Backstage was a blur. Photographers shouted names. Assistants scrambled with earpieces. Contestants passed each other with strained smiles and stiff backs.
Charlotte pushed past the curtain to the backstage hallway, heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. Her chest was still rising and falling with the echoes of what she had just done—what she had just said.
Behind her, Alexander's voice cut through the hum of backstage chatter.
"Charlotte, wait."
She didn't stop, but her pace slowed. He caught up beside her, his voice low and earnest.
"Congratulations. You won."
Charlotte let out a dry laugh. "Congratulations? For what? Publicly self-immolating on stage? Tearing open my scars in front of the entire world?"
"You won."
"That brownie won. I just happened to be the one who baked it while crying in high school."
