Elona’s POV
The night has come for Tristan’s performance. I was excited to see him on stage. The city lights blurred through the window as Spooky and I sat quietly in the cab. My fingers clutched the thin strap of my evening clutch, and I smoothed the silk of the black dress Madame Delance had given to me. It hugged my figure with elegance, sophisticated and simple. I didn’t know why she actually gave it to me, but when I looked in the mirror, I finally understood. It wasn’t just a dress. It was a statement.
Tristan had already left to prepare at the auditorium. He told me to come, but he hadn’t said much else. I think he was nervous but wouldn’t tell me. Still, I felt like something bigger was waiting tonight, something more than just a show.
As we stepped out of the cab, the air felt cooler than usual. My heels clicked softly against the ancient cobblestones leading toward the auditorium, a breathtaking building that stood tall against the velvet sky, illuminated softly by vintage lanterns. The grandeur of it made my breath catch, the arched doors, the statues carved into stone, and the promise of stories whispered through the walls of the historic venue.
Inside, the auditorium glowed in dim lighting, the seats were velvet, and the pillars were marble. The ceiling stretched high with paintings of angels and stars, almost like something out of a Baroque dream. And then, there it was... the stage. At its center sat a single grand piano, sleek and black, gleaming under the stage lights. Around it, faint candle-like lights flickered, some were real, some were artificial, but together, they gave it a surreal aura, like it belonged to another world entirely.
“This place is unreal,” I whispered, my voice catching in my throat.
Spooky nodded beside me as we walked toward our seats. “Tristan wanted this kind of idea himself. He said it reminded him of something... someone.” He looked over at me with a smirk. My heart squeezed a little. I didn’t ask who. I already knew. I smiled at what he said.
Spooky led me to a row near the middle. The lights were low enough to feel private, but close enough to see everything. I tucked the hem of my dress beneath my legs and exhaled slowly. “You look like you belong here, on stage... I mean,” he said, nudging me with his shoulder. “All this glitz and grandeur.”
“Yeah, right,” I scoffed lightly. “Maybe if the glitz came without the jealous girls.”
He chuckled but turned to look at me more seriously. “Are you holding up okay?” he asked with a concerned look in his eyes.
I hesitated before answering. “I’m trying. Madame Delance is... intense, but she sees something in me. That’s rare, and I think she is also trying to protect me in a way,” I shrugged.
“Do you see anything in you?” he asked.
“Yes, and I won’t give up.” I smiled at him.
We sat in silence for a few more moments, and then Spooky shifted slightly, sucking in a deep breath. “I’m moving out of the apartment next week.”
I turned to him. “Already?”
He nodded. “Yeah. With everything going on with Cris and stuff. I can’t be there. One of my colleagues was looking for an apartment mate to share the rent, so I’ll be staying over with him until I get my own apartment with the salary I get from my internship.”
My shoulders slumped. “I understand. If you need us, please don’t hesitate to contact us,” I said. My heart was aching, but I think that Spooky needs to grow with his decision,s too, and I have to let him.
“I do need your help with moving, or Tristan can help me.”
I smiled. “I’m sure he won’t mind to help.”
The lights dimmed further,r and the low murmur of the crowd faded to stillness. Musicians began to filter onto the stage, each taking their place with an instrument in hand. The conductor walked out with grace and poise, and then... My heart stopped.
Tristan stepped onto the stage.
He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, his jaw clean-shaven, his eyes a storm of emotion even from where I sat. There was something regal in the way he walked. Something haunted. He didn’t look at the audience... He didn’t need to, he was commanding the room just by existing in it.
My fingers gripped the fabric of my dress as he walked to the piano. He sat down slowly. The stage lights softened around him, and all at once, the candles around the piano ignited, hundreds of them glowing like fireflies. Gasps echoed through the room. It was magic. He placed his fingers on the keys, and then the music began like a whisper. A fragile, trembling whisper. Soft notes that crept through the silence like tears down a cheek. Each key he pressed held a story, a memory, and a scar. The orchestra slowly joined, subtle at first, just a breath of strings beneath the melody.
And then...
The screen behind him lit up. A close-up of Tristan’s face filled the space above the stage. His brows were furrowed, his lips pressed tightly. His eyes...those grief-stricken eyes, were filled with tears that refused to fall. I couldn’t breathe.
This wasn’t a performance. It was a confession.
Every note ripped something from inside of him, and every time he touched a key, it felt like he was playing a piece of my own heart. He wasn’t just performing. He was letting himself bleed in front of hundreds of people, and all of them were silent, held in place by his sorrow.
Spooky leaned toward me. “I’ve never seen him like this...so raw.”
“I know,” I said softly.
Tristan had always been composed, controlling his raw emotions from everyone else, but now, he was stripped bare. Nothing but man, memory, and music. He lifted his face slightly, eyes closed, lips parting as the crescendo of the piece swelled with the full force of the orchestra. The candles shimmered, and for a moment, I thought I saw the ghost of Estelle standing behind him, because this wasn’t just a tribute to her, it was a lullaby for the ones he had lost.
Tears spilled freely down my cheeks. I didn’t wipe them away, I let them fall silently, like prayers into the dark. When the final note echoed and faded into silence, Tristan remained still. His hands were frozen on the keys. The auditorium was breathless, no one clapped, and no one moved until he stood up and gave a bow, slow and solemn.
The entire room rose with him, and the applause erupted. It was thunderous, unstoppable, and endless. I rose too, even though my knees felt weak, and I clapped with everything I had in me, because that man on stage? That was my Tristan, and he just bared his soul to the world.