beast waking from slumber.

And then—there she is.

Grey and Wren stand by the doors. And beside them—Dreya.

My throat dries up. I freeze. Mid-step.

She’s wearing my shirt—our shirt—and somehow she makes it look like it was made for her. Like it’s a sin to see it stretched across curves that make my mind snap.

Breathing? Impossible. My heart’s gone rogue, pounding a frantic solo inside my chest.

“Alix!” she calls, her voice slicing through the chaos like a melody I can’t forget.

Fuck.

She doesn’t know. Not yet.

Doesn’t know who I am. Who she’s working for. Who she kissed.

She thinks I’m just another stagehand. A nobody who made her laugh on a bad day, kissed her to make her cheating ex jealous.

And maybe that’s all I want to be for now.

Grey mouths sorry , but it’s too late. She’s moving toward me and I’m unraveling faster than I can catch myself.

“Hey, darlin’,” I say, forcing a smile. “What brings you here so early?” Coward.

“Oh, Grey got us in early to check out how things work before the tour kicks off,” she says, sincere and unguarded.

“Didn’t realize you were part of the crew, too.

Makes sense, you and Grey being tight.” I want to lie.

To keep the truth locked down. But I can’t lie to her—not with those eyes.

“Actually, Dreya… there’s something I need to—”

The door swings open, cutting me off. “Can’t have a band meeting without the drummer,” Bash grumbles, stepping out—and then freezing.

Dreya’s face shifts instantly. “You… you’re the drummer?”

Bash looks between us. “Fuck. She didn’t know?”

“No,” I say, quiet. “I should’ve told you.”

She blinks, then steps back like I just burned her with a brand. “I… I need to find Grey,” she says quickly. “I’ll see you later. Good luck… Alix. Sebastian.” And just like that, she’s gone.

Leaving me standing here like a raw nerve—shaking, ashamed.

“She didn’t know who you were?” Bash asks quietly.

“She’s not a fan,” I say. “She got VIP tickets for her ex. Walked in on him cheating. She doesn’t know shit about us. Doesn’t care. We’re just faces.”

Bash’s jaw tightens. “Her ex was our fan? Fuck him. He doesn’t deserve our music.”

I push into the room, closing the door behind me.

Koa doesn’t even look up. “Good. Everyone’s here. Label approved Dreya and Wren. NDAs signed. They’re riding with us. Safer that way.”

He pauses, eyes distant.

“Oh, and the VIP contest winner we’re bringing on stage tonight?”

He smirks.

“It’s Dreya.”

The silence crashes over us.

“She’s gonna get crucified if this leaks,” Bash mutters.

“That’s why we keep it quiet,” Koa says firmly. “She’s not a secret. Not bait. But we protect her. Period.”

We nod.

Because we know the game. We know what the fans can do. We know what she’ll suffer if this gets out too soon.

“Five minutes,” Koa says softly. “Are we ready?”

I nod. “We don’t have a choice.”

“It’s time,” Bash says, shoulders squared.

“Let’s show them we’re still the men they fell in love with,” Koa adds.

Bash hands me a shot. The burn shoots down my throat, settling a fire in my gut.

No more hiding. No more lies.

I barely notice when Bash and Koa step forward, their voices fading beneath the roar of my own pulse.

I nod to their words, but the second the door shuts behind them, I’m gone—slipping through the maze of cables and gear, away from the noise, the stares, the weight of her eyes.

I find a narrow corner near the loading bay, shadows swallowing me like a refuge.

Leaning back against cold concrete, I close my eyes and let the world blur.

Breathe.

But the breath catches in my throat.

I want to rewind, go back to the night we kissed—the way her lips tasted, the softness I wasn’t supposed to crave.

I want to pretend none of this is real.

That she’s just some stranger who won a ticket, not the woman who’s dug her way into my skin.

My hands shake—part nerves, part something deeper.

I curse myself for caring. For wanting. For hoping.

Perfection. That’s all Takoa demands. But right now, my perfection is fractured.

The drums call to me—the beast waiting to be tamed. But I’m not ready yet. Not until I find some piece of myself that isn’t tangled up in her shadow.

I tap out a rhythm on the concrete, slow and steady. My heartbeat trying to sync.

I’m a ghost with a microphone.

A shadow behind the flames.

But maybe tonight, I can be more.

Because no matter what, the stage is waiting. And so is she.