Chapter 4 Chapter Four: Have We Met?
Chapter Four: Have We Met?
Qiara’s POV:
Congratulations!
My heart felt as if it might burst at the word.
I’d done it. I’d made it.
I closed my eyes, breathing through the sudden pressure behind them, fighting the sting of tears. When I opened them again, Ms. Cynthia was smiling.
She leaned in, her voice low enough that only I could hear.
“I know who you are, young lady.”
My breath caught.
Part of the reason I’d auditioned was because I believed no one ‘would’ know who I was. Thanks to Lawrence and my brothers, I was practically invisible—unknown at StarCrest, rarely acknowledged as a Clayborne at all.
So how did ‘she’ know?
“I—”
She lifted a hand, stopping me gently.
“Not to worry,”
she said, her smile warm and reassuring.
“Your secret is safe with me.”
The tension drained from my shoulders. I nodded and turned to leave, already pulling out my phone. It was nearly six. If the Claybornes weren’t home yet, they would be soon—and I had no doubt I’d be interrogated the moment I walked through the door.
I was almost out when a voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.
“Ms. Stone.”
I turned slowly.
Julius Pierre was walking toward me.
Why did he have to look at me like that?
“That song,”
he said.
“Where’s it from?”
My eyes widened, brows knitting together. I was almost offended.
“That was my song,”
I replied coolly.
“I don’t use anyone else’s work.”
He studied me for a moment longer before speaking again.
“Have we met?”
What?
I swallowed, my pulse skidding. Why did it feel like he was pulling me in—as if gravity itself had shifted and I was caught in his orbit?
“I don’t believe so, sir.”
He stopped directly in front of me. Too close. I caught the scent of his cologne, sharp and clean, mingled with mint. A smirk tugged at his lips.
“Are you sure?”
My brows tightened.
“I think I would remember meeting ‘the’ Julius Pierre.”
He chuckled softly, his breath grazing my cheek. Damn it—he smelled good.
“Is that so?”
he asked.
“Even if you didn’t know who I was at the time?”
What did that even mean?
“I—how could I not know?”
His smile widened as he straightened, the space between us finally returning. I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“Are you assigned to an opera or musical house?”
My eyes flicked up in surprise.
“N-no. No, I’m not.”
He frowned.
“Really? Interesting.”
What?
“Why is that interesting, sir?”
He glanced back at me, his gaze sharp.
“Because you’re a beautiful singer and songwriter. I’m surprised you haven’t been scouted yet—especially by a Clayborne.”
At the sound of that name, my expression darkened before I could stop it. I masked it quickly, but I was certain he noticed. His smile only deepened.
“I have no desire to work with the Imperial Clayborne Opera House.”
“Really?”
“No.”
“…Interesting.”
Before I could respond, he reached into his breast pocket and produced a business card, pressing it into my hand.
“Come to my office in three days, Ms. Stone.”
My eyes snapped up.
“Your—office? I’m sorry, but why?”
His expression was unreadable, save for a glint of arrogance.
“Because I said so,”
he replied calmly.
“See you on Thursday.”
What—
Before I could decline, he turned and walked away.
WHAT.
This fucking jackass.
I stood there, stunned, fury crawling up my spine. Who does that? Who just ‘orders’ someone to come to their office like that? I wasn’t his employee!
I was still seething when I got home. Thankfully, no one else was back yet. I’d had my phone on silent—and the moment I checked it, I regretted it.
[Look where mom and dad took me to celebrate! Didn’t you ask to be taken here once?]
[Oh, Qi‑Qi, I hate that you aren’t here. We’re having so much fun!]
[We went to the carnival after lunch. Look what Desmond got me!]
Text after text. Gloating sugar-coated and cruel. Of course she’d taken it to social media too—her adoring circle of ass‑kissers flooding the comments with hearts and praise.
{Oh wow! You’re so lucky, Angie!}
{Yes! Your family loves you so much!}
{Looks like love is in the air for you and Desmond Carrington!}
Naturally, she liked that one.
{Stop it, you guys! Dessie is engaged to my sister—we’re just friends!}
And just as naturally, her friends pounced.
