Chapter 3

By eight the next morning, the story had been completely rewritten.

According to Camille's friends, she had suffered a severe trauma response, and Adrian had saved her just in time.

I, meanwhile, had humiliated a mentally fragile woman out of jealousy and destroyed my own wedding.

Someone posted a photo of me cutting off my veil with the caption:

[The real emergency wasn't nearly as dramatic as the bride.]

Judith called me from three different numbers.

When I finally answered, she didn't even bother with a greeting.

"You humiliated the Cole family in front of half the city."

"Your son left me at the altar."

"He was responding to a medical emergency. Any reasonable woman would understand that."

I looked across the dance studio.

Elise and six of my former students were cleaning the floor. Morning light streamed through the windows, and dust floated through their laughter.

"Then find him a reasonable woman," I said. "I'm busy."

Judith went silent for a beat.

"Without Adrian, what do you think you are? A failed dancer guarding an empty building?"

Three years ago, that would have destroyed me.

The Cole family had always treated the studio my mother left me like a childish hobby.

Judith said a future Mrs. Cole shouldn't spend her evenings in worn-out dance shoes teaching teenagers.

Adrian always told me I could reopen it later.

After the wedding.

After we moved.

After Camille became more stable.

After life calmed down.

"Later" was where he stored every promise he never planned to keep.

"Then I guess we'll find out," I said, and ended the call.

Adrian arrived at noon.

He stood in the doorway wearing yesterday's tuxedo, minus the tie, his eyes bloodshot.

"You blocked me."

"That was the point."

He looked at the dancers scrubbing the mirrors, and his frown deepened.

"What are you doing?"

"Obviously, we're cleaning my studio."

"This place is falling apart."

"So was I. You didn't notice that either."

His expression froze, then hardened again.

"Camille is being attacked online because of you."

I let out a laugh.

"Because of me? Is that why you're here? To blame me?"

"She's the one who appeared on camera wearing my veil."

"She wasn't in a normal state of mind."

"She was clearheaded enough to make jokes about me."

Adrian lowered his voice.

"Nora, come home. We'll release a statement saying the wedding was postponed because of stress. You can apologize to Camille in private, and this will all blow over."

So that was why he had come.

Not to apologize.

He had come to tell me how to surrender.

I walked to the sound system and pressed play.

The old speakers crackled, then the music cleared and filled the studio.

"I'm reopening the studio," I said. "In two weeks, Midnight Swan goes back onstage."

Adrian stared at me.

"Have you lost your mind?"

"I've never been more clearheaded."

"You haven't performed professionally in years."

"Because you made me stop. Because you trained me to believe everything mattered more than my work."

"I was trying to make you realistic."

I turned to face him.

"No."

"You wanted me small enough that ignoring me wouldn't look so cruel."

The studio went completely silent.

Even the students stopped sweeping.

Adrian's face flushed.

"What has Elise been putting in your head?"

"This is my decision."

"Nothing in your life has ever been yours alone!" he finally shouted. "After everything my family has done for you, what gives you the right to walk away?"

The words hit the room like a slap.

A second later, Elise walked over to the piano and set a small recorder on top of it.

"Good," she said. "Please say that again."

Adrian noticed the recorder.

For the first time, uncertainty appeared in his eyes.

I smiled.

"Don't worry."

"You said I'm nothing without the Cole family, didn't you?"

"I think people deserve to hear exactly how generous you've all been."

Adrian said nothing else. He turned and left.

That night, Camille posted a photo of herself crying against Adrian's shoulder.

The caption read:

[Some people will punish you for surviving.]

I saved the post.

Because ten minutes earlier, the head of security at the Beaumont Hotel had called me.

The rooftop conservatory had never been locked.

In the first piece of footage, Camille stood alone in front of the glass wall, breathing normally.

She counted to three while watching her reflection, forced a tremor into her voice, and called Adrian.

When he answered, she let out a soft, shaky breath.

"Help me."

From the moment she entered to the moment she began her performance, the cameras had recorded everything.