ZOE'S POV
My hands were shaking as I stood backstage, and I couldn't tell if it was from excitement or pure terror. My first recital. The first time I'd be performing solo in front of the entire music faculty and half the student body.
"Breathe, Zoe," I whispered to myself, smoothing down my black dress for the hundredth time. "You've got this."
But I didn't feel like I had it. I felt like I was about to throw up.
I looked around the backstage area, hoping to catch a glimpse of Professor Mercer. He'd been working with me on this piece for weeks, pushing me harder than any teacher ever had. I needed to see his face before I went on stage, needed some kind of reassurance that I wasn't about to make a complete fool of myself.
But he was nowhere to be found.
Other students were warming up around me, running through scales and practicing difficult passages. The sound of so many instruments at once should have been comforting, but it just made my anxiety worse.
"Maybe he's in his office," I muttered, checking my watch. I had twenty minutes before I was supposed to perform. That was enough time to find him and maybe get some last-minute advice.
I hurried down the hallway toward the faculty offices, my heels clicking against the linoleum. The building felt different at night, quieter and more intimidating. Most of the offices were dark, but I could see a light under Professor Mercer's door.
I was about to knock when someone grabbed my hand.
"Zoe!" Marcus's voice made me jump. "There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you."
"Uncle Marcus," I said, trying to catch my breath. "You scared me to death."
He pulled me away from Professor Mercer's door and down the hallway, his grip firm on my wrist. "We need to talk before your performance."
"I was just trying to find Professor Mercer—"
"Forget about him. I want to go over your piece one more time."
Marcus dragged me into an empty classroom and closed the door behind us. Under the fluorescent lights, his face looked tense and serious.
"I've been thinking about your repertoire choice," he said. "And I think you should change it."
"Change it? Marcus, I go on in fifteen minutes. I can't change my piece now."
"You can play the Chopin nocturne instead. The one I taught you when you were sixteen. It's safer, more traditional. The faculty will respond better to it."
I stared at him. "Are you insane? I haven't played that piece in years. And it's not even what I prepared."
"It's what you should have prepared. This experimental jazz-classical fusion thing you've been working on with him is too risky."
"Him?" I felt anger starting to bubble up in my chest. "You mean my professor? The one who's actually been helping me develop my own voice?"
"Your own voice doesn't matter if it doesn't get you opportunities, Zoe. I've lined up some important people in the audience tonight. Donors, board members, people who could help your career."
"I don't want their help if it means compromising my music."
Marcus's face went red. "Compromising? I've spent years building connections for you, creating opportunities—"
"That I never asked for!"
"You don't know what you're asking for. You're twenty-two years old, Zoe. You don't understand how this industry works."
"I understand that you're trying to control every aspect of my musical life."
"I'm trying to protect your future."
"No, you're trying to protect your reputation. You want me to play it safe so you don't look bad if I fail."
The words hung in the air between us. Marcus looked like I'd slapped him.
"How can you say that to me? After everything I've done for you?"
"Everything you've done has come with strings attached. This fellowship you're pushing me toward—I know it comes with conditions. I know they want me to focus on classical repertoire exclusively."
"It's a prestigious opportunity—"
"It's a cage." I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling stronger than I had in weeks. "I'm not playing the Chopin tonight. I'm playing my own composition. The one Professor Mercer and I have been working on."
"Zoe, please. Be reasonable—"
"I am being reasonable. For the first time in years, I'm making my own decisions about my music."
"That man is poisoning your mind against me, right?"
"Professor Mercer? He barely talks about anything except music theory. This has nothing to do with him."
"Everything has to do with him," Marcus said, his voice getting louder. "Ever since you started working with him, you've been different. You've been more defiant and stubborn."
I almost laughed at that. I have always been this way with him. We were always at each other’s throat every single time.
Before I could respond, a voice interrupted from the doorway.
"Washington?"
We both turned to see Professor Mercer standing in the doorway. I blinked hard, sure I was seeing things.
He looked completely different tonight. Instead of his usual black suit and tie, he was wearing jeans and a simple white t-shirt. The casual clothes made him look younger, less intimidating. And if I was being completely honest with myself, absolutely gorgeous.
I had to remind myself that he was my professor. A man at least fifteen years older than me. Not someone I should be having ridiculous thoughts about. But standing there in the fluorescent light, looking relaxed and approachable for the first time since I'd met him, he was making it very hard to remember why those thoughts were inappropriate.
Professor Mercer's eyes moved from me to Marcus, then back to me. His expression was unreadable, but I could see the tension in his shoulders.
"Is everything alright here?" he asked.
"We were just discussing—" Marcus started.
"We were arguing," I said, cutting him off. "About what I should play tonight."
Professor Mercer took two long strides into the room and grabbed my hand. The contact sent electricity shooting up my arm, and I had to fight not to gasp.
"Washington has a recital to think about," he said, his voice calm but firm. "You two can continue your conversation later."
Before either Marcus or I could respond, he was pulling me toward the door. I looked back to see Marcus standing there with his jaw hanging open, looking completely shocked.
Professor Mercer's hand was warm and strong around mine, and I couldn't ignore the way my heart was racing as he led me down the hallway.