Page 58 of For All My Effort

She smiled, dimples forming on her cheeks. “Thank you. It is rare that we get such a standing ovation for our performance. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

My mate was behind me, my back to his front, and I leaned against him. He was holding me while I tried my best to keep all my questions to myself because I had so many, and I didn’t want to annoy her, but I also didn’t know what else to say.

Glancing down at a dainty watch hanging from a lightbulb around the mirror, Olivia Grace said, “I have some time before my interviews. Would you like to talk some more?”

“I have so many questions,” I admitted.

Olivia Grace gestured to the couch for Seb and me to sit down. I was barely on the edge of my seat before I demanded, “When did you start playing?” She was patient with me, explaining everything I wanted to know about who created the pieces they played, why she picked the cello, how she met her orchestra mates.

I wasn’t sure how long we actually talked, but eventually, a knock came on her door before someone opened it, not even waiting for a response. I recognized the male as another member of the group as he leaned his head in to say something. His words caught in his throat as he stared at us on the couch.

“It is time?” Olivia Grace asked.

The male agreed with an accent similar to Olivia Grace’s.

Seb and I stood, and I thanked Olivia Grace again for meeting with us. We all walked back down the hallway together, the other members of the group apparently at the interview already. Now my stomach was officially grumbling for dinner. I wanted something big and filling.

Back where the performers had played, the interview was being held. A bunch of people were standing around, cameras at the ready, and little recording devices in their hands.

Murmurs started at our appearance, and I wondered if Olivia Grace was going to get in trouble for being late. I had no idea if we went past the time or not.

As we headed toward the elevator, I heard someone yell out my name.

It didn’t occur to me that it was one of the reporters. I didn’t question whether or not the voice was male or female, with or without an accent, or even if I’d given Olivia Grace my name at all.

I turned around, looking for whoever called my name.

Flashes started, and immediately people started moving closer to me, talking over one another as they demanded answers to questions that I wanted to answer but no one would stop talking long enough to let me. Seb was pulling me toward the elevator, and I stumbled over my own feet, still facing the reporters as I walked backward.

My bravado was failing at all the lights, the voices, the nearness of strangers. Why were they yelling? The questions were becoming meaner, more demanding. They weren’t asking me questions—they were trying to set me up. I knew that much, and my heart was breaking with each vulgar insistence.

My mates were right. They didn’t want my answer, they didn’t want to hear my side. They wanted confirmation for what they already believed was true.

That I was attacked by betas.

That I supported representative Adam’s claims that omegas needed to be more heavily protected.

That I was hiding away because I was scared to leave the house after what happened.

That the attack almost killed me.

I was shaking my head—it was all I could do to argue. Every time I opened my mouth to say something, no one heard, or maybe nothing was coming out, I didn’t know.

Seb pulled me back into the elevator, the reporters refusing to stop following. I was pushed behind my mate, and I grabbed onto the back of his coat, terrified that he’d leave me. Terrified that he’d step away from me and I would be swarmed again.

I never would have thought this would be scary. They were just people, just cameras. I wasn’t sure why I was feeling overwhelmed.

This was exactly what I’d wanted, the opportunity to tell my story.

Yet it was also exactly like my mates had expected.

I watched as the alphas from the orchestra helped push the reporters back. They weren’t acting like people then. Like I was a person. Their desperation for the story was more than curiosity and interest. They were dangerous. Yet, reporters.

My mind was in a panic, tears were blurring my vision until finally, the doors had enough space to close. Immediately my mate turned to me, pulling me in so he was holding me tight. His scent was all wrong, like an expired guava, telling me he was equally as distressed about what happened as I was.

I wanted to say something, to ask what the hell had just happened, only I didn’t want to break the silent seal around us. Everything felt like too much. I was overwhelmed, and honestly, hurt.

It felt like I’d been betrayed by the people I’d thought would help me. They were this last chance I was holding onto in my mind, playing out scenarios of what could be, and all of those dreams just broke.