Page 49 of Witch's Wolf

My stomach knots. No. Absolutely not. The letter doesn’t stop. Helena knows me too well, damn her.

“Just… be there. Just in case.”

Just in case. She’s not asking me to fix anything, not asking me to get back together with Erica.

As if I can set aside the storm raging inside and go play bodyguard to the woman who tore me open and walked away. My jaw clenches as I read the final piece.

“If you won’t do this for her, do it for me. I’ve seen respect and love in your eyes for me. It’s time for you to prove that love and respect.”

I close my eyes, gripping the paper so hard my knuckles ache. Damn her. Damn her for knowing exactly how to back me into a corner. I don’t owe Erica a damn thing. But Helena? That’s a different story.

“Damn it…” I curse and hurl the paper away, watching it flutter to the floor. Like it didn't drop a boulder onto my chest, making it hard to breathe.

Helena. Always pushing, always demanding. She’s put me in a position I don’t want to be in, asking me to do something I can’t even let myself think about, let alone live through again. And as usual, she doesn’t give me a damn reason. Expects me to trust her, to walk through fire so she can see if her instincts are right.

And that’s the thing. She’s not been wrong, has she? That’s the part that won’t let go. The part that digs deep. And I do respect her. She’s been there for me. For us.

When everything went to hell and my family needed someone who wasn’t afraid to stand beside us, she did. She didn’t have to step up but she didn’t hesitate. Now she’s asking me for this. Not to forgive. Not to forget. To be there. Just in case.

I clench my jaw so hard it aches. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to see Erica on that stage, don’t want to hear her voice that still lingers in my head like a ghost. Don’t want to feel that pull that never really went away. But Helena never asks for much. All I have to do is show up. Watch from the shadows, that’s all she’s asking.

Fine, I’ll go. I’ll swallow it all down and do what she asked, but I won’t like it.

27

ERICA

“Please, welcome Ms. Erica Connors!”

The announcer’s voice used to send nerves crawling under my skin and twist my stomach into knots. Tonight, it fuels me. Confidence surges through my soul, electrifying every inch of me. I’m ready to let go, to pound the keys, and pour my heart into every note.

Maybe it’s this fresh start, the promise of something bigger. Maybe it’s Alfred Jenkins, sitting in the audience like a silent promise, a door swinging open to a future I’ve only dreamed about until now. Whatever the reason, the usual tension isn’t there.

I lift my gaze as the spotlight warms my skin, scanning the crowd before bowing. I spot Jenkins, lanky and sharp-eyed, right where he promised he’d be. A dozen feet away, watching. Evaluating.

I scan the rest of the room until… a few tables back, beer bottle in hand, shoulders tense beneath a tight fitting gray shirt, Sam. My pulse stumbles. I never expected to see him inMichelle’sagain.After our last encounter I thought he’d never set foot here, or near me, again. Yet, there he is.

His eyes are dark, unreadable, but locked on me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. Sam isn’t one to lurk in shadows. He’s a blunt force of nature, refusing to be ignored. Why is he here? Why tonight? Why stay in the back? Does he miss me? Maybe he misses the music?

The questions linger, coiling around my thoughts as I sit at the piano and let my fingers find their rhythm. Song after song, I lose myself in the music, pouring every ounce of feeling into each note, every lyric.

When the final chords fade into the air, my knuckles ache, my throat is raw, and my legs scream for movement. But my heart? My heart is still singing, still soaring.

I rise, breathless, as the crowd erupts into a standing ovation. Their energy crashes over, lifting and filling me. A grin stretches across my face, unstoppable. And then, a voice in my head whispers?—

Imagine this on a grander scale. Madison Square Garden. The Rose Bowl, maybe?

For the first time, it doesn’t feel impossible.

Oh my God…

Those were my childhood dreams. So big they felt more like fairytales. All the years I spent gripping a hairbrush like a microphone, pretending I was singing to tens of thousands, feeling the rush of an imaginary crowd. Tonight, it doesn’t feel at all imaginary.

A voice in my head warns,You’re getting ahead of yourself.Maybe I am. I’ve skipped over one crucial step. The part where one of my songs blows the world away, but the belief sits deep in my bones, unshakable. I feel it. Success isn’t a distant mirage anymore. It’s close. So close I can taste it.

I wave ‘goodnight’, my heart still soaring as I step away from the piano, basking in the afterglow of the captivated audience. My heels click against the worn floorboards as I head toward the hallway outside my dressing room, my thoughts filled with the vision of packed stadiums.

Someone shoves my shoulder, sharp and painful, making me stumble. My breath catches as an enormous figure barrels past me. Heat prickles up my spine, burning the rising fear. I don’t need to see his face. I know that build. That stride. That presence.

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