CHAPTER 93
Amelia stood under the lights, microphone warm in her hand. Her heart pounded. The host gave a final nod, stepping back.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “Amelia Cole.”
The crowd cheered. Amelia lifted her chin, her gaze locking once more with Matteo’s.
Her first note waited on the edge of her lips.
The lights dimmed. The air inside the hall tightened like a drawn bowstring. Amelia stood in the wings, her palms slick against the mic. She could hear the swell of voices from the audience, the whispers, the anticipation.
Then the stage manager gave a small nod.
Her feet carried her forward.
The glare of the spotlights hit her eyes, forcing her to squint for a heartbeat. And then she saw them, the audience, a sea of faces, hundreds of eyes fixed on her. Her pulse spiked, her breath caught, but when the first notes of the instrumental track rolled through the hall, her voice found her.
Soft at first. Fragile. Then steady. Stronger.
Amelia sang like she was spilling out a secret. Each word carried weight, her voice trembling with raw feeling. Her body swayed with the music, her eyes glistened as if she were back in her room, clutching her grandmother’s photo. Every memory of loss, every wound of betrayal, every longing for justice wove itself into the lyrics.
The audience leaned in. Some clasped their hands to their chests. A woman dabbed her eyes with a tissue. Even the cameramen seemed slower, steadier, as if caught in her current.
And when she hit the final note, clear, aching, lingering in the air, it was like time refused to move.
For a moment there was silence. Pure, ringing silence.
Then the hall erupted.
Applause thundered, echoing off the walls. People rose to their feet, clapping, cheering. The host himself stood, smiling broadly, and gestured at Amelia as if she were already a star. Amelia bowed, her chest heaving, her face lit with relief. She had done it. She had survived. She had owned the stage.
She turned, ready to walk off, when a hand shot out in front of her. The host’s hand.
“Wait,” he said, still smiling though his eyes glinted sharper than before. “Don’t leave just yet, Amelia. The audience wants to know more about you. That performance was… breathtaking. But such emotions must come from somewhere. Tell us - where did all that feeling come from?”
Amelia froze. “It was… from experience,” she said carefully, forcing her voice to stay even.
The host tilted his head. “Experience? Or just acting? You’re very young. What sort of heartbreak or pain could someone like you have gone through?”
A nervous laugh rippled through the audience. Amelia shifted her weight. “No… it was real. I’ve lived things that shaped the way I sang tonight.”
“Interesting,” the host said. His smile tightened, too polished. “So let’s talk about that. Tell us, Amelia, didn’t you live in a small village up until very recently? And then, almost suddenly, you were brought into the grand home of Vincent Cole?”
Amelia blinked. “I…. what…?”
“Is it true?” he pressed. His voice rang across the hall. “Is your relationship with Vincent Cole personal? Professional? Or… family-related?”
Murmurs broke out in the audience. Cameras zoomed closer. Amelia opened her mouth, but no words came.
The host leaned forward. “You never auditioned, did you? Isn’t it true that you joined Cole entertainment without an audition? Isn’t that favoritism? Nepotism?”
Gasps. A few people whispered, covering their mouths. Amelia’s throat closed.
“And more…. Why are you living at the Cole mansion when every other trainee stays in the dorms, following strict rules? Why do you get exceptions, Amelia?”
“I… that’s not…” Her voice cracked.
The host’s smile sharpened like glass. “And tell us about the boy you left behind in the village. Was he not your boyfriend? Didn’t he follow you here only to find you… occupied with another?”
The floor tilted beneath her. “No…. that’s not….”
“Or is it true,” the host’s voice rose, slicing through the air, “that you’re secretly dating both of them? One left behind, one here in the city? Two men at once?”
The audience gasped louder. Some shook their heads. Others leaned forward with hungry curiosity.
“No, that’s not true!” Amelia blurted, but her voice trembled, thin against the heavy silence that followed.
The host raised a hand, as if to hush her. Then he pulled a small remote from his pocket. He turned toward the massive LED screen behind them.
“Let’s look at some… evidence.”
With a click, the screen flickered alive.
The first image appeared: Amelia stepping out of a battered, dented car in front of the Cole mansion, her expression soft, her bag slung over her shoulder. The audience buzzed, curious but not yet alarmed.
Then the second image flashed: Amelia again at the Cole mansion, but this time emerging from a sleek, luxurious car. Same girl. Same place. Different cars. Different nights.
The host’s voice rang with mock surprise. “Two men, two cars. Two lives. Tell us, Amelia… which is it? Which one is yours? Or should I ask…. whose hearts are you playing with?”
The hall erupted into a storm of whispers, gasps, even laughter from a few corners. Cameras zoomed tighter on Amelia’s face, her wide, stunned eyes.
She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. The photos…. the lies…they crushed her chest until she thought she might collapse.
In the audience, Matteo’s heart slammed against his ribs. His fists curled in his lap. Both cars were his. Both outfits. Both nights. He knew instantly. Someone had been following him. Someone was watching his every move with Amelia.
His throat tightened. Who? Who could have tracked them like this? Who knew enough to dig into his disguise, to put the pieces together?
But there was no time to think. On stage, Amelia was falling apart.
Her lips moved, but no sound came. Her hands shook at her sides. The bright lights, the hundred staring faces, the host’s cold grin… it was all too much.
The audience, sensing blood, leaned in further. Some booed. Others muttered accusations.
And Matteo, caught between anger and fear, could only sit there, frozen, his mind a storm.
This wasn’t just about Amelia anymore. This was about him. Someone had drawn a target around them both.
And the whole world had just seen it.
The host’s words cut the air one last time. “So tell us, Amelia… are you a star in the making, or just another girl caught between lies and love? Once again, was that performance from experience or was it just an act? You seem to be good at acting, seeing as to how you can juggle so much drama at once.”
The screen glowed behind her. The hall buzzed with chaos.
And Amelia, trembling under the spotlight, wished only for the ground to open up and swallow her whole.