Page 58 of Damsel in Defense
As I skate back to the bench, my chest feels lighter than it has in days.The ache is gone.The storm has passed.
And she’s still mine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SABRINA
Eight Months Later
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Tori Westwyld!Tonight, she performs her latest single, ‘Even When You’re Gone,’ nominated for Best Original Song in a Television Production.”
My heart leaps as I step onto the stage.The first step is always the hardest.My guitar feels heavy in my hands.My pulse is hammering, threatening to betray me in front of this glittering crowd.But I keep moving.One step, then another.Then I reach centre stage, the spotlight cutting through the darkness like a spotlight on my very life.
It’s been over a year since I performed for an audience this size—not since just after my grandmother passed.Tonight isn’t just a performance; it’s a declaration that I’m back, that I’ve reclaimed my music, my voice, my life.
The room is filled with elegantly dressed guests, the soft murmur of conversation blending with the occasional clink of crystal glasses.Cameras flash from every angle, broadcast lights creating halos and shadows that make the space feel alive, electric.There are no familiar crowds of cheering fans—just the weight of expectations, the scrutiny of the industry, the hum of a thousand eyes on me.
This new album is all of me: stripped-down, soulful ballads instead of upbeat pop-country bangers.It’s raw.Emotional.Real.And tonight, everyone here will see that.
I step up to the microphone.My knees tremble.I smile into the dazzling lights.
“Hi,” I breathe, voice amplified but still fragile.
A polite ripple of applause echoes through the hall.
“I’m…a little nervous,” I admit with a shaky laugh.“It’s my first time performing in over a year.Thank you for being here, for letting me share this moment and this music with you.”
I take a deep breath and strap my guitar across my shoulder.
“This next one is from my new album, which drops at midnight,” I say with a small smile.“It’s for anyone who’s ever felt lost and clawed their way back.And for the people who stood by them while they figured it out.”
I glance toward the side of the stage.Mason.Even here, in this glittering sea of celebrities, he’s the calm in the storm.My chest tightens.
My fingers press the strings, and the first chords ring out clear and pure, reverberating through the massive hall.My voice follows, breathy at first, then steadying as I let the lyrics guide me.
I sing about the grief that nearly broke me, the nights I couldn’t sleep, the mornings I feared to wake.I sing about the fear and failure that haunted me until I rebuilt myself.
And then…I sing.
I sing about my grandmother.About a love and a loss so great that I’m forever changed.
I sing about Mason.About the love I never thought I deserved but will fight to keep until my last days.
Mason.The man who saw me, all of me, and stayed.The one who made me feel strong and safe at the same time.
As I come to the final verse, I let every emotion bleed out of me.
By the final chord, my cheeks are wet.A huge, liberating smile spreads across my face as the applause swells—not the familiar roar of a concert crowd, but a formal, appreciative standing ovation from an audience of peers, industry leaders, and cameras that will broadcast this moment to millions.I blink against the spotlight, voice choked but grateful.
“Thank you,” I whisper, bowing.I step offstage—right into Mason’s waiting arms.
“You were incredible,” he murmurs, holding me like I’m fragile and precious.
“I feel incredible,” I reply, voice thick.“Totally…perfectly content.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me.“And stronger than ever.”
“Fuck yeah,” I giggle, brushing my tears away.I hand my guitar to a stagehand, only to be pulled back into Mason’s chest seconds later.
