Chapter 4

The day Sophie came back, the sun was bright. She walked into my hospital room in a cream trench coat and thin heels, looking like she carried light with her. "Claire!" She rushed to my bedside, crying that she never should've gone abroad and should've stayed with me.

I leaned against the headboard and looked at her. Seven years apart had only made her prettier, her childishness replaced by a dancer's pride. Alexander stood nearby with furrowed brows, but the pain in his eyes wasn't for me. It was for Sophie. "Sophie, stop crying. Your sister needs rest."

Sophie looked up at him through her tears, then seemed to realize something. She hurriedly wiped her face and forced out a smile. "S-sorry, Claire. I just panicked... Are you okay? Does it hurt? What did the doctor say?"

I looked at the two of them. The moment their eyes met, something exploded in front of me. So that was it. All those years, the way he'd looked at me had never been love. He had only been looking through me at someone else.

"Claire?" Sophie called again when I didn't answer.

I snapped back to myself and forced a weak smile. "I'm fine. The doctor said it can heal, it's just... I probably won't be able to dance again."

"What?" Sophie's eyes went wide in utter shock. She turned to Alexander for confirmation, and he nodded grimly. "How can that be...? Claire, you loved dancing so much. How can you..."

She burst into tears and threw her arms around me so tightly that the wound in my left leg throbbed. Inside that embrace, I caught the faint trace of Alexander's usual cologne. "Claire, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..." she whispered against my shoulder again and again.

I had no idea what she was apologizing for, whether it was for those three men, for herself, or just the opening rehearsal for the role of an innocent victim.

I gently patted her back and said softly, "Silly girl, none of this is your fault. Stop crying. You won't look pretty if you keep it up."

She lifted her tear-streaked face from my shoulder and looked at me. "Claire, I'll take care of you from now on. If you can't dance anymore, then I'll dance for you. I'll help you finish your dream."

What moving words. The old me probably would've been touched enough to hug her and say how lucky I was to have a sister like her. But now I only wanted to laugh. My dream was to stand at center stage myself, not sit below and watch someone else climb over me.

"Silly kid." I rubbed her hair. "You have your own path to walk. You don't need to worry about me."

"But..."

"That's enough," Alexander cut in. "Let your sister rest. She just had surgery and needs peace and quiet."

Sophie nodded and looked at me again, something unreadable in her eyes, reluctance, guilt, or maybe triumph. Then she followed Alexander toward the door. At the threshold, she turned back with a smile. "Claire, once I'm settled in, I'll come see you again."

The door closed. I stared at it as the room fell quiet and slowly tightened my grip on the blanket. Then I shut my eyes and replayed everything, frame by frame, starting with the way Sophie had rushed to me, light, nimble, and with no sign of her old injury.

There had been warmth and strength in her body when she hugged me, like a cheetah poised to spring. The glance she gave Alexander was restrained but full of attachment. And then there was that scent. Suddenly, I remembered a detail from seven years ago.

Right after Sophie left, Alexander had chased her to the airport and returned looking wrecked. Not long after, he changed cologne, claiming the new one was lighter because I liked softer scents. I believed him. Now I realized it was probably the fragrance Sophie liked.

My phone buzzed again. It was my manager. [Dance Revolution is set. The taping's on the fifteenth next month, and the theme is Sisters Showdown. The production team wants you both there a week early for rehearsals and promo. How's your leg healing? Can you handle it?]

[No problem.]

[Seriously? Don't push yourself. Want me to talk to them about changing it into an interview segment instead?]

[No need. Stick to the original plan. I know what I'm doing.]

After sending that, I stared at the ceiling and worked out the timing in my head. There were three weeks left until the taping, more than enough time to do a lot. I picked up my phone and dialed a number.

It rang twice before a hoarse male voice answered. "Claire Evans?"

"Dr. Carter, it's me," I said. "That rehab plan you mentioned last time, I want to try it."

There was a two-second pause on the other end. "Are you sure? That plan is brutal. With the way your leg is now, you might not make it through. And even if you do, there's no guarantee you'll recover enough to dance."

"I'm sure."

"You're insane," he said flatly. "Your leg's got a comminuted fracture. The joint surface is wrecked. Even with the most aggressive treatment, walking normally would already be a miracle. And you still want to dance?"

"Dr. Carter," I cut him off, "didn't you once say my ligaments were almost an inch longer than average, my explosive muscle power was three times that of a normal person, and my heart and lungs could support over four hours of nonstop high-intensity movement? You said I had the best body for dance you'd ever seen."

"That was before. Now your leg—"

"If I give up now, then I've given up forever." I tightened my grip on the phone. "Dr. Carter, you've helped me more than once. This time, I'm begging you. Help me again."

Silence answered me. A long while later, he sighed. "You dancers are all nuts. Fine. Come in. But if your body can't take it, I won't go easy on you. When it's time to stop, we stop."

"Okay." After hanging up, I pulled back the blanket and looked at the leg wrapped in plaster. It was swollen beyond recognition, mottled purple and blue, and the doctor had told me I was lucky just to keep it. But I had never believed in fate.

I hadn't since seven years ago. When I first entered the Royal Theatre, everyone said I didn't belong, so I answered with work, first into the rehearsal room, last out. A year later, I stood on an international podium with gold around my neck. This time would be no different.