Chapter 2

“Delphine’s shoulder hurts. Your rehearsal is canceled.”

The text arrived at 9:00 a.m. I was already at the facility, shoes broken in and ready to mark the floor.

I went to the VIP lounge for my water bottle.

Delphine lay on the chaise beneath a designer shawl. Damon stood behind her, working carefully at her shoulder.

“Corinne, I feel awful,” Delphine said, tears already bright in her eyes. “I said I could take something and practice, but Damon wouldn’t let me near the floor.”

“If you’re worried about my rehearsal, leave the facility,” I said.

Damon looked up. “Enough, Corinne.”

“Delphine has spent two days fixing what you left unfinished. Don’t make her pay for your insecurity.”

At noon, Damon took her onto a live sports broadcast.

From the empty cafeteria, I watched Delphine smile at the host.

“Damon still understands my alignment better than anyone,” she said. “In terms of dance mechanics, of course.”

The host turned to Damon. “Has Corinne stepped back?”

Damon faced the camera. “We mutually decided Corinne needed space while Delphine handled the technical work.”

My phone had not rung once.

I caught him in the corridor that afternoon. “You told them I stepped back.”

“I gave them a version they could use,” Damon said without slowing. “Tickets are selling. Don’t make this personal.”

At 11:00 p.m., I returned to clear out my locker.

Studio A was lit by a single spotlight.

Behind the glass, Damon and Delphine were not taking photos. They were rehearsing the complete finale of The Last Turn.

Delphine wore my emerald, hand-beaded performance dress. Damon tied its satin straps across her bare back with the same practiced care he once reserved for me.

Her phone lit up on the bench outside the door.

A message from a friend appeared: “Does she still think you’re temporary? ”

Delphine’s reply sat in the notification history.

“Damon said to keep her practicing the old solo until registration closes. By then, it will be too late for her to object.”

I did not storm inside. I opened Kieran Mercer’s contract file instead.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Send the final partner form,” I said.

“It’s already in your inbox,” Kieran replied, his voice calm, sharp, and strictly professional. “Medical clearance and venue access attached.”

“Send your medical clearance and the original score. If we do this, we start tonight.”

“Studio Two is reserved. See you at midnight.”

I entered my verification code, attached my credentials, and submitted the form.

The screen confirmed our partnership. For now, only Kieran’s team could see it.

“Then you’re dancing with me,” Kieran said.

“Yes,” I said. “But Damon doesn’t know yet.”

The next afternoon, during the sponsor run-through, the music reached the eight counts my mother had written for me to dance alone.

And skipped them.