Chapter 26: FIVE WEEKS
~Anna's POV
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Daisy's already home when I get back, laptop open at the kitchen table, working on some marketing presentation for her firm.
"How was rehearsal?" she asks without looking up—our daily ritual.
"Preview's next Saturday. One week."
Now she looks up, pushing her glasses up her nose. "That's official?"
"Meridian locked it in. Bringing VIP investors." I drop my bag by the door. "Dwayne said they specifically requested me for this role. That they seemed to know a lot about me."
Daisy closes her laptop completely. "What do you mean, 'know a lot about you'?"
"Personal stuff. Not just professional." I sink into the chair across from her. "What if this whole thing—the contract, the production, the preview—what if it's not about my talent at all?"
"Then you make it about your talent." Her voice is firm. "Whatever they want, you go out there and be so brilliant they can't use you for anything except what you are: an incredible actress."
The words settle something in my chest.
"I ordered Chinese," she says, changing the subject with practiced ease. "And you're eating. You've lost too much weight, Anna. Your jeans are falling off."
She's right. Everything hangs loose now. This morning I had to pull my belt to the last hole.
The food arrives, and we eat at her small kitchen table. I manage half my lo mein before my stomach protests.
"Any news today?" I ask carefully.
What I mean is: Any news about James? About the wedding? About whether he ever asks about me?
Daisy's chopsticks pause halfway to her mouth. "Anna—"
"Just tell me if the wedding's been called off." My voice is steadier than I feel. "If it's still happening."
"It's still happening," she says quietly. "Five weeks from now."
I nod and take another bite I don't taste.
"He's an idiot," Daisy says fiercely. "You know that, right?"
"I know." I don't. Can't. Because if he's an idiot, then what does that make me for loving him?
We clean up in silence. After Daisy goes to bed, I sit in the guest room and check my email.
There's a message from Dwayne with the subject line: "We made Theater Weekly."
My stomach flips.
The article loads: "Five Previews to Watch This Month."
Third on the list is our production.
"Meridian Productions' 'Seline' features newcomer Anna Chen in what insiders are calling a career-making performance. Chen's raw, emotionally devastating approach to the cursed princess has industry professionals buzzing. Preview Saturday at Blackbox Theater. This is one to watch."
My face stares back at me from Dwayne's production photo. Hollow-eyed. Haunted. Beautiful in a tragic way.
The cast group chat explodes:
Mark: WE'RE IN THEATER WEEKLY
Tommy: Does this mean Zeus is famous now?
Becky: ANNA THEY MENTIONED YOU BY NAME
Mark: "Career-making performance"
Dwayne: Preview just sold out. All 150 seats. Six hours.
Tommy: WHAT
Dwayne: Meridian bought 30 for VIPs. Rest went to public.
Mark: Anna you seeing this?
I stare at my phone. 150 people. Watching me bleed on stage. Watching me play a woman destroyed by love while I'm actively being destroyed by love.
Me: Yeah. Just processing.
Mark: You okay?
Me: Have to be.
Tommy: Anna you're about to be FAMOUS
Dwayne: Get rest. Big week ahead.
I set my phone down.
Career-making performance. Industry buzzing.
This is what I wanted. Recognition. Independence. Proof that I'm more than James Reynolds' abandoned stepdaughter.
So why does it feel so empty?
I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The girl staring back is almost unrecognizable. Sharp cheekbones where soft curves used to be. Collarbones jutting like architecture. The star necklace sits against visible bones.
I look like Seline. Or maybe Seline looks like me now.
What if I'm only good because I'm broken? What if the moment I heal, the performance dies? What if being destroyed is the only thing that makes me interesting?
I push the thought away and get into bed.
But sleep doesn't come.
At 3 AM, I'm staring at my phone.
The voicemail is still there, saved like a bruise I keep pressing.
I haven't played it in five days. That's progress.
But I haven't deleted it either.
I press play.
His voice fills the dark room: "Anna, I need you to understand—"
Then click. The sound of me hanging up before he could finish.
I've memorized everything about those seconds. His breathing. The crack in his voice on "understand." The pause before I ended the call.
Five days clean. Now it's zero again.
My thumb hovers over his contact. Still saved under "James" with a heart emoji, because I'm apparently a masochist.
I almost call him. Almost ask what he needed me to understand.
But he's engaged. Marrying Elena in thirty-five days.
Whatever he was going to say doesn't matter anymore.
I save the voicemail again.
Hate myself for it.
But save it anyway.
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Morning comes without sleep.
I check my phone. Two text messages from an unknown number.
Unknown: Anna, I am sorry please can we talk.
Unknown: It's your mother. Vanessa. I saw the Theater Weekly article. You're doing so well. I'm proud of you. I'd really like to talk before your preview. Please.
Proud.
The word makes me want to throw my phone across the room.
She saw the article. Which means it's public. Which means James could see it too.
Does he know I'm performing in six days? Does he care? Does he wonder if the "emotionally devastating performance" is about him?
My hands shake as I type:
Me: You don't get to be proud. You don't get to be anything.
The three dots appear immediately.
Vanessa: I deserve that. But I'm still your mother, and I'd like to—
I don't read the rest.
Block number. Delete thread.
My hands are still shaking, but this time it's not from pain.
It's from rage. From power.
I'm going to step onto that stage and show everyone—James, Vanessa, the investors, the 150 people who bought tickets—exactly who Anna Chen is. Raw. Powerful. Brilliant.
Let them watch.
I get ready for rehearsal, pulling on jeans that hang too loose, layering shirts to hide how thin I've become.
The star necklace sits cold against my skin.
Once, it meant I was his light in the darkness.
Now it just means I haven't learned to let go.
But maybe that's okay. Maybe some people live in our bones forever, and we just learn to carry them.
I'll carry him through the preview.
And then I'll see if I'm strong enough to put him down.
It's for me.
And I'm going to be extraordinary.
With or without him.
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