Chapter 129: Before Show Time

Ruby’s face lit up a little, a sudden spark returning to her violet eyes as she looked at me.

"Actually... those performance ideas might have to wait until the Music Awards," she said, her voice carrying a mix of cautious optimism and excitement. "I got the news earlier today—I’ve been nominated for Best New Artist!"

May let out a sharp whistle, and Chloe smiled approvingly.

"And the best part," Ruby added, a small smirk touching her lips, "Fastine isn’t even in that category. She’s already an established artist, so she’s stuck in the mainstream categories. Looking at the other nominees, I actually have a real chance of winning this."

I leaned back, swirling my glass as I looked at her directly. "If you’re nominated, what about performing at the awards ceremony itself? Stage presence at an event like that changes everything."

Ruby hesitated, her shoulders slumping just a bit as her confidence wavered again. "I... I don’t know, Ethan. With my hype fading the way it is, I don’t even know if I have the pull to lock down a main-stage performance slot. My confidence has been taking such a hit lately..."

"Listen to me," I said, my voice low, firm, and completely grounding the entire table. "You don’t worry about the hype or the doubt. If you get up on that stage, your only job is to deliver a legendary, unforgettable performance that shuts everyone up."

I reached over, resting my hand over hers with absolute certainty.

"Leave the marketing and the audience numbers to me," I continued with a smooth, quiet smirk. "I have a few tricks up my sleeve that will make sure every single camera and algorithm on the continent is locked straight onto you."

Ruby looked at me, searching my eyes for any trace of hesitation and finding none. A genuine, radiant smile broke across her face, her theatrical energy instantly rushing back. "You always make it sound so easy... but I trust you, Ethan."

While she let out a relieved laugh and started talking with Chloe and Patricia about her outfit concepts, I leaned back, my mind already calculating the play.

Over the next few days, the initial excitement settled into a steady, intense grind. Chloe was locked into her virtual law school lectures from the suite balcony, Patricia was pulling double shifts fine-tuning LUMEN’s dinner menus, and May was off running coastal conditioning routes.

Most of my attention, however, stayed locked on Ruby.

She was relentless. Morning and night, the continuous sound of piano chords and vocal runs echoed from the private lounge suite. She hardly slept, driven by a raw, desperate need to prove she belonged on that award stage.

late one afternoon, I stepped softly into the practice room.

Ruby was standing near the grand piano, sheet music scattered across the floor, her knuckles white as she gripped the mic stand. Her voice filled the room—rich, velvety, and undeniably talented—but as she hit the high bridge, her shoulders tensed violently. She was forcing the pitch, straining her throat to hit a note that felt jagged instead of effortless.

I didn’t say a word. I walked up quietly behind her, resting my hands firmly on her tense shoulders.

Ruby startled slightly, her voice cutting off, but relaxed the second she felt my touch.

"Breathe," I murmured near her ear, my hands slowly working the tight knots along her neck and shoulders, applying a steady, grounding pressure. "You’re fighting your own voice, Ruby."

"I have to hit this run, Ethan," she whispered, her breathing slightly uneven, her eyes fixed on the lyrics. "If I don’t nail this exact pitch, Fastine’s production team will tear the performance apart—"

"You don’t have to force anything," I said softly, my voice smooth and absolute as my thumbs traced down her collarbone, loosening the lingering tension. "And you don’t have to prove a damn thing to Fastine or anyone else. Your voice is already perfect. Just relax into it. Sing it for yourself, not for the judges."

Ruby closed her eyes, taking a slow, deep breath, letting her head lean back against my chest as my hands worked over her shoulders. The frantic, obsessive edge in her posture completely melted away.

"Again," I whispered into her hair. "Softly this time."

She opened her mouth, her voice rising from her chest—unforced, natural, and velvet-smooth. Without the tension holding her back, she glided effortlessly right into the high pitch she’d been fighting all week. The note resonated through the room, crystal clear and brimming with genuine emotion.

The translucent System interface flickered briefly at the edge of my sight, acknowledging the breakthrough in her resonance.

Ruby stopped, her eyes snapping open in absolute wonder as she turned around in my arms, looking up at me with a breathless smile.

"I... I hit it," she whispered, a radiant glow returning to her eyes. "Ethan, I actually hit it!"

"When you climb onto that stage," I said softly, my hands remaining resting gently on her waist, "it’s your sound. You own that room. You sing it the way you want to sing it, on your terms. Got it?"

Ruby looked up at me, her violet eyes shining with a fresh wave of quiet confidence, every bit of doubt completely wiped away. She nodded slowly, taking a deep, steadying breath.

"Got it," she whispered, a genuine, radiant smile spreading across her face as she wrapped her arms around my neck and leaned in close. "Thank you, Ethan... seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without you."

She held onto me tightly for a long moment, completely grounded by the trust between us. I held her back, feeling the shift in her energy. She wasn’t just practicing anymore—she was ready.

Now, with her voice locked in and her confidence restored, it was time for me to pull the strings behind the scenes and set the trap for Quin Records.

---

The red carpet outside the arena was a absolute circus—flashing cameras, screaming crowds, and media crews practically climbing over the barricades.

I had intentionally let Ruby sleep on the tour bus all the way to the venue. She had been so anxious over the past few days that she barely had two consecutive hours of rest, and the peaceful catnap had worked wonders. As she stepped off the bus, the dark circles under her eyes were gone, her skin was glowing, and the raw, nervous exhaustion had been replaced by a quiet, radiant poise.

Flanked by a tight perimeter of our private security team, I walked side by side with Ruby through the back entrance, bypassing the chaotic noise of the main carpet to get her straight to her holding room.

"We cut that a little close, boss," the head bodyguard murmured into his earpiece as we pushed through the heavy security doors backstage.

"She needed the rest," I replied smoothly, not breaking stride.

Inside the green room, her glam squad immediately swarmed into action—adjusting her custom gown, touching up her hair, and setting up her in-ear monitors.

Ruby sat in front of the vanity mirror, looking at her reflection with a steady, confident composure that wasn’t there forty-eight hours ago. She caught my eye through the glass, offering me a faint, wicked smirk.

"You look like a star," I said, leaning against the doorframe, checking my watch as the production cues started echoing down the hallway.

"I feel like one," she whispered back, taking a deep, even breath. "The stress... it’s completely gone, Ethan. I’m ready."

Right on cue, a floor manager rushed into the dressing room, clipboard in hand. "Ruby Vane! Five minutes to stage call! Best New Artist category up right after the commercial break!"

I walked over, resting a hand briefly on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Go own that stage. I’ll be right at the sound booth."