Chapter 111 Another Kind of Companionship

Chapter 111 Another Kind of Companionship

Chloe's POV

I stood onstage, the lights blinding. When I looked out again, that shadowy corner was completely empty.

The applause continued. Judges in the front row bent over their scorecards. The host walked onstage with a smile, gesturing for me to move center stage.

But I kept staring at that spot, feeling like something had been carved out of my chest.

Was that Lucas?

Or had I been seeing things again?

"Chloe?" The host's voice pulled me back, reminding me to take my bow.

I forced the corners of my mouth upward and lowered my head.

The moment I straightened, I grabbed my skirt and bolted backstage.

People stopped me at the exit—handing me bouquets, interview cards. I didn't hear a word. My ears were filled with nothing but a dull ringing.

The backstage corridor was packed with contestants, parents, and crew. I practically shoved through the crowd.

"Chloe, wait—can we get a picture?"

"You were amazing tonight…"

"Would you be willing to do a quick interview…"

I ignored everyone. I ran to the edge of the audience seating, searched every emergency exit, even combed through the stairwells.

Nothing.

As if he'd never been there at all.

That glimpse—it must have been a hallucination. I'd wanted to see him so badly I'd conjured him out of thin air.

A girl in a school uniform chased after me, clutching a program and breathing hard. "You're Chloe, right? I'm a huge fan. Could you sign this for me?"

I stopped. Looking at her earnest expression, I couldn't bring myself to disappoint her.

"Of course." I took the pen and signed, my fingertips trembling slightly.

More people quickly gathered—phones raised, flowers in hand. All fans from the audience.

I had no choice but to stand there, posing for photos one by one, signing autographs.

In the corner, voices murmured with a hint of judgment.

"Was she looking for someone just now?"

"Seemed kind of rude."

"Geniuses are always a little weird, I guess."

I heard every word but kept the smile plastered on my face as camera flashes went off again and again.

I stood in the middle of a lively crowd, yet my heart remained stuck in that empty side corridor.

Finally, the announcement of final scores echoed through the hall. The crowd gradually filed back to the main auditorium.

I returned to the contestants' section. My palms were ice-cold. My phone sat on my lap, the screen quiet—no messages, no calls.

I'd been sending Delta private messages for days now. Her reply was always the same: [Sorry, Chloe. That's internal police information.]

Internal information.

I had no idea if Lucas was still in a hospital bed recovering, if he'd woken up, or if he'd been pulled into a new assignment.

Since the day I'd gotten home, I hadn't slept soundly once.

I woke every night in a panic. My dreams were full of that abandoned building, that iron door, that deafening explosion.

The first thing I did every time I woke was grab my phone and send messages to Delta and Lucas, staring silently at the chat window.

Never any response.

Layla came by a few times to keep me company. My mom warmed milk for me every night. My dad canceled his evening engagements and sat in the living room pretending to read the paper, just to be near me.

But no one could fill the void inside me.

Later, when I returned to school for rehearsals, even Clio noticed something was wrong.

That day, I fumbled the same passage for the third time. She snapped the sheet music shut and stood beside me. "Stop."

I looked up, my fingers still pressed against the keys.

Clio's expression was ice-cold. "Your mind isn't here at all."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," I said quietly.

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to yourself." She set the music on the piano. "The state competition isn't a charity event. The judges won't care about your mood—only your final performance."

I said nothing.

She stared at me, her tone sharpening. "If you go onstage in this condition, you will be eliminated."

The bluntness stung, but every word was true.

When I left the practice hall, a police cruiser was parked downstairs.

A blond man leaned against it. The moment he saw me, he straightened and raised a hand in greeting.

"Ms. Jones?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm Lester." He smiled, showing straight white teeth. "Delta sent me. She thought you might prefer a less… serious officer keeping an eye on you."

I froze for a few seconds.

He was young, dressed in civilian clothes, with a clean gaze and an easygoing presence—nothing like Lucas. Lucas could make a room go cold just by standing in it. Lester felt more like a college kid the force hadn't yet hardened.

"I don't need a bodyguard," I said.

"I know." He shrugged. "But there are still gang members out there who haven't been caught. If something happens to you, someone's going to make me pay for it."

My chest tightened. "Is Lucas okay?"

Lester paused, then spoke gently. "His physical resilience is off the charts. I believe in him."

"That's not the answer I wanted."

"Then let me put it another way." He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "If anyone other than Lucas had been trapped in that building that day, we'd probably be planning their funeral right now."

I stared at him quietly.

"But it was Lucas." Lester smiled. "So he's definitely coming back alive. And he'll settle every score."

For the first time in days, I almost smiled.

After that, Lester showed up nearly every day.

He waited at the school gate. When rehearsal ended, he brought me hot coffee. He even told me, with a straight face, that Lucas used to be even harder to deal with—at least now he occasionally replied to messages.

He kept his distance, never prying, never getting too close. He only stood far off, as if guarding me silently on someone's behalf.

Every now and then I'd ask, "Any word on Lucas?"

He would pause to think before replying, "Let's just say those who wronged him are far worse off."

Or he'd say, "You ought to worry about disciplinary action when he returns to the unit. He acted far too recklessly this time."

His updates were sparse, yet they were enough to keep me going.

Slowly, I pulled my focus back to the piano.

I practiced all day—until my fingertips went numb, my shoulders ached, until there was no room left in my head for the explosion to replay.

Lester sat in the back row of the practice hall. Sometimes he dozed off. When I took breaks, he'd say something offhand.

"You sounded better today than yesterday. Even if Lucas doesn't know music theory, he'd definitely think you're incredible."

I'd sip my water without answering, but the restlessness inside me gradually settled.

Today, before I went onstage, Lester stayed with me backstage the whole time.

He handed me a bottle of water. "Don't be nervous. Don't worry about the judges. Just play for the person in your heart."

I took the water and asked quietly, "You're not actually sure if he'll come today, are you?"

Lester paused, his smile cryptic. "I never said that."

I wanted to press further, but the crew was already calling my name, urging me onstage.

And then—that fleeting glimpse from the stage.

Now the host was announcing final placements. I sat in the audience section, still unable to shake that hollow disappointment.

Had the person I saw really not been Lucas?