The Reason Why the Forsaken Fake Returned Chapter 15

“Miss Sasha Griche! It’s time for you to go on!”

 

The manager’s assistant’s sharp knock echoed against the door—a sound that sent anticipation racing through her veins.

 

“Do well, Sasha.” Caleb extended his arm with practiced elegance, as if to escort her into battle.

 

Shailoh nodded, her pulse thrumming as she followed the assistant from the suffocating confines of the waiting room.

 

Every detail of the stage had been orchestrated with meticulous precision—each performer, even those with mere single lines, was a seasoned veteran who understood the sacred art of drawing an audience into their web. The crowd surrendered willingly, their attention captured from the first breath of music.

 

But it was Shailoh’s entrance that shattered the last barriers between reality and performance. As she stepped onto the stage, her face concealed behind a gossamer veil, the king—who had been watching the dancers with barely concealed boredom—delivered his lines with renewed interest.

 

“If you dance and sing, I’ll give you everything. The jewels of Bahar, my one and only precious niece.”

 

“Your Majesty, do you truly mean that?”

 

“Indeed, I do.”

 

“Then, I shall serve you with my humble talents.”

 

Shailoh knelt with fluid grace, her response carrying just the right note of submission and hidden steel. The orchestra below shifted their melody—a signal she’d been waiting for. As planned, she began to dance, her movements like liquid silk as she slowly and sensually removed the veil that masked her face. Gasps rippled through the audience like wildfire.

 

Her beauty struck like lightning—immediate and devastating. Hair cascaded to her waist in waves that caught the stage lights and transformed them into liquid gold. She had them. Every eye, every breath held in anticipation as she prepared to sing—A scream tore through the theater. Sharp. Agonized. Wrong.

 

Shailoh’s head snapped toward the sound, her body freezing as if winter had claimed her bones. In one of the box seats overlooking the stage, a familiar face stared back at her through the shadows.

 

Claire Diponz. One of her most vicious enemies. Staggering to her feet, recognition blazing in her eyes even across the distance. Though an unfamiliar man sat beside her, there was no mistaking that face—not even in the dim lighting of the private box.

 

Panic clawed at Shailoh’s throat as her gaze frantically swept the front row, searching— There. In the prime seat with the perfect view of the stage, Caleb sat with predatory stillness. His legs crossed, tuxedo immaculate, hands clasped with deceptive calm. His lips moved, forming a single word that cut through her terror like a blade.

 

Focus. The syllable hit her like a revelation, shattering the spell of panic that had frozen her in place. Her lines burst from her throat with renewed power.

 

“Though my talents are humble, I shall gladly serve you with my whole being.”

 

The orchestra, tense with waiting, finally received its cue and launched into the dramatic crescendo that would carry it through the rest of the performance.

 

There’s no way back, and no way forward. Perfection demanded everything—voice, song, dance, movement—all woven together in seamless artistry. Shailoh surrendered to muscle memory, to the countless hours of rehearsal that had carved these movements into her very soul.

 

“I finally have your head! You said you didn’t want to kiss me! But in the end, I have you! Not as your lover, but I have you!”

 

The climactic scene—Princess Kneze’s twisted declaration of love as she kissed the severed head of her unrequited beloved—marked the end of Shailoh’s debut. The curtain fell on her first performance as Sasha Griche.

 

“I want to see Miss Griche!”

 

“I’d like to personally sponsor her—how can I arrange a meeting?”

 

“Please, deliver this to her!”

 

Within moments, the area outside the dressing room had transformed into chaos. Ardent fans pressed against the barriers, their desperation to reach her almost palpable. Managers and security formed a human wall against the surge.

 

“Miss Griche is not receiving visitors! If you leave flowers, cards, or any other gifts, we will deliver them later!”

 

“Stop pushing! You there—back off!”

 

“There will be no reception tonight! How many times must we repeat this?”

 

While pandemonium raged beyond the walls, Shailoh’s dressing room—tucked deep within the backstage maze—remained wrapped in heavy silence. She sat motionless as makeup artists and stylists worked around her, removing every trace of Kneze’s dramatic beauty, half-lost in a daze that felt more like drowning.

 

“All done, Milady.”

 

Doris’s voice finally broke through the fog as the last person filed out. Only then did Shailoh lift her eyes from where they’d been fixed on nothing.

 

“Your performance tonight was extraordinary,” Doris gushed, her excitement bubbling over. “I felt enchanted from beginning to end. The audience’s reaction—tomorrow’s reviews will be absolutely glowing.”

 

Her praise died mid-sentence, cut off by Shailoh’s quiet, devastatingly calm question. “The woman who screamed—that was Claire Diponz, wasn’t it?”

 

Doris fell silent at the direct question, her usual chatter dying like a snuffed candle. Shailoh’s voice cut through the quiet—sharp, demanding. “It was her, wasn’t it?”

 

“Well, I’m not sure.” Doris tilted her head, uncertainty flickering across her features. “It was dark, and she was on the second floor. Is it possible you saw something wrong? Lady Claire should be at the estate right now.”

 

“No.” The word came out flat, final. “It was Claire. She recognized me and screamed.”

 

This was supposed to be her triumph—the day Shailoh had taken her first step as a musical performer. She’d known this moment would come eventually, but not so suddenly. Not on her debut night. She had deliberately transformed herself completely—altering her makeup and changing her entire appearance. Yet none of it had mattered.

 

Clutching her temples as if she could squeeze the panic from her skull, Shailoh bent forward. “Soon, the security will be here. It’s all over.”

 

“Milady!”

 

“Three years of hard work—all for nothing. I…” A chill swept through her body, bone-deep and merciless. Her hands trembled beyond her control, lips quivering as if winter had claimed her from within. Then someone draped a thick coat over her shoulders.

 

“Sasha.” Caleb’s voice—low, commanding—cut through her spiral of despair. He’d pushed through the chaos outside to reach her, and now he quietly dismissed Doris with nothing more than a look. In the dim lighting of the dressing room, he settled into the chair beside her, his presence both anchor and storm.

 

Shailoh covered her face with both hands, her confession emerging as a broken whisper. “It’s all over.”

 

“What is?”

 

“I saw Claire. Claire was there.” The words tumbled out, each one a nail in her coffin.

 

The Diponz Ducal Family should have been sequestered at their estate this time of year. There was no one from the Duke’s House on the guest list for the box seats. So how—how had this happened?

 

“I wanted to become famous, gain power, and prove my innocence. I’ve worked so hard for the past three years!”

 

“Sasha.”

 

“It’s all over for me! Everything’s finished!”

 

Tears carved hot tracks down her cheeks. Before she could spiral further, Caleb’s fingers captured her chin—firm, unyielding—and his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that stole her breath and her panic in equal measure.

 

“Mmph—!”

 

His tongue invaded before she could resist, pulling her into a whirlwind of heat and desperate need. Lightning coursed through her veins, shattering her despair into fragments of sensation.

 

Even in the dim light, she could see his eyes—that striking teal that always undid her completely. He stirred and disordered all her senses, leaving her defenseless against his touch, his presence, his overwhelming certainty. Without conscious thought, her arms wound around his neck, her head tilting back as she surrendered to the kiss that promised everything and demanded more.

 

“Ha… haa.”

 

The kiss ended only when her lungs screamed for air, her fists pounding weakly against his chest. His hand—the one that had gripped her chin like a collar—finally released her, and she gasped like a drowning woman breaking the surface.

 

“Are you calmer now?”

 

His fingers, cold yet elegant, traced her cheek with devastating gentleness. Like a cat accepting its master’s touch, she melted beneath his caress.

 

“It’s all over,” she whispered, the words hollow now. “I wanted to make a name for myself, gain allies, clear my name, seek revenge—but now it’s all blocked.”

 

“You don’t need to worry about that.”

 

“Are you saying… that wasn’t Claire?”

 

It couldn’t be. She knew that face, knew that scream of recognition. But Caleb shook his head at her distrustful stare, then cupped her chin with infinite care.

 

“Baroness Elton definitely recognized you.”

 

“I knew it!” Shailoh collapsed back into her chair, hands flying to cover her face. Then his words registered—truly registered—and her head snapped up. “Baroness Elton? Claire got married?” Now that she thought about it, there had been a wealthy-looking man beside Claire in that box seat.

 

“Baron Elton’s family may not wield the same influence as the Grid merchant guild leader,” Caleb continued, his voice steady, informative, “but they still hold a significant position.” While she tried to process this revelation, he pressed on. “She married about a year after you disappeared—after you were accused of murder.”

 

“Ah… That’s why I couldn’t find her name on the list.” A hollow laugh escaped her, brittle and defeated. “She was such a cherished daughter, but the moment her family faced hardship, they sold her off. Why did they discriminate so much if they were going to do this anyway?”

 

“It’s different from your situation.” Caleb shook his head, and something in his expression shifted—became almost… protective. “After the performance ended, I sent someone to investigate. It wasn’t an arranged marriage. Claire chose that man. The family’s interests and her affection aligned perfectly—the marriage proceeded smoothly.”

 

“That’s not fair!” A shrill cry tore from Shailoh’s throat as she lurched upward, desperation driving her to her feet—but her legs betrayed her, buckling like broken stems. She pitched forward, the world tilting dangerously.

 

Before she could crash to the floor, Caleb’s arms swept around her, solid and sure, catching her against the storm of her own collapse.