Chapter 1

My grandfather was dying, and his final wish was to see me perform our family's ancient shadow puppetry on the stage of the National Grand Theater.

But on the night of the performance, I was blocked at the entrance.

I only then discovered that my girlfriend, the event planner, had secretly scrapped my act.

She did it just to give her secret crush's rock band a slot on stage.

I stood outside in the freezing wind for three hours, watching them walk out arm-in-arm, laughing about their successful show.

When I confronted her, she didn't even look guilty.

"I did it for the quality of the production. Jaxon is the lead singer of the hottest band right now; his future is limitless," she said dismissively.

"Your dusty old shadow puppets belong in some retirement home, entertaining old folks who can't see straight!"

......

My father ended up kicking me out of my grandfather's funeral.

He blamed me, saying Grandfather died with his eyes open because of my failure.

He told me I wasn't worthy of inheriting the art our ancestors passed down for generations.

I had no words to defend myself.

I was the one who promised to bring our shadow plays to the world.

I promised that the legendary play, "The Journey of the Eight Immortals," would finally grace a national stage.

In the end, I let everyone down.

I knelt outside the memorial hall for a day and a night before dragging my soul back home.

The moment I opened the door, the stench of alcohol hit me like a wall.

Seraphina was sprawled on the sofa, clearly wasted.

Hearing the door, she started barking orders.

"Where the hell have you been? Why are you just getting back! Go make me some hangover soup, now!"

She rolled off the couch and sat up.

That's when I saw them―a cluster of dark, fresh hickeys plastered across her neck.

Bitterness flooded my heart, thick and suffocating.

I ignored her and walked straight toward the bathroom.

Near the tub, I spotted a man's leather jacket, with the corner of a condom wrapper peeking out from the pocket.

A wave of nausea hit me so hard I couldn't even bring myself to wash my face.

Seraphina stumbled to the bathroom door, swaying on her feet.

"Cassian, what is with this attitude? Did you not hear me talking to you?" she screamed.

"Is this still about the performance? I told you it was a last-minute change. Get over it!"

I let out a cold, sharp laugh.

I remembered her calling me that morning, claiming she forgot her ID and asking me to bring it.

By the time I rushed to the theater, the guards wouldn't let me in.

She had texted me, saying there was a delay and to wait just a little longer.

I waited for three hours in the cold until my heart turned to ice.

Seraphina was still ranting, her voice high and grating.

"Who even watches shadow puppets anymore? It's ancient history. As the planner, I have to think about the ratings."

"If you want to show off so bad, go set up a tent in some backwater village. The seniors there will love it!"

She knew exactly why I practiced until my fingers bled.

I wanted to use the big stage to keep this dying art alive for another generation.

I wanted it to be seen, to be respected, to never vanish.

And she had crushed that dream with a smile.

I didn't want to waste another breath on her, so I kept it simple. "We're done. Get out."

She looked at me like I'd grown a second head. "You're breaking up with me over this? One missed show?"

I ignored her and started walking out the door.

The only reason Seraphina even had that job at the theater was because my grandfather had called in every favor he had for her.

He had loved her like a granddaughter.

He used to invite her over for every Sunday dinner.

He even planned to give her our family's heirloom emerald set as a wedding gift.

But she had played us all perfectly.

While my grandfather was taking his last breath, she was hooking up with Jaxon Sterling.

I left the apartment we shared, suddenly realizing I had nowhere to go.

Passing a store window, I saw Jaxon on a TV screen being interviewed.

He was wearing heavy, dramatic eyeliner, standing on the very stage I had dreamed of.

A reporter asked if he knew he had replaced another act.

He just smirked, his tone dripping with arrogance.

"Yeah, I heard. It was some low-rent hobby act that only got on the list through backroom connections anyway."

"I have to thank the director, Seraphina Brooks. She has a real eye for talent, and she knew the stage deserved a real show..."

I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood.

This was the "accident" Seraphina spoke of.

It was as pathetic as it was cruel.