Chapter 31
Ellie's POV
I arrived at Wilton Hall forty minutes before curtain call, my dance bag slung over my shoulder. The building's old radiators clanked and hissed, filling the corridor with dry heat. I pushed through the side entrance, grateful for the relative quiet of the backstage area compared to the chaos that would soon erupt.
The green room was empty except for rows of costumes hanging along the walls like elegant ghosts. I headed toward my designated spot, but something caught my eye—a stunning silver-blue gown hanging near the corner, its fabric shimmering under the overhead lights.
Brianna's costume. I recognized it from her Instagram posts about the performance.
I wouldn't have given it a second glance, except the way the light hit the zipper looked... off. I stepped closer, squinting at the back closure. The zipper pull sat at an odd angle, and the teeth near the top looked misaligned, like someone had forced them.
"What are you doing?"
I spun around to find Brianna Ford standing in the doorway, her blue eyes cold and suspicious. She advanced into the room, her designer handbag swinging from her arm like a weapon.
"I was just—" I started, but she cut me off.
"Just what? Sabotaging my costume?" Her voice rose sharply. "I know you and Samantha have issues, and I know she's been spreading rumors about you, but I literally never expected you to stoop to her level."
Heat flooded my face. "Are you serious? I wasn't touching your dress!"
"Then why are you standing so close to it?" Brianna demanded, positioning herself between me and the gown. "Everyone knows about your complaint against Samantha. Now you're going after other people too?"
"Brianna, listen to me." I forced my voice to stay calm despite the anger building in my chest. "Your zipper's been damaged. I noticed it from across the room because of the way the light was hitting it."
She scoffed. "Right. Sure you did."
"Look at it yourself!" I gestured toward the dress. "The teeth are misaligned at the top. If you try to zip it, it'll jam or break completely." I gestured toward the corner of the room. "There are security cameras in here. If you don't believe me, we can check the footage. I mean, anyone smart enough to sabotage your costume would know better than to do it in a room with surveillance."
Brianna hesitated, her eyes darting between me and the costume. After a tense moment, she stepped forward and examined the zipper closely. Her expression shifted from suspicion to shock.
"Oh my god," she breathed, running her fingers along the damaged area. "This was perfect when I checked it last night. The designer inspected every detail personally."
"Someone must have tampered with it," I said quietly. "Recently."
Brianna's face went pale. She grabbed her phone from her bag with shaking hands and snapped several photos of the zipper. Then she turned to me, her earlier hostility replaced by something closer to fear.
"I checked everything last night before I went to bed," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "The costume was perfect then. I kept it in my dorm room and brought it here myself this afternoon. If someone tampered with it, it had to have happened in my dorm."
"You share a room, right?" I asked carefully. "You might need to figure out which roommate had access."
Brianna's jaw tightened, anger flashing in her eyes. "I don't need to figure it out. Vanessa visited her aunt last night and stayed over—she never came back to the dorm. It was just me and Samantha there."
I stayed quiet, letting that information sink in. There was nothing more to say that wouldn't sound like I was pushing an agenda.
"You should get your backup costume here as soon as possible," I said instead, keeping my tone neutral.
"If this had broken during my performance..." She didn't finish the sentence, but we both knew what she meant. Public humiliation in front of the entire university and countless parents and alumni.
"Check everything else," I suggested. "If someone sabotaged the zipper, they might have done more."
Brianna immediately began examining her accessories laid out on the nearby table. When she picked up her professional dance shoes, she let out a small gasp.
"The heel," she whispered, showing me the seemingly intact shoe. But when she pressed on it, I could see the subtle crack that had been cleverly concealed. "It would have snapped the second I put my weight on it."
She grabbed her phone again, this time making a call. "Daddy? I need a favor. Emergency. Someone's trying to sabotage my performance tonight." Her voice was remarkably steady considering her hands were trembling. "I need the backup costume and shoes. Yes, the ones in your office safe. Can you send them now? I need them here in fifteen minutes maximum."
While Brianna handled logistics with her father, I heard footsteps in the corridor. Jackson appeared in the doorway, dressed in fitted black pants and a charcoal shirt with deep burgundy accents that—I realized with a start—perfectly matched the burgundy details on my cream-colored performance outfit.
"Everything okay?" he asked, his eyes moving between Brianna's agitated expression and my position near her damaged costume.
"Someone sabotaged Brianna's performance outfit," I explained. "We just discovered it."
Jackson's expression darkened. "Same person who dropped that candelabra on you?"
Brianna's head snapped up from her phone. "Wait, what? Ellie, you were attacked too?"
"It's a long story," I muttered, suddenly uncomfortable with the attention.
"A long story that ended with Samantha facing disciplinary action," Jackson added, his tone flat.
Before anyone could respond, footsteps and voices filled the corridor as other performers began arriving. Taylor Brown burst into the green room first, immediately zeroing in on Jackson and me.
"Oh wow," he said with a huge grin. "You two look like you coordinated outfits. That's seriously couple goals right there."
I felt heat rise to my cheeks as other dancers filed in behind Taylor, all turning to stare at Jackson and me. Someone pulled out their phone—probably already posting to Campus Whispers.
"We're dance partners," Jackson said calmly, apparently unbothered by the attention. "It made sense to ensure our costumes complemented each other."
"Uh-huh, sure," Taylor teased. "Partners. Is that what they're calling it these days?"
I wanted to disappear into the floor, but Jackson just smiled slightly and turned his attention back to me. "Can I talk to you for a minute? Before the chaos really starts?"
I nodded, grateful for an excuse to escape the knowing looks and whispers. We stepped into the hallway, finding a quiet alcove near the stage entrance.
"How are you feeling?" Jackson asked, his voice gentler now that we were alone. "Ready for tonight?"
"Nervous," I admitted. "I keep worrying something will go wrong."
"It won't." His confidence was oddly reassuring. "We've practiced this routine dozens of times. You know every step, every transition."
"I know, but—" I hesitated, not sure how to explain the knot of anxiety in my stomach. "What if I mess up? What if I let you down?"
Jackson stepped closer, his expression serious. "Ellie, you could literally trip and fall on stage, and you still wouldn't let me down. You've worked harder than anyone I know. You've dealt with that shoulder injury, with Samantha's bullshit, with everything—and you're still here, still performing."
The sincerity in his voice made my throat tight. "Jackson—"
"I mean it," he continued. "Whatever happens tonight, I'm proud to be your partner." He paused, then added with a slight smile, "Even if people are going to assume we're dating because of these matching outfits."
I laughed despite my nerves. "About that—did you really ask the designer to coordinate our costumes?"
"I may have made a suggestion or two," he admitted, not looking remotely apologetic. "Burgundy suits you," he said. "And cream brings out your eyes."
The compliment caught me off guard. Before I could formulate a response, someone called Jackson's name from down the hall.
"That's my cue for sound check," he said. "You going to be okay?"
I nodded, feeling steadier than I had all evening. "Yeah. I'll see you on stage."
Jackson squeezed my hand briefly before heading toward the stage entrance. I watched him go, my palm still tingling from his touch, and found myself smiling.
Maybe tonight wouldn't be a disaster after all.