"Then let's be ruined together," he said, his eyes burning with the raw, possessive intensity that had always been his undoing.
As they stepped into the light, the audience vanished. There was only the heat of the stage lamps and the weight of five years of unsaid words. When Blake pulled her into the scripted embrace, his touch wasn't professional. It was desperate.
The velvet curtains of the Royal Opera House muffled the roar of the London rain, but they couldn’t drown out the tension vibrating between Farrah and Blake in the wings. If We Were Perfect by Ana Huang
It had been five years since the shattering end of their relationship in Shanghai—five years of carefully constructed silence and "perfect" separate lives. Now, they were the stars of the season's most anticipated production, forced to play lovers under the unforgiving glow of the spotlights.
"You’re late on your cue," Blake murmured, his voice like rough silk. He didn't look at her, instead focusing on the cufflinks she once bought him, still adorning his wrists. "Then let's be ruined together," he said, his
"Farrah," he whispered, breaking character as the orchestra swelled. "I spent years pretending I didn't need you to be whole. I built a kingdom just to realize it was empty without the person I built it for."
The stage manager signaled. This was the scene—the climax where their characters finally broke. When Blake pulled her into the scripted embrace,
"And you’re still trying to control the world, Blake. Some things never change," Farrah retorted, adjusting the silk of her gown. She looked every bit the poised interior designer-turned-star, but her heart was hammering a rhythm only he had ever been able to provoke.