The auditorium buzzed with murmurs and camera flashes, the velvet curtains trembling slightly from the backstage bustle. Maya Rivers stood just behind them, her hands cold despite the warmth of the lights overhead. She could hear the chatter of the audience -- students, professors, judges -- waiting for the next act to begin. Her heart thudded in sync with the rising drumbeat of anticipation.
She wasn't supposed to be here.
If anyone had told her three weeks ago that she'd be standing backstage at the campus talent show, about to be painted live in front of hundreds of people by the infamously aloof Damien Cross, she would have laughed in their face.
But here she was. And Damien? He stood calm as ever by the massive easel already set mid-stage, sleeves rolled up, brushes organized like a surgeon preparing for a delicate procedure. The confidence in his stance made it seem as though this performance was for himself, not the crowd.
Maya exhaled slowly and stepped forward when the announcer called their names.
Whispers rippled across the room the moment she stepped on stage. Damien didn't even glance her way. Not yet. He simply gestured for her to sit on the wooden stool center stage, angled so the audience saw her in profile.
"Hold still," he said softly, just enough for her to hear.
She nodded, settling in, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
As the stage lights shifted, a hush fell over the audience. Maya didn't dare look at them -- but she could feel their eyes crawling over her skin. Somewhere out there, Logan Cross was watching.
The same Logan who had spent two years pulling her in only to push her away when things got real. The same Logan who had made her feel like she was never enough -- until Damien Cross showed up with that casual offer:
"Let's give him something to stare at."
Back then, she hadn't really taken him seriously. But then came rehearsals. The closeness. The subtle touches. The way he watched her, studied her -- not just her face, but her silences, her walls. She couldn't tell if he was faking it or if he really saw her.
Maya stiffened slightly on the stool as Damien began the first strokes. It was quiet -- no music, no narration, just the swish of brush against canvas, and the rise and fall of her own breath.
He moved with control and precision, glancing between her and the painting with laser focus. She could feel him watching her, though his eyes never lingered long enough to meet hers. His presence behind her was grounding, almost comforting. Almost.
Ever so often, the audience murmured in awe as the image began to take shape. Whispers floated forward:
"It's her -- he's painting her."
"Look at the way he's captured her eyes -- "
"This is insane."
And in the front row, Maya caught the faintest movement.
Logan shifted forward in his seat.
Her heartbeat tripped.
Damien didn't pause, didn't speak, but something in the way his strokes intensified made it feel like he knew. Like he saw Logan too.
The silence stretched, thick with tension.
And then -- something shifted.
He stepped away from the canvas, letting the lights catch the painting in full. A flawless portrait -- familiar, yet elevated. She looked ethereal. Powerful.
Like she mattered.
Gasps erupted from the audience.
Someone whistled. Someone else clapped.
But Damien ignored them all. Instead, he stepped toward her. Not dramatically -- not even slowly. Just purposefully.
Maya stood, unsure of what to do, and the crowd's clapping died down into breathless curiosity. Damien's fingers brushed her wrist as if to steady her. Her eyes lifted to his, lips parted slightly.
They were too close. Too exposed.
"Damien…" she started, voice caught between panic and something softer.
He didn't answer. His gaze flicked past her shoulder, briefly, just enough to see what she didn't.
Logan, rising from his seat.
That was all it took.
Damien leaned in -- and kissed her.
This time, it wasn't the showy, possessive kiss from outside the lecture hall. This was slower, deeper, charged with the weight of unspoken things. His hand slid behind her neck as though to anchor her, and she… melted. Just a little.
Not because she was pretending anymore.
But because something about the way he kissed her made her forget the crowd, the lights, the reason this whole thing had started in the first place.
When he pulled back, just a breath away from her lips, he didn't smile. He didn't explain. He just said, quietly, "You did great."
The applause erupted again, louder this time, sweeping over the stage like a wave. Damien stepped back and raised their clasped hands once before leading her off-stage.
Backstage, she stumbled slightly, half in a daze. "What was that?"
He shrugged. "Crowd eats it up."
Her heart twisted.
Right. Of course. It was for the show.
Still, her fingers touched her lips when he turned away.
That kiss… it hadn't felt fake.
Outside, long after the show ended and the building began to empty, Maya sat on the low stone wall near the quad fountain, arms wrapped around her knees. She could still hear the music in her ears, still see the painting in her mind.
Why did her stomach flutter every time she remembered the way he looked at her just before the kiss?
"Mind if I sit?"
She turned -- half expecting Damien -- but froze when she saw Logan instead.
He looked… off. Not angry. Not smug. Just tired.
"Sure," she said stiffly, making space but not looking at him.
They sat in silence for a beat.
"You looked good up there," he finally said.
She raised a brow. "Thanks."
More silence. And then:
"So is this thing with Damien real or…?"
She blinked. "Does it matter?"
"It does if you're still mad at me."
Maya stood abruptly. "You don't get to play that card."
"I'm not playing anything. I just.. " Logan stood too. "He doesn't actually care about you, Maya."
She felt that sentence like a slap.
"And you did?" she asked quietly. "Because it sure didn't feel like it."
He hesitated, jaw tightening.
She turned to walk away -- only to nearly crash into Damien standing just a few feet behind them.
Her eyes widened. "Damien.."
But his expression was unreadable. Calm. Too calm.
"I was looking for you," he said evenly, ignoring Logan completely. "Can we talk?"
She nodded slowly, stealing one last glance at Logan -- who looked like he'd just lost something he didn't know he still cared about.
As Damien led her away from the quad, silence stretched between them.
She glanced up at him. "Did you really mean what you said earlier? About the crowd?"
He glanced at her, eyes darker than usual. "Why?"
She hesitated, not sure how to phrase what she was feeling. Not sure if she even had the right to ask.
He smiled faintly. "Relax. I've got you."
She exhaled, unsure whether to be comforted or confused.
Because the way he looked at her then -- it didn't feel like a game.
But maybe that was part of the act too.