nca

video, of his chilling admission. My dream, my ballet, became my only escape. I poured every ounce of my shattered b

was a form of self-flagellation, a way to numb the humiliation that clung to me like a shroud.

was dressed in a soft, pastel dress, her porcelain skin and wide, innocent eyes painting a picture of pure

I gripped the barre

r voice light, like a tin

und. "I have noth

ining a subtle edge. "It' s a bit... sensitive for here, though. Too many ears

g her intentions in a veil of polite inconvenience. I didn't wan

er, my expression as cold as I could

ine smile that didn'

the guest chair, crossing her legs demurely. She sm

logetic. "The one you sent me." She made it sound like I was the

think that was unsettling? You were practically

just... teaching me. Guiding me. He said you were so good at it, at making people comfor

e they would hurt the most. He had used my own strengths,

d to play games. That you enjoyed being in control." Her gaze dropped to my che

m facade I' d tried so ha

demanded, my voice tight. "Are

talks about you a lot. Even now. It' s like... you' re still there, between us." She paused, letting the i

ts I thought were ours, twisted in my gut. He had shared t

ght and airy, but each word a hammer blow. "And sometimes, you' d even

warfare. She knew details, intimate details, that only Hunter cou

abbing a heavy glass paperweight from my desk. I hurled it at the wall, just inches fr

ed terror, held a flicker of triumph. She wasn

the library. With the old, dusty armchair. He said you loved to draw there. And that's where you two... would often find privacy. He sa

where I would sketch and he would read, where our forbidden passion

ages spun in my mind, a grotesque carousel of betrayal. He hadn' t just betrayed me; he had desecrate

ke anew. The raw, searing pain of his betrayal consumed me. There was no going back now. No hoping for reco

I said, my voice distant, almost de

playing on her lips, and glided out o

er had truly turned the tables. He hadn't just taught me a lesson; he had set fire to my world and s

harp edges. Bianca Caldwell, the passionate dancer, the one who found solace in control, was now ju

ng, exhausted and emotionally drained, Hunter was waiting. He

cold, accusatory. "Ashley came to me, s

ain. The endless cycle of his

ice flat. "She knew exactly what

s up to me. She told me she just wanted to clear the air between you

e one you've been meticulously rehearsing with her? The one wh

ur own insecurities onto her. She's nothing like you." He pause

blow. Pure. Untainted. He was comparing

ing I'm not. Everything you pretend to value." I took a deep, shaky breath.

it. His silence

s," I said, my voice regaining some of its steel. "You know that.

ers, then so be it. It's a small price to pay." His eyes gleamed with a chillin

, my voice thick with revulsion

father. This is about you. About your mother

y voice low and fierce. "You think you're powerful, Hun

ed, his eyes c

silence of the penthouse amplifying my despair. The tears came then, hot and stinging, burning trails down my cheeks. I cried for the love I thought we had,

– it was all poison. My dreams of Europe, of dancing on the great stages, th

d not let him win. I would not let him destroy my dance studio, my sanctuary, j