{Oh please. That outsider?}
{It’s bad enough your family took her in. Now she wants to steal your first love!}
{Obviously Des’s heart is with you!}
He even hearted that comment.
Idiots.
As if I ever wanted him.
Soon my phone was flooded with messages from the rest of them—accusations, guilt, the same tired script. How could I be so petty? How sad poor Angie had been all day without me there.
The same old rhetoric. The same old lies.
The Claybornes returned a little after eight that evening. Laughter spilled through the foyer as they made their way inside, loud and unrestrained. I was finishing my dinner when Selene, my brothers, Angelina, and Desmond entered the kitchen. Lawrence peeled off immediately, heading for his study under the pretense of a business call.
The moment they saw me, the mood shifted.
Selene was the first to speak.
“Hmph! So you stayed home just to order the staff around? Having them cook this late—”
“I made this myself,”
I said calmly.
“I haven’t bothered the staff all day.”
My tone remained flat as I turned the page on my tablet.
Her eyes widened as she took in my plate: rosemary oven-roasted chicken, garlic and red pepper butter mashed potatoes, and sautéed Brussels sprouts.
A small victory to myself for making it into the competetion.
The room fell silent, the scent of my dinner hanging in the air.
Finally, Christian scoffed.
“Since when did you learn how to cook?”
The question carried an edge, like an accusation. I didn’t look up.
“My mother taught me.”
I heard Selene’s sharp intake of breath. She hated that I still referred to Queenie as my mother.
Angelina stepped forward next, hands clasped, smile bright and practiced.
“Wow! Who knew you were such a great cook, Qi-Qi? If I’d known, I would’ve stayed home instead of going out with the family and having such a great time.”
I chewed slowly, savoring my food. It really was delicious. When I gave no response, I caught the brief flash of irritation in her eyes before her mask slid neatly back into place.
Marcus crossed his arms.
“How rude. Cooked all this food with our groceries and didn’t even bother to make enough for everyone.”
“And I bet you left a mess,”
Nicholas added.
“I cleaned my own dishes,”
I replied evenly.
“I’m eating on a paper plate so I wouldn’t dirty anything else. And I bought this food with my own saved money.”
Their faces reddened as their gazes flicked to the spotless kitchen.
I finished my meal, stood, and disposed of my plate, moving to leave without another word.
Suddenly, Desmond grabbed my arm.
“Why did you ignore my texts?”
His grip tightened, fingers pressing hard enough to sting. I said nothing.
“Angie was heartbroken today because you weren’t there!”
I pulled my arm from his grip as I glanced at Angelina. She wore her usual wounded expression, eyes glassy and lips trembling.
Selene scoffed.
“I swear—you’re not happy unless my daughter is miserable.”
A slow smirk curved my lips.
“She seemed pretty happy to me,”
I said.
“Especially with all the prizes Desmond won her at the carnival.”
Desmond’s jaw tightened.
“You were spying on me—”
“Angelina was ‘nice’ enough to send me her photos,”
I interrupted.
“She also tagged me on her post.”
I tapped my lip thoughtfully.
“And that comment about the two of you being in love—you remember, ‘Dessie’? You hearted it, after all.”
Color drained from his face.
Angelina rushed forward.
“Please don’t misunderstand, sister! I just wanted you to know I missed you. I tagged you so you could see I defended you!”
Before I could respond, the others piled on.
“That’s right!”
Marcus snapped.
“Angie was just looking out for you.”
“Honestly,”
Christian sneered,
“acting jealous over a prize.”
“You could’ve been a part of the pictures if you’d come,” Nicholas added.
Selene lifted her chin.
“Besides, Angie and Desmond have known each other since they were children. As beautiful, kind, and talented as she is… of course he loves her.”
She actually said it out loud.
Clowns. All of them.
My smile widened—careful, deliberate.
“Then all is well,”
I said pleasantly.
“Have a good night.”
Their faces froze.
I knew what they were waiting for—the tears, the explanations, the apologies for crimes I hadn’t committed.
I gave a single, quiet chuckle and walked out of the kitchen.
Sorry… that Qiara is no longer here.
You all killed her.
