Chapter 3

I traced my fingertips along the sole of the custom pointe shoes I was supposed to wear on stage.

Coating the bottom was a thin, transparent layer of oil.

It was applied with calculated precision.

Not until I shifted my entire body weight—at the exact critical second I pushed off to spin—would the oil unleash its devastating effect.

In my past life, after my death, Daisy leaned coyly into Julian's arms, soaking up the applause and claiming everything that should have belonged to me.

In this life, I refuse to repeat history.

I quietly slipped the tampered shoes back into their bag. Then, I pulled out an identical backup pair and slipped them onto my feet.

The backstage waiting area was buzzing.

Daisy was still playing the perfect sweet, underprivileged girl.

Only her eyes kept uncontrollably darting toward my corner, betraying a mix of hidden anticipation and panic.

I stood up and walked right over to her.

The backstage chatter died instantly.

Dozens of eyes snapped toward us. Everyone held their breath. In their minds, the arrogant, wealthy heiress was about to abuse her privilege and lash out at the poor commoner again.

Daisy's shoulders flinched. "Eve, if you're still mad about yesterday, I... I really didn't mean to. I can drop out..."

"No need," I cut her off, "I've thought it over. I lost my temper last night. Bringing personal emotions into the company was unprofessional of me."

A collective, hushed gasp rippled through the room. The proudest swan of the Upper East Side, apologizing in public?

Julian gave a soft scoff, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk. He stood up straight, walked over to Daisy, and patted her shoulder in a display of absolute protection.

"It's not too late for you to finally come to your senses, Eve," Julian condescended, eyeing me with that sickeningly preachy tone. "Art is pure. It shouldn't be held hostage by your elitist tantrums."

I didn't even spare him a glance.

Keeping my eyes fixed on Daisy, I raised my voice just enough. "My foot injury has been flaring up for months, and my condition just isn't there