The Spotlight

Chapter 31

The final note of "The Whole of the Moon" soars from my throat and hangs suspended in the hot stage air as lights blind me from every angle. The audience erupts, but their cheers sound distant, muffled, as if I'm underwater. I force my lips into what I hope resembles a smile, though my face feels wooden, disconnected from the rest of me. Someone is clapping—the judges, probably—but I don't look toward the panel. I can't bear to meet his eyes, not now, not when the wound is still so raw, so fresh that each breath feels like inhaling broken glass.

Dermot appears beside me, his arm sliding around my shoulders with ease. He's talking, something about my performance being "absolutely stunning" and "emotional," but the words wash over me without landing. I nod mechanically when his inflection suggests a question, my gaze fixed on a random spot in the audience, a faceless silhouette holding a phone aloft.

Two days. It's been two days since I discovered my family's most private pain splashed across social media. Two days since I realized the man who held me in his arms, who kissed me like I was something precious, might have served up my tragedy for ratings.

"Riley? Are you with us?" Dermot's voice cuts through the fog, sharper now, a hint of concern beneath his professional veneer.

"Yes, sorry," I manage, the words scraping against my throat.

He squeezes my shoulder and guides me toward the judges' panel for feedback. My legs move automatically, muscle memory carrying me forward while my mind retreats, seeking shelter from what's coming.

Nicole speaks first, her words a blur of praise about vocal control. Louis follows with something about song choice and star quality. Tulisa nods along, adding comments about my stage presence improving. And then—

"Riley demonstrated exactly what this competition is about tonight," Gary's voice, steady and warm, cuts through my careful numbness like a blade. "Taking a well-known song and making it your own. The vulnerability in your performance was..."

I tune him out, focusing instead on the small scuff on my left boot, counting the seconds until I can escape. His voice, once a comfort, now scrapes against my raw nerves, each word a reminder of Wednesday night.

Wednesday. When everything shattered.

Dermot saves me from my spiraling thoughts, wrapping up the judges' comments and directing me backstage. As I walk away, I can feel Gary's eyes tracking me, burning into my back, but I don't turn. I won't give him the satisfaction.

Yesterday's rehearsal floods back as I navigate the backstage labyrinth. Gary had cornered me in the practice room, his face drawn and serious.

"Riley, please, just let me explain," he'd said, his voice low and urgent, eyes darting to check we were alone. "I need you to understand—"

"Understand what?" I'd snapped, keeping my distance, arms crossed protectively over my chest. "That my family tragedy is out there for the whole world to know now? That strangers are discussing the worst day of my life like it's the latest plot twist on EastEnders?"

"That's not what happened. If you'd just listen—"

"There's nothing to talk about." I'd gathered my things, hands shaking with rage or grief or both. "I need to prepare for tomorrow. Isn't that what matters? The show? The ratings?"

His face had crumpled then, something like real pain crossing his features, but I'd been too hurt to care. I'd left him standing there, his carefully controlled expression fracturing at the edges.

Now, as Dermot wraps up the show, instructing viewers to vote and tune in tomorrow for results, I slip away. The other contestants huddle together, a nervous, excited mass of sequins and hairspray, but I skirt around them, heading for the dressing rooms. I just need to change and get out, avoid any—