Page 132 of One Last Encore

Ingrid gave a small nod, swallowing hard against the guilt coiled tight in her gut. Maybe it wasn’t her fault but it didn’t matter. The fall would follow her. The whispers. The doubt. The mark against her name.

As Troye helped her to her feet, the murmurs from the cast and crew swelled around her: concerned, questioning, too loud and too close. And somewhere in the crowd, she’d seen Anna. Watching. Smiling, maybe. Ingrid hadn’t dared meet her eyes. She couldn’t. Not with blood on her face and shame clinging to her like sweat.

Every step toward the wings felt like a marathon. Her legs shook beneath her, but she kept her chin high, determined not to let them see the cracks spidering through her.

Thunderous applause echoed from beyond the curtain, but it sounded distant, hollow. A cruel reminder of the triumph thisnight was supposed to be. Still, she had to go back out. Had to bow. If she didn’t, everyone would know.

She adjusted her feathered headpiece with trembling fingers, pain stabbing through her temple in rhythmic pulses. The wound throbbed with each movement, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through.

The cast gathered center stage. Ingrid stood at the edge, gripping a set piece for balance as her vision swam. Troye caught her eye, steady and silent. His nod was small, but it held her together.

With a deep breath, she stepped onto the stage, the audience's cheers swelling in volume. She forced a smile, her face stiff with exhaustion, and reached for Troye’s hand. Together, they bowed. The lights were blinding, the applause deafening.

When the curtain finally fell, Troye gently guided her offstage. The moment they pushed through the exit doors, the chill of the December night hit her full force. Goosebumps rose instantly along her bare arms. The adrenaline that had been holding her together began to drain, leaving her cold and unsteady.

"Ingrid!"

Eden’s voice cut through the low hum of the gathering crowd. She appeared like a flash, rushing forward with worry etched deep into her face. Ingrid blinked, trying to focus through the haze and the pounding in her skull.

Troye explained in hushed tones while Eden took Ingrid’s hand.

"You’re going to the hospital," Eden said firmly.

"No ambulance," Ingrid muttered, louder than she meant to. The thought of flashing lights and a scene outside the theater twisted her stomach.

"Okay. Cab, then. Come on."

Eden slipped her arm around Ingrid’s waist, and Troye supported her other side. Together, they moved toward the curb.

Eden raised a hand, and a yellow cab pulled up almost instantly. They eased Ingrid into the back seat. The moment her body hit the worn leather, she sagged with relief, the exhaustion catching up to her all at once.

"I’ve got her," Eden told Troye as she climbed in beside her. "I’ll keep you updated."

Troye hesitated, his brow furrowed. Then he leaned down, bracing one hand against the open door.

"You were incredible," Troye said softly. "Absolutely stunning. Don’t let this take away from that."

Ingrid managed a weak smile, squeezing his hand once before the door closed.

Eden rattled off the hospital’s address, slipping the driver a twenty with a firm, "Step on it."

As the cab eased into the slow crawl of evening traffic, Ingrid let her head fall against the cool window. Every part of her body protested. Her joints throbbed, her muscles trembled, but it was the hollow ache in her chest that hurt the most.

Outside, the city passed in fractured pieces, a blur of headlights, flickering neon, and faceless pedestrians. The lights smeared across the glass like a painting ruined by rain. And then, all at once, it hit her. The adrenaline was gone, stripped away by the silence. What remained was raw and exposed.

Her chest tightened. She tried to hold it in, to breathe through it. But the tears came anyway, hot and fast. They slid down her cheeks before she could stop them, each one stinging more than the last.

Eden noticed immediately. Her expression softened as she reached over, lacing her fingers with Ingrid’s and giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Where is he?" Ingrid whispered. Her voice trembled, thin and fragile.

"I don’t know," she said gently, though her jaw tensed around the words. "I’m so sorry."

She gave Ingrid’s hand another reassuring squeeze but the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes said everything. She didn’t know how to fix this.

Ingrid’s breath caught. A quiet sob slipped from her lips, so small it barely made a sound, but it shook her all the same. The weight of the night settled over her like wet cement. The fall. The searing pain. The applause that felt hollow. The empty space in the audience where he should have been.

Her thoughts spiraled faster. One moment. One mistake. And suddenly everything she had worked for, everything she had believed in, felt like it was slipping out of reach. Her dream had cracked open, and she didn’t know how to piece it back together.

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