An elegant, important-looking envelope—sealed in gold wax and stamped urgent—arrived for her one afternoon without warning.
Mirabelle had been working at the Terania offices when her assistant peeked into the room, holding the envelope.
"Miss Terania, this just came for you—from the National Music Awards."
Mirabelle blinked, taken aback. "That's… odd. I wasn't even nominated for anything."
Her assistant smiled. "You're on the guest list, apparently."
Curious, Mirabelle accepted the envelope. Maybe it was a courtesy gesture, a nod to her growing popularity online—or perhaps the organizers wanted more indie representation this year. Normally, she didn't accept invitations to big televised events; she preferred her small stages and open-air performances. But the envelope had been marked urgent, its gilded lettering almost daring her to refuse. Against her better judgment, something about it compelled her to say yes. It seemed harmless enough, anyway.
It wasn't.
The night of the awards show shimmered with red-carpet glamour and blinding lights. Mirabelle, always understated, wore a soft silver gown that gleamed under the cameras but didn't scream for attention. She smiled politely during interviews, kept her posture poised, and tried not to feel out of place among the global superstars who floated past her.
A few rows ahead sat EON, the brightest stars of them all. Every now and then, she caught glimpses of them—their polished charisma, their effortless laughter, the kind of presence that drew every camera in the room. And then there was Noah. He was radiant, perfectly poised, and effortlessly magnetic, commanding attention without even trying.
Mirabelle looked away, an ache blooming deep in her chest.
Halfway through the night, the host's voice thundered across the stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a surprise collaboration performance!"
The crowd buzzed with excitement as the lights dimmed and the giant screen behind the stage flashed the EON logo. The room erupted in cheers.
When the stage lights flared back to life, the members of EON stood at the center—each one poised beneath the golden glow. And there, at the front, was Noah Rolston, mic in hand, the embodiment of calm confidence as the crowd erupted around them.
"Good evening," he said smoothly, his voice low and melodic. "I'd like to invite someone special to sing with me tonight."
The audience leaned forward, whispering eagerly.
And then—
"Belle, would you join me onstage?"
Her breath caught. The cameras immediately zoomed in on her stunned expression. Every face turned toward her. The entire world seemed to hold its breath.
No. He wouldn't. He couldn't.
Her mind spun into instant panic. This had to be some kind of joke, right? There was no way Noah Rolston—the Noah Rolston, global superstar and master of composed professionalism—was about to pull something this public, this embarrassing. What was he thinking? What was she supposed to do? Her palms went clammy, her stomach twisted, and her brain screamed at her to sink into the floor before the cameras found her.
And yet, even now—despite how utterly mortifying, dramatic, and over-the-top this was—she couldn't stop the small, trembling part of her that had once wished for this very moment.
Because for a fleeting second, the memory hit her like a wave. In her past life, she'd watched this exact scene unfold—but it hadn't been her name he'd called. It had been Clara's. Clara wasn't even a singer. And Mirabelle had sat there in the audience, smiling through heartbreak so sharp she could barely breathe.
She used to pray for it back then—for Noah to look at her the way he'd looked at Clara on that stage, to hear her name echo through the speakers, to be the one he reached for beneath the lights.
And now that it was happening—now that the fantasy she'd buried had somehow come alive—it didn't feel like triumph. It felt bittersweet and dizzying, like being caught between a dream come true and a public humiliation. Her heart raced in two directions at once—half terrified, half aching with a quiet, guilty sort of joy she didn't dare admit to herself.
"Come on, Belle," Noah said, his voice teasing but warm. "You won't reject me, right?"
And then—because he was shameless—he tilted his head and made the most ridiculous pair of puppy eyes imaginable. The audience immediately melted.
A wave of laughter and coos swept through the crowd, followed by cheers and chanting that grew louder by the second.
"BELLE! BELLE! BELLE!"
Her body moved before her mind could catch up. When she reached the stage, Noah was already waiting at the center, hand extended toward her. His expression was steady, confident, and maddeningly sure of himself.
She hesitated for only a second before taking his hand.
The music began—an EON ballad she knew by heart. Noah sang first, his voice rich and clear, filling the room like velvet. Then he turned to her, eyes gleaming with something almost playful, and cued her in.
And somehow—she sang. Despite the shaking in her hands, despite the ghosts clawing at her chest—her voice came out strong, sure, and beautiful. The melody rose between them, their harmonies melting seamlessly together until the world around them disappeared.
By the second verse, the other EON members joined in—Cassian, Luca, Jace, and Theo—each stepping into rhythm and harmony like a well-rehearsed storm. As she moved across the stage with them, her gaze swept over the EON members—Cassian grinning at her like a proud older brother, Theo flashing finger hearts between verses, Jace spinning his mic dramatically, and Luca throwing her a wink mid-harmony. And Noah—Noah was right there beside her, their voices blending perfectly, his smile soft and radiant under the lights.
For a moment, the rest of the world disappeared. She wasn't the Terania heiress, nor an underground massively popular indie artist, nor the subject of a thousand rumors. She was just Belle—a massive EON fan living the dream of every fan alive. Singing with them, especially with Noah, felt so impossibly surreal that her heart could barely keep up with the beat.
It was magic. The music, the lights, the rhythm—all of it thrummed through her veins. Mirabelle felt alive, giddy and unstoppable.
By the final chorus, she was laughing as she sang, her voice intertwining with Noah's, her silver gown catching the light as she turned.
The crowd went wild.
When the final note echoed through the hall, the applause was deafening—an eruption of cheers, chants, and flashing lights.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the host crowed, "give it up for EON—and Belle!"
The audience screamed. Hashtags were already trending before the echoes faded:
#NoahAndBelle, #PowerCouple, #EngagementConfirmed, #BelleTeraniaRolston
Mirabelle barely had time to breathe before Noah turned to her, smiling that boyish, heart-melting smile.
"See?" he murmured, low enough for only her to hear. "We sound perfect together."
The words shattered her daze. Reality crashed back in all at once. What had she just done?
Before she could react, Noah lifted her hand, kissed it gently, and waved to the crowd like it was part of the choreography. The audience lost its mind again.
The moment they stepped backstage, Mirabelle yanked her hand back, her face burning. "Are you insane? You can't just—"
Noah only chuckled, utterly unbothered. "You look beautiful tonight," he said softly.
Her heart stumbled. "Noah, why are you doing this?" she demanded, her voice trembling between anger and something she couldn't name. "All of it—the interviews, the duet, the public declarations. Why make everything so… loud? So public?!"
Noah blinked at her, looking surprised at the question. The smooth, easy confidence that always seemed to follow him onstage slipped away, replaced by something uncertain. He looked almost confused by the question—as if it had never occurred to him to ask himself why.
His brows drew together slowly, his gaze drifting downward in thought. For a long moment, he said nothing. The silence stretched between them, heavy and searching. Mirabelle watched him carefully, her breath caught somewhere between disbelief and something softer. It was strange seeing him like this—unguarded, stripped of his perfect composure and trying to put feelings into words that clearly didn't come easily.
Noah exhaled, his jaw tightening as though he was fighting himself, his mind scrambling for the right answer and finding none that fit neatly. His voice, when it came, was quiet. "Because…" He hesitated, eyes flicking up to meet hers again, the honesty in them raw and hesitant. "I don't know how else to reach you."
The words hit her like a chord struck too deep. Suddenly, she understood.
Noah Rolston, the golden boy of EON, had spent his entire life performing for millions. Every smile, every lyric, every perfectly timed glance had been part of the act—a world built on rhythm, precision, and control. He knew how to make people feel something, how to fill a stage with emotion so convincing that the audience believed every word. But real love—raw, unfiltered and terrifyingly personal—was different. It didn't follow choreography. It didn't have rehearsals or retakes.
And so, when faced with something genuine, he fell back on the only thing he knew. This was how he spoke: in grand gestures, in lights and melody, in spectacle. He wasn't trying to show off. He was trying to reach her the only way he could—through the language he had spent his whole life mastering. For Noah, love wasn't quiet. It was a song he couldn't stop singing, even when he didn't yet know all the words.
She looked at him, her chest tightening. "You really don't know how to be subtle, do you?"
He smiled faintly, almost shyly. "Subtlety doesn't suit me," he said. "But sincerity… maybe that's enough."
And before she could say anything, he turned and walked away to join his bandmates, leaving her breathless, trembling, and surrounded by the echoes of a song that suddenly felt like it had been written just for her.