Page 75 of Rockstar's Accidental Marriage

“The wiring is fried,” the lead technician explains, his voice laced with frustration. “We’ve been trying to reboot, but nothing’s working.”

“Is there a manual override?” I ask, stepping closer.

The tech hesitates. “There is, but it’s risky. The system’s old, and we can’t guarantee it’ll work without causing another issue.”

I think quickly, assessing the situation. “What if we skip the automated sequences and fire the cues manually? Could we pull it off?”

The lead tech looks doubtful. “It’s possible, but it would require someone with steady hands and precise timing.”

“I’ll do it,” I say without hesitation.

The room falls silent, everyone staring at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“Emily, you’ve never worked with pyrotechnics before,” the tech protests.

“I’ve read the safety protocols and know the song cues,” I counter. “Unless you have a better solution, this is our best shot.”

The tech glances at the venue manager, who shrugs dismissively. “Your show, your call,” he says, clearly expecting me to fail.

Ignoring him, I step up to the panel and take a deep breath. The instructions are straightforward but require precision. As the show begins, I keep my eyes glued to the monitors, my fingers hovering over the controls.

The first few cues fire perfectly, sending bursts of flame and sparks into the air at exactly the right moments. My confidence grows with each successful execution, but I don’t let myself relax. One mistake could derail the entire performance.

When the final song reaches its crescendo, I hit the last sequence. The stage erupts in a dazzling display of fireworks, illuminating the band as the crowd roars with approval.

I exhale shakily, my hands trembling as I step back from the panel. The lead tech looks at me, his expression a mix of disbelief and admiration.

“Nice work,” he says grudgingly.

“Thanks,” I reply, my voice steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through me.

Sam finds me near the control room as the band exits the stage. His eyes search mine, his concern evident.

“What happened?” he asks.

“The pyrotechnics system failed,” I tell him, keeping my voice low. “We had to run it manually.”

His jaw tightens, but there’s a flicker of pride in his eyes. “You handled it?”

“Yes.” I give a furtive glance around. “But it shouldn’t have happened.”

Frowning, Sam agrees. “I think you’re right. This is more than a coincidence.” Suddenly, his frown turns into a faint smile. “You ran those manually? Damn, Em, you never cease to amaze me, you know that?”

I shrug, but his words warm me in a way I can’t explain.

Later, the venue manager approaches me as the crew packs up and the venue empties. His expression is less dismissive now, though his tone remains gruff.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” he says reluctantly, “but you pulled it off.”

“Thank you,” I reply coolly.

As he walks away, Sam steps closer, his voice low. “What do you think made him doubt your competence?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, frowning. “But it feels like someone’s been spreading rumors about me.”

“Who?” His expression darkens. “Nobody messes with you, Emily—not on my watch,” he promises as he pulls me into his arms.

Pressed against Sam's chest, his arms strong and secure around me, I breathe in his familiar scent. Even with all the uncertainty swirling around us, this feels right—like coming home. His promise to protect me sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with fear.

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