Chapter 3 Chapter Three: The Audition.

Chapter Three: The Audition.

Qiara’s POV:

After leaving the house, I headed straight for the post office.

Each month, my father gave me an allowance of five hundred dollars—barely ten percent of what he gave my sister. She had unlimited access to their credit cards, not to mention a hundred‑thousand‑dollar monthly clothing budget. I received five hundred for everything.

And yet, I made it work.

I learned how to live on bargains—how to shop, eat, and survive on less. In a city like Novell, a place built for high society and indulgence, that kind of restraint was almost a skill of its own. Even a single piece of fruit could cost as much as a fast‑food meal.

Between prize money, small performances, and years of careful budgeting, I’d managed to save steadily. Eight hundred dollars a month, every month, for six years. My current balance sat just under fifty‑eight thousand. It wasn’t much by Clayborne standards, but it was mine.

The problem was my grandparents.

Securing them a livable retirement community had required begging my father—humiliation disguised as gratitude. It was the one thing he’d agreed to do. At the time, I thought it was because he genuinely cared about the people who had raised me. Later, I understood the truth.

It was leverage.

If I was going to disobey him, I needed another way to pay for their care.

After opening the P.O. box, I flagged down a cab and headed for the convention center. My unease grew with every passing block. When I arrived, it was worse than I’d feared.

The line wrapped around the building, thousands of hopefuls packed shoulder to shoulder, all waiting for a chance to be seen. I’d arrived just as they were closing the lines.

Barely made it!

Today was the final day. Most of the finalists had already received their letters.

Only two spots remained.

I intended to claim one of them.

It was ten minutes to five when the contestant before me finally finished. She stormed out of the audition room in tears, her face flushed crimson with humiliation.

Just as I stepped forward, the doors began to close.

“Wait!”

I blurted.

“I haven’t auditioned yet!”

The security guard hesitated, glancing at me before turning toward the panel of judges.

“She says she hasn’t gone yet,”

he said uncertainly.

“Do you want me to let her in?”

A pause followed—heavy, deliberate.

Then one of the judges spoke.

Cynthia Garland.

One of Novell’s most affluent vocal coaches. One of the very few people my father couldn’t buy. A fact that had cost her teaching position at StarCrest a year before I’d arrived—after she’d told Angelina her voice sounded like a screaming banshee.

Angelina still cried about it to this day.

“I doubt she’ll be any more inspiring than the bag of hopeless contestants who wasted my afternoon,”

Cynthia said coolly.

“Send her away.”

My breath caught.

That was it? Over before I’d even had the chance to open my mouth?

Was this why I’d been reborn—to fail again?

No.

I refused.

I lunged forward before the guard could react, slipping through the narrowing gap as the doors swung shut behind me.

“Excuse me—hello,”

I said quickly, forcing my voice steady.

“I know you must all be exhausted, and I promise I’ll be quick. But I’ve been waiting out there for hours.”

Another judge leaned forward. Brian Taylor.

“Young lady,”

he began, already weary,

“we’ve already made our decisions—”

“Well then that’s a shame,”

I shot back.

“If you weren’t going to honor your own process—if you weren’t going to hear every person who made it through, who waited—then what was the point of holding auditions at all?”

Silence flooded the room.

The judges exchanged looks. Cynthia said nothing, her expression unreadable, as the third judge—Diana Moore—cleared her throat.

“Regardless, we—”

“What’s your name?”

The voice came from behind us.

Low. Calm. Commanding.

I turned slowly.

A man sat alone in the audience seats, relaxed as though he owned the room.

Julius Pierre.

The name alone carried weight. One of the most powerful figures in the entire region. His family’s corporation, PST, controlled nearly every digital pulse on the continent—computers, phones, government systems. If it ran on code, chances were PST had built it.

He was the youngest of four sons born to Jamerson and Charlese Pierre; yet widely regarded as the most dangerous of them all. Brilliant. Ruthless. Calculated. Under his influence, the family’s revenue had surged by nearly thirty percent, and despite his age, his brothers often deferred to him.

They called him a savage beast.

And music, strangely enough, was the only thing that soothed him.

His mother had once been a celebrated pianist before an accident left her with permanent nerve damage in her right hand. Julius had inherited her love for the art—though rumor had it he harbored a particular disdain for the Imperial Clayborne Opera House.

And more importantly—

He was the sole funder of this year’s competition.

My stomach dropped.

Shit.

My entire body locked in place, the words lodging painfully in my throat. He studied me for a beat, sharp and unyielding, before speaking again.

“I asked you for your name.”

Control threatened to slip through my fingers, but I clenched onto it with everything I had. I lifted my chin, forcing steadiness into my spine.

“Qiara,”

I said. Then, firmer,

“Qiara Stone.”

Julius paused. His gaze flicked away for the briefest instant, and I could have sworn I saw something like shock flash across his face.

Without another word to me, he turned to the panel.

“Let her audition.”

Diana and Brian’s eyes widened. Until now, Julius hadn’t interfered once during the auditions. Before either of them could object, Cynthia leaned forward.

“I agree,”

she said.

“I’d like to hear her sing.”

Diana and Brian exchanged glances, confusion written plainly across their faces. I couldn’t blame them.

I was just as confused.

Julius spoke again, his tone calm but expectant.

“Ms. Stone, do you need anything for your audition?”

I glanced toward the piano to my right, a slow smile tugging at my lips.

“The piano will suffice.”

I crossed the room and took my seat, resting my hands lightly on the keys. My heart thundered in my chest, loud enough that I was sure they could hear it. They didn’t know this—but this was no longer just an audition.

This was the audition of my life.

The first note rang out, low and steady. My fingers followed, muscle memory guiding them as the melody unfurled beneath my hands. A breath later, I began to sing.

I’ve been here before—different skin, same pain

Cold nights still callin’ out my name

I gave my heart to dreams that wouldn’t stay

Watched the mirror crack each time I prayed

I walked through fire with my head held low

Carried scars I never chose to show

Every tear wrote lessons in my soul

But I survived what they’ll never know

The words vibrated through the room, carried on the music. My chest tightened as memories of my previous life surged forward—the pain, the anguish, the betrayal. I poured it all into the song, every note carved from survival.

When the final chord faded, I realized my vision had blurred. Tears slipped silently from my lashes, dotting the ivory keys beneath my hands.

The room was silent.

No claps. No boos. Nothing.

Panic flared as I turned toward the judges, bracing myself for irritation, for dismissal—but that wasn’t what I saw.

Tears.

The judges were crying.

Slowly, one by one, they stood, applause breaking the silence and echoing through the room. My breath hitched as relief flooded me. I rose from the bench and bowed, a wide smile spreading across my face.

As I straightened, I saw him.

That look in his eyes.

Astonishment. Admiration. And something darker—something I couldn’t quite name.

Julius held my gaze for far too long, his expression unreadable, as if he were dissecting me piece by piece. As if he knew me.

But I was certain we’d never met. I would have remembered someone so beautiful.

After thanking the panel, I turned to leave.

“Ms. Stone!”

I pivoted just as Cynthia stepped toward me, her expression flushed and bright.

“Well—”

She paused, collecting herself.

“Normally, we’d advise you to wait for a letter in the mail regarding your acceptance, however…”

She glanced back at the smiling judges, then briefly at Julius.

“Congratulations.”