Chapter 2

I dragged my throbbing right leg and returned to the home Julian and I shared.

Calling it a "home" was generous; it was actually just a shabby basement apartment.

With no windows, the air was stagnant, reeking of a heavy, damp, and musty smell.

I pulled out the wooden desk chair and sat down.

A pulsing ache throbbed deep inside the wound on my right foot.

If I didn't find something to distract myself, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to control the overwhelming urge to break down.

I reached out and pressed the power button on the old laptop sitting on the desk.

The cooling fan whirred noisily as the screen lit up with a blinding white glare.

With numb fingers, I typed the name of today's International Ballet Competition into the browser's search bar.

The internet was slow, and it took a moment for the page to load.

The most prominent banner on the homepage immediately popped up with a high-definition video clip.

It was the winning performance from the US National Finals, posted by the event's official account.

Chloe's name was printed in large, bold letters across the thumbnail.

I moved the mouse, clicked play, and stared at the footage on the screen.

Wearing a pure white, custom-made tutu, Chloe leaped, twirled, and stuck her landing in the center of the stage.

Every grand jeté, every precise beat she landed on—I couldn't be more familiar with them.

Because that was my life's work.

It was the original choreography I had meticulously crafted, locking myself in the rehearsal room for three entire years, perfecting every single movement in front of the mirror.

It was the masterpiece I had intended to use to win the championship myself.

Stolen...

I immediately closed the browser and clicked into the deep folders on my computer.

When I opened them, all the choreography videos had been wiped clean.

Refusing to give up, I yanked open the desk drawer, dug out the backup external hard drive buried at the bottom, and plugged it into the laptop.

I opened the drive.

All the design notes and early recordings I had saved there were also completely gone.

Only Julian and I lived in this rundown basement.

The computer stayed here every time I went out to work.

Aside from me, he was the only person in the world who knew the password.

At 8:30 PM, the lock on the basement door gave a soft click.

The flimsy wooden door was pushed open.

Julian walked in, wearing that old shirt with the faded collar and pilled edges.

He tossed his canvas bag casually onto the table, expertly massaging the back of his neck as he let out an exhausted sigh.

Just like always, he was playing the role of the impoverished boyfriend who had just slaved away in a fast-food kitchen for over ten hours.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I watched him kick off his shoes.

I didn't immediately expose the fact that he was enjoying a luxury massage at the spa this afternoon.

"Did you touch the choreography files on my computer?" I asked directly, watching his every move.

Julian was holding a pitcher, pouring a glass of water. The stream of water abruptly paused.

"What choreography?" He turned his head, playing dumb with an innocent look on his face. "I don't know what you're talking about. The computer was lagging the other day, so I cleared out some old junk files. Maybe I accidentally deleted them."

I just stared at him.

"Since you didn't sell them," I said, not losing my temper, keeping my voice flat and rational, "then Chloe must have stolen them."

At the sound of Chloe's name, Julian slammed his glass down onto the table.

"Aria, watch what you say. You can't just insult people without any proof."

"I’ve already watched the video of the finals," I interrupted him. "That was my dance. If you didn't take my choreography and give it to Chloe, then she broke in and stole it. I'm calling the cops right now."

I picked up my phone from the table, woke the screen, and started dialing.

Julian’s face changed. He crossed the room in a few strides.

He grabbed the hand holding my phone and roughly pulled my entire body into his arms.

He stopped me from making the call.

"Aria, can you just calm down a little?"

He rested his jaw on the top of my head.

"Your leg can't dance anymore," he said, stating the cruel reality of my disability. "Even if that choreography stayed on your computer, it would just be a pile of dusty data."

His arms tightened around me.

"Letting Chloe dance it is the only way this piece can shine on the biggest stage. By doing this, I’m helping you achieve your dream."

I didn't struggle against his embrace.

I just let him hold me, looking up at the face that was inches from my own.

"Helping me achieve my dream?"

My heartbeat was steady as I asked softly.

"If that's the case, when Chloe competed today, did it have my name listed under 'Choreographer' on the playbill?"

The expression on Julian's face froze instantly.

He slowly released his grip on me and took a step back, putting distance between us.

The fake tolerance vanished from his face, replaced by undisguised disappointment.

He looked at me with a judgmental stare.

"Aria, when did you become so selfish and narrow-minded?"

He had the audacity to blame me.

"It's just a dance. Getting it performed on stage is what truly matters. Why do you have to care so much about a meaningless credit?"

He scoffed coldly, delivering his verdict.

"At the end of the day, you're just selfish. You're just jealous of Chloe."

A dead silence filled the basement.

The old rusty pipe in the corner let out a muffled dripping sound.

I stared fixedly at the man standing right in front of me.

He had bribed the surgeon to sever my Achilles tendon.

He watched me swallow pills every night that would only worsen my leg.

And now, he felt utterly justified in stealing three years of my blood and sweat, handing it over to another woman for free.

After doing all of this, he still stood before me with a look of utter disgust, accusing me of being selfish and jealous.

Facing this demon who was literally leeching off my blood to survive, I abandoned any further thought of questioning him.

I withdrew my gaze and picked up my phone that had dropped onto the bedsheets.

I closed my mouth, refusing to say another word.

The very second I turned my back on him, I made my decision. I was leaving this place, and I was leaving this man.