Chapter 1

"Move, Corinne. You’re ruining their picture."

The sponsor's photographer said it while Damon Thorne held Delphine in my opening pose.

Seven days before nationals, my fiancé had replaced me with her in The Last Turn—the final dance my dead mother left me.

Delphine wore my competition number and the silver brooch my mother had fitted for my dress. Damon did not take his hand from her waist.

"You heard him," he said.

The music started again.

For twelve years, its opening had begun with Damon’s hand at my waist.

The camera shutters snapped.

Delphine missed the next cue. Her heel caught, and she stumbled out of the spin.

Damon did not snap at her. He caught her around the waist, his thumb moving gently over her hip.

"It’s fine," he murmured. "Let’s take it from the top."

Last year, during regional qualifiers, I had torn the ligaments in my ankle.

I sat on the floor while the joint swelled dark purple beneath my tights.

Damon had tossed a roll of athletic tape at my feet.

"Wrap it tight, Corinne. The judges don’t award points for tears."

Then he had made me dance for three more hours.

"Corinne, I’m sorry," Delphine said, hurrying toward me with tears already in her eyes.

"The sponsors came early. Damon needed someone in the frame."

Her gaze dropped to the number pinned to her dress.

"I thought you wouldn’t mind."

"Only for the pictures?" I asked.

Damon stepped between us.

"It’s a dance, Corinne. Delphine can dance it," he said. "Your mother created this dance for the team, not just for your pride. Stop making this harder than it is."

I did not argue. I took my fitting logs to the manager’s office instead.

The door was half open. Damon was already inside with the head coordinator.

"She’ll stay," he said. "This dance is all she has left of her mother."

"Besides, we’re getting married in three months. She’ll be angry, but she won’t leave."

My phone buzzed.

The sponsor’s official account had posted a video: DAMON THORNE AND HIS FIRST PARTNER REUNITE—THE ULTIMATE CHEMISTRY.

The comments praised their connection and called me the cold partner holding Damon back.

Damon’s official account had liked the video, then removed the like three minutes later. I saved the post, opened the league portal, and checked the rules for a late partner change.

I opened my private messages.

Two texts from Kieran Mercer sat at the top of the screen.

Kieran had beaten Damon twice in the last three finals. Damon never said his name unless he was already angry.

The first message had arrived twenty-four hours earlier.

"Registration closes in thirty-six hours. My partner slot is still empty."

The second had been sent twelve minutes ago.

"Damon called the league office this afternoon. He asked how late a lead partner could be replaced. Did you know?"

For the first time, I did not delete the thread.

I typed three words.

"How late can I sign?"