Page 83 of Never Enough

“Excuse me,” I say, trying to sidestep a couple locked in an embrace. They don’t notice me, so I push past them.

Mustget to Daph.

“Sorry,” I grunt as my shoulder brushes against another bystander, but I’m moving too fast to see if they accept the apology.

The throng of bodies becomes a labyrinth, a maze constructed of laughter and careless chatter, and here I am, the sole frantic figure desperate to break free.

“Daphne!” I call out, but the roar of noise swallows my voice.

I’ve lost sight of her. Both of them.

I dart into dimly lit corridors, every door another chance to find her. Each empty room I burst into tightens the knot of dread in my gut. Where is she? Why did that woman follow her?

“Dammit!” I curse, slamming a fist against the closest wall. The impact does nothing to ease the frustration simmering beneath my skin.

I should’ve been closer to the stage; I should’ve been there the moment she looked afraid.

Focus,I command myself, sucking in a deep breath. I recall how Daphne once told me about her mother. Could that woman be… No, it doesn’t fit. But then, what other danger lurks in a face so similar to hers?

I tried to bring up her mother once, but Daphne shot me down. I figured it was because of unresolved trauma, so I didn’t push her further.

Huge mistake.

Another door, another cold trail.

My desperation mounts with each fruitless search, each turn that leads only to more emptiness. I can’t lose her. Not when I’ve just grasped the magnitude of what she means to me. Not when there’s so much left unsaid, so much passion restrained by the fear of unveiling my true self, the one that loves fiercely and without reservation.

Please, let her be okay.I have to find her; I have to protect her.

“Where are you, Daphne?” I choke out, my voice breaking with the strain of emotions I can no longer contain. The crowd blurs into a tableau of abstract shapes, meaningless in their revelry, cruel in their indifference. Each hallway spins.

I push on, propelled by the need to ensure her safety, to confront whatever nightmare has followed her from the stage into the shadows. And I swear, if I find her—if we make it through this night—I’ll never let her go again.

I return to the auditorium, hoping that she circled back.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I shove through the throng of bodies. She’s not here. Not. Fucking. Here.

I leave again. The gilded hallways stretch into infinity, taunting me with their opulence—so much space to hide, to hurt, to disappear.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, but it’s lost in the din. “Have you seen her?” I grasp at a waiter passing back into the auditorium, his tray of champagne trembling from my sudden intrusion. “Dark hair, about this high, harpist?”

He shakes his head, his eyes darting away, too eager to escape my frantic energy. I release him, cursing under my breath, and push onward.

“P-p-please,” I hear my voice crack. I’m not sure whom I’m begging—the indifferent faces, the universe, or myself? The façade of Alexandru Whitmore, the one everyone loves, is peeling away, revealing the naked terror beneath.

There’s a pregnant pause in my heart, a moment where everything stands still, and then I hearit. A soft, muffled sound, like a plea smothered by darkness.

“Help!”

It’s faint, so faint I think I’ve imagined it.

I halt, my breath hitching, straining my senses for any sign of her.

That’s her voice; it has to be. It’s coming from behind the heavy curtain that lines the corridor leading to the musicians’ quarters. I tear the fabric aside, exposing the hidden passage, my eyes scanning the dimly lit area, desperate for a glimpse of her.

“Where are you?” I call out, my voice a blade cutting through the roar of the audience milling about.

I lurch forward, tripping over my own feet, my fear a living thing clawing at my insides. There’s a door slightly ajar at the end of the hallway, beckoning me with a sliver of light. I bolt towards it, throw it open, and…

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