One Step from the End

The Penultimate Grey Meadow Concert

The penultimate Grey Meadow concert felt like the world had finally decided to reward the band for years of bleeding through club after club. Fans screamed like a pack of ecstatic sirens, spotlights flickered in rhythm with their hits, and the band felt something Liam’s honest confession had inadvertently given them—something money could never buy: raw, seismic, authentic support.

The guys on stage glanced at Liam every time he turned away from the crowd. They finally understood why he’d been half a man these past weeks and months. Though they teased him during rehearsals, now they let him breathe, seeing him teetering on the edge. But tonight he played. And he played like a man possessed, like the guitar was purging everything she had left inside him.

Meanwhile, Sophie sat at home. Her apartment was quieter than before, but lighter. On the table lay a small box. Inside, the engagement ring he had held onto for so long, like a shackle she could finally remove from her finger.

She opened the box.
She stared at the cold, gleaming stone.
Closed her eyes.

And threw it in the trash.
Finally.

She sat on the couch, phone trembling slightly, opening the stream from the arena where Grey Meadow was destroying the penultimate show. She watched the crowd, the posters—some with their names still proudly displayed—as if the internet itself refused to let them end. Something shifted inside her. Not much, but enough.

She wanted to go.
Not in disguise.
Not with a wig.
Not as someone hiding her own life.
But as Sophie.
As the woman who had finally clawed herself out of Alexander’s shadow—and her own fear.

But… would Liam even want to see her? Could he?
Her heart lifted, then sank. That doubt was bitter, like the coffee she had left on the table three hours ago.

Then footsteps. Claire entered, practically living between her apartment and Sophie’s in the past days. Habit, panic, maybe both. She looked at Sophie curled on the couch, Grey Meadow faintly playing in the background.

Claire straightened her coat, but her gaze was sharper than accidental.
“Sophie.”

Sophie flinched, silencing the music.
“I wasn’t… I was just listening a little.”

Claire studied her like someone who doesn’t believe the sky is blue when you insist it is. Then she stepped closer, gently, differently than she ever could in the office.
“Would you go to their last concert?”

Sophie slowly lifted her gaze. In her eyes, something flickered—a shadow of hope she dared not admit. Claire saw it all.

Sophie drew a breath.
No words. None needed—Claire already knew.

“Good,” Claire said, like someone deciding for her. “You should go. For yourself—and for him.”

Sophie lowered the phone into her lap, fingers trembling slightly. Finally. Maybe.

Claire sat beside her, voice softer than Sophie had heard in months:
“Don’t worry. You’ll go as yourself. No Alexander. No shame. Whether Liam accepts you or not doesn’t define who you are.”

Sophie nodded quietly. Her chest tightened, but for the first time, it wasn’t fear. It was hope.

The outside world prepared for Grey Meadow’s final tour concert.
She prepared for something harder: meeting her real life.

Claire closed Sophie’s apartment door, making sure she was seated on the couch and breathing deeply. Once everything was quiet, she stepped into the hallway, silently, like someone who doesn’t want to be heard. She looked left, right, nothing. Pulled out her phone and quickly dialed a number she’d called far too often these past weeks.

It rang once.

“Maks,” Claire whispered. “I need you.”

On the other end, Maks sounded exhausted, like someone who had slept less than two technically recommended hours over the last few days.
“Claire… please tell me this isn’t another fire.”

“It is. But this time we can finally put it out.”

Maks was silent. Claire continued:
“Sophie wants to go to the last concert. And… she’s not engaged anymore.”

Maks exhaled sharply, as if someone had lifted a 20-kilogram stone from his shoulders.
“Not… wait, seriously?”

“Seriously,” Claire said. “Her father finally realized what a psychopath Alexander is. And yes… he was behind the saddle sabotage.”

Maks muttered quietly, probably something like, finally, someone else sees what I’ve seen for months, but held his tongue professionally.

“Good,” he said, more decisively now. “If she wants to go… I’ll make it happen. Don’t worry. She’ll have space, protection, VIP access, backstage, whatever you want.”

Claire closed her eyes, relief releasing her shoulders.
“Thank you, Maks.”

“Claire,” he added, softer than usual, “maybe now things will finally start falling into place. At least a little. The guy barely held himself together these past weeks.”

Claire felt a slight tightening in her chest.
“Sophie too.”

Silence. Then Maks:
“Good. Send me when you arrive and under what name. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure no one bothers you. Just… come.”

Claire nodded, unseen.
“Done.”

She leaned against the hallway wall, exhaling.

Maybe—just maybe—this was the first step for two people life had thrown apart to start returning to where they belonged.

Back in the living room, Sophie sat silently, fragile enough that Claire feared a touch might shatter her. Grey Meadow played softly in the background, a wound that refused to heal.

Claire knew she had to act before Sophie changed her mind. She stepped into the kitchen, closed the door, and lifted her phone again. This time the number she never dialed without trepidation: Viktor Hale.

It rang longer than Maks’s call before answering.
His voice was low, controlled, cold.
“Claire.”

“Mr. Hale,” she began carefully, “I need a favor. For Sophie.”

Silence. Claire could hear a TV running in the background. She recognized it. A recording from the premiere. Liam. His eyes. His words. His confession. Live, it had shaken him in ways he wouldn’t have admitted a week ago.

Claire continued:
“Grey Meadow’s last concert is tomorrow. Sophie… wants to go.”

Viktor didn’t answer immediately. Claire knew he had paused—not for logistics, but for emotion. For shock. For the fact that a musician had admitted in front of the world what he felt for his daughter… and his instinct to protect her was finally aimed at the right person.

Finally, he spoke:
“Is this… wise?”

Claire closed her eyes.
“Mr. Hale, frankly? Sophie can barely stand. Alexander almost broke her. Broken, Mr. Hale. And Liam… well, Liam’s the only thing that still keeps her alive.”

Silence. Claire’s voice softened:
“She asked to go. Not for fame. Not for the film. Not for the media. Just… to see him. To hear his music where he lives. Among his people. Among the people who love him.”

A short, heavy exhale on the other side. Viktor Hale, the immovable titan of the film industry, was watching a clip of his daughter on stage, smiling only because she had to… while a young musician stood beside her, vulnerable before the world for telling the truth everyone saw.

Then he said:
“Where is the concert?”

Claire gave the location.

Viktor sounded like he had just made a decision weighing as heavy as a continent:
“We’ll have a plane ready. The pilot will be there in an hour. Sophie doesn’t need to sign anything. Just… let her go.”

For a moment, Claire closed her eyes, almost moved.
“Thank you.”

“And Claire?” he added.
“Yes?”
“Tell her… I’m sorry, in a way, for pushing her into a relationship that turned out to be dangerous. She can choose her own path from here. Follow her heart—but be careful.”

Claire smiled faintly.
“I understand.”

After she hung up, she leaned on the kitchen counter. Viktor Hale had opened the door.
The rest was Sophie and Liam.

Claire stepped from the kitchen, looking at Sophie, still on the couch, eyes tired but holding a faint, almost imperceptible spark.

“Sophie?” Claire said gently. “Your father is lending us a plane.”

Sophie lifted her gaze slowly, exhausted.
“Dad…?”

“Yes,” Claire said. “We’re going to the concert.”

For the first time in weeks, Sophie exhaled like she was alive.
A little.
Quietly.
But alive.