Chapter 118
[Rose's POV]
The morning air carried a crisp edge as I pulled into the studio parking lot. For the first time since joining American Dream Star, I'd driven myself.
The drive had been peaceful, almost meditative. Rush hour traffic hadn't yet clogged the streets, and I'd enjoyed the solitude, the sense of moving through the city on my own terms.
The studio building loomed ahead, its glass facade reflecting the pale dawn sky. I locked the car and made my way inside, my sneakers quiet against the polished floor.
The training room was empty when I arrived. I flipped on the lights and set my bag down by the mirror wall. The space felt larger without Ava and Sophia's presence—just me, the mirrors, and the faint hum of the ventilation system.
I started with vocal warm-ups, running through scales while watching my reflection. My posture had improved over the past weeks. The car accident's lingering stiffness had finally faded, and my movements felt fluid again, natural.
After twenty minutes of vocal exercises, I transitioned to stretches. My body remembered the choreography we'd drilled endlessly—muscle memory taking over as I worked through the sequence. The repetition was soothing, almost meditative.
At 8:32, the door opened. Sophia stepped inside, her dance bag slung over one shoulder.
"Rose!" She blinked in surprise. "You're here early."
"I wanted to get some extra practice in." I straightened from my stretch, rolling my shoulders. "Good morning."
"Good morning." Sophia set her bag down and studied me with an appraising look. "You know, you're not just talented. You work harder than anyone I've ever met."
"Talent without effort is wasted potential." I moved to the sound system and pulled up our practice track. "Ready to run through it?"
She grinned. "Always."
We fell into the rhythm easily. Sophia's technique had sharpened considerably over the past weeks—her movements more precise, her timing tighter. We'd developed a silent language during our training sessions, a way of communicating through glances and subtle adjustments.
One hour passed in focused repetition. We refined transitions, adjusted spacing, corrected tiny imperfections that most people wouldn't notice but that bothered us both. By 9:30, we were both breathing hard, a fine sheen of sweat on our foreheads.
"Water break?" Sophia suggested, heading for her bag.
"Good idea." I grabbed my bottle and took a long drink.
That's when I noticed. Ava still hadn't arrived.
I checked my phone. 9:34 AM. We'd agreed to meet at 9:00. Ava was never late—punctuality was one of her defining traits, a reliability we'd come to count on.
"Have you heard from Ava?" I asked Sophia.
She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her messages. "Nothing since last night. She said she'd see us at nine."
A knot of concern formed in my stomach. I pulled up Ava's contact, my thumb hovering over the call button.
"Rose." Sophia's voice had dropped to a whisper. "Look."
She was staring at the floor-to-ceiling window that faced the hallway. The glass was one-way—we could see out, but anyone in the corridor couldn't see in.
I followed her gaze.
In the hallway, illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights, Alexander had Ava pressed against the wall. His hands were on her waist, her arms draped over his shoulders. They were kissing—not a casual peck, but something deeper, more intense. Alexander's right hand had slipped inside her jacket, clearly cupping her breast through her shirt. Ava's fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer.
I stood frozen, water bottle forgotten in my hand.
They kissed for what felt like an eternity but was probably closer to five minutes. When they finally broke apart, Ava's face was flushed, her lips swollen. She pressed her palms against Alexander's chest, creating space between them. He leaned in close, murmuring something in her ear that made her duck her head, a shy smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
Alexander stepped back, his expression satisfied, almost smug. He said something else—I couldn't make out the words through the glass—then turned and strode down the hallway without looking back.
Beside me, Sophia let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. "Well. That explains why she's late."
Ava remained in the hallway for a moment, one hand pressed to her lips, the other smoothing her rumpled jacket. Then she squared her shoulders, adjusted her bag, and headed toward the training room door.
"Act normal," I murmured to Sophia.
She nodded, already moving to set down her water bottle.
The door opened. Ava walked in, her cheeks still pink, her eyes bright. She took three steps into the room before her gaze landed on us—and then on the one-way window behind us.
Her face went from pink to crimson in an instant.
"Oh God." The words escaped in a mortified whisper. "You saw."
Sophia's composure cracked. She burst into laughter, covering her mouth with both hands. "Ava. Your relationship with Alexander is progressing remarkably quickly."
Ava dropped her bag and covered her face with her hands. "This is so embarrassing."
"There's nothing to be embarrassed about." I kept my tone mild, though amusement tugged at the corners of my mouth. "You're both adults."
"He's been waiting downstairs since six thirty," Ava said, her voice muffled by her palms. "I told him yesterday that he didn't need to pick me up, but when I left my apartment this morning, he was just... there. Leaning against his car with coffee."
Sophia's grin widened. "And you couldn't resist the romantic gesture?"
"I tried to tell him I could take the bus." Ava finally lowered her hands, her expression caught between pleasure and mortification. "But he said—" She stopped, shaking her head. "Never mind what he said."
"Whatever he said worked," Sophia observed. "Based on what we just witnessed."
"Sophia." I gave her a look. "Don't tease."
"I'm not teasing! I'm genuinely impressed. Alexander doesn't strike me as the patient type, but he's clearly putting in effort."
Ava bit her lip, fighting a smile. "He is. He's actually really sweet when he's not trying to be cool."
I thought of the conversation Alexander and I had shared in the car—his uncertainty about whether to pursue Ava, his fear of making the wrong choice. It seemed he'd decided to commit, and with characteristic Sullivan intensity.
"I'm happy for you," I said quietly. "You deserve someone who makes an effort."
Ava's expression softened. "Thank you, Rose. That means a lot."
"But," I added, my tone sharpening slightly, "next time, maybe choose a location that's not directly outside our practice room?"
She groaned. "I know. I'm sorry. We got carried away."
"Clearly." Sophia was still grinning. "I mean, Alexander's hand was—"
"Sophia." My voice carried a note of warning.
She held up both hands in surrender. "Right. Moving on. We should probably get back to rehearsal."
"Good idea." Ava grabbed her water bottle with perhaps more force than necessary. "Let's dance. Let's focus on the competition. Let's definitely not talk about what just happened."
I pulled up the practice track again. "From the top?"
"From the top," Ava agreed firmly.
As the music started, I caught Sophia's eye in the mirror. She was still smiling, but she'd contained her amusement enough to focus. We fell into formation, our movements synchronized.