Page 14 of Poison's Promise

His voice joins in, husky and deep, the same voice that used to whisper sweet nothings in my ear late at night.

The same voice that had called my name so many times, in so many different ways.

My heart lurched when he started singing, a sickening mixture of nostalgia and pain twisting within me.

Each note tore at my heartstrings, bringing back memories I’ve tried so hard to suppress.

My throat tightens with emotion but I push it away. I’m not going to let him know he’s getting to me.

Asher broke my fucking heart. He ripped it straight out of my chest and didn’t even have the balls to explain anything to me.

He’s a fucking joke.

CHAPTER THREE

Asher

The roar of the crowd pulses through my veins as I strum the last chord on my guitar.

Sydney’s voice rings out, hitting the final note perfectly.

The stage lights dim, and for a moment, the world is nothing but darkness and the cheers of thousands.

“Thank you, Three Forks!” Sydney yells into the mic, her voice echoing around the arena. “You’ve been amazing!”

We exchange a quick, satisfied glance before heading offstage.

My heart is still racing from the adrenaline, and I can see it mirrored in Sydney’s eyes.

She gives me a high-five, her smile wide and genuine. “That was electric,” she says breathlessly, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.

“Yeah, it was,” I reply, nodding. “You killed it out there. It’s hard to believe you’re so new at this. You look like you’ve been doing this your whole damn life.”

“Now you’re just floatin’ my ego,” she says, her tone sincere. “Bellamy mentioned she wants us to collaborate on a couple songs, and you’ll be coming on this leg of the tour with me. Is that true?”

“Yeah, and I’m looking forward to it,” I say, meaning every word.

We make our way backstage, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. Crew members bustle around us, packing up equipment and preparing for the next leg of the tour.

“Hey, I’m gonna grab a drink,” Sydney says, pointing toward the green room. “You want anything?”

“Nah, I’m good,” I reply, waving her off. “Catch you later.”

“Later,” she says, giving me a thumbs-up before disappearing into the throng of people.

I take a deep breath, savoring the post-show high. There’s nothing quite like it. But as the excitement starts to ebb, something else settles in—an unsettling mix of nostalgia and bitterness.

I know why. It’s all because of one person—Polly.

Shoving my hands into my pockets, I scan the bustling backstage area.

That’s when I see her again.

Standing by herself, looking around as if she’s searching for someone.

My chest tightens, and before I know it, my feet are moving toward her.

“Polly?” I call out, my voice barely audible over the buzz of activity.

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