Chapter 47 The Locked Door
Rehearsal dragged on another excruciating hour after Mia’s carefully staged breakdown. She continued to fumble her lines, to move through blocking like she was underwater, to embody someone whose mind was clearly elsewhere. The director finally called it early, frustration evident in every clipped word.
“Get some rest, people. We’ll try this again tomorrow, and I expect everyone,” his eyes landed meaningfully on Mia, “to come prepared and focused.”
The cast dispersed quickly, eager to escape the tension. Elara lingered, giving Mia’s shoulder one last squeeze before being pulled away by Jessica to discuss something about costume fittings. Silas left without looking at Mia, playing his part of the boyfriend who’d completely washed his hands of the troublesome transfer student.
Mia gathered her things slowly, letting the theater empty out. She told herself she was staying behind to collect her thoughts, to decompress from the intense performance. But really, she was just too drained to face the walk back to her dorm yet.
She made her way to the dressing room, that cramped space with its wall of mirrors and the faint smell of hairspray and old makeup. She needed a moment alone, a moment to let the mask drop before she had to put it back on for the walk across campus.
She was standing in front of one of the mirrors, staring at her own reflection, the deliberately messy hair, the reddened eyes, the slumped shoulders, when she heard the door open behind her.
Before she could turn, it clicked shut. Then came the unmistakable sound of the lock engaging.
Mia’s heart jumped into her throat. She spun around.
Silas stood with his back against the door, his hand still on the lock. His expression was tense, almost wild, and for a second genuine panic flared through her. They weren’t supposed to be alone together. They weren’t supposed to be anywhere near each other in private. If anyone saw…
“What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice coming out higher than intended. “Are you insane? If someone sees you in here…”
“She’s outside,” Silas interrupted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Elara. She’s in the hallway. I saw her lingering by the prop room, watching to see where you went. She’s waiting.”
Mia’s eyes widened. “What?”
“She’s eavesdropping,” Silas said, moving away from the door toward her. “Or she’s about to. She needs to be convinced. Completely convinced.”
“Convinced of what?” Mia asked, even as her mind was already racing ahead, already understanding what he was suggesting and feeling her pulse kick up in response.
Silas closed the distance between them, and suddenly she was being backed up against the wall of lockers, the metal cold against her back through her thin shirt. His hands came up on either side of her head, caging her in, and his face was inches from hers.
“That I want nothing to do with you,” he whispered, his breath warm against her face. “That this is purely physical. That you mean nothing to me.”
“Silas…”
“Play along,” he cut her off, his voice still low but urgent. His eyes bore into hers, and she saw the apology there, the question. Trust me. Do you trust me?
Then he leaned down and kissed her.
It was meant to be theatrical. A performance for potential listening ears. Rough, possessive, the kind of kiss that would sound like thoughtless physical want rather than emotional connection. The kind of thing that would make Elara believe this was just Silas being a guy with poor impulse control, not someone developing feelings for the girl he was supposed to despise.
But the second their lips met, something shifted.
Maybe it was the adrenaline already coursing through both of them from the day’s performances. Maybe it was the weeks of tension and forced distance and carefully suppressed feelings. Maybe it was the memory of the last kiss, the one fueled by whiskey and desperation, the one they’d both tried so hard to pretend hadn’t meant anything.
Whatever the reason, what started as calculated performance became something else entirely.
His hands moved from the lockers to her waist, pulling her closer. Her fingers tangled in his hair without her conscious permission, and she was kissing him back with an intensity that had nothing to do with acting and everything to do with the feelings she’d been violently suppressing for weeks.
Outside in the hallway, Elara’s footsteps paused. They were faint, barely audible, but in the sudden charged silence of the dressing room, both Mia and Silas heard them. Heard the moment of hesitation.
Then the soft sound of retreating footsteps, moving away from the dressing room door.
The moment Elara’s presence was gone, they broke apart like they’d been burned. Silas stepped back quickly, running a hand through his now disheveled hair, his breathing uneven. Mia stayed pressed against the lockers, her lips feeling swollen, her heart hammering so hard she was sure he could hear it.
The silence between them was loaded, awkward, intense.
“Sorry,” Silas finally said, and his voice came out rougher than usual. “That was… that was the quickest way to make her leave without getting suspicious. If she’d heard us actually talking strategy, actually working together…”
“Next time,” Mia interrupted, her own voice not quite steady, “give me some advance warning before you…” She gestured vaguely between them, unable to put into words exactly what had just happened.
“Yeah,” Silas agreed. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, and she wondered if he was as shaken as she was, if he’d felt that same shift from performance to something real and dangerous. “I should go. We shouldn’t be seen leaving together.”
He moved to the door, checked the hallway, then slipped out without another word.
Mia stood alone in the dressing room for a long time after, her fingers touching her lips, her mind a chaotic mess of strategy and feeling and guilt.
The kiss had been for the mission. For the performance. To sell Elara on the idea that Silas was just a guy with wandering hands, not someone emotionally invested in Mia’s wellbeing.
But that didn’t explain why her heart was still racing, why she could still feel the imprint of his hands on her waist, why the taste of him lingered and she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted it to fade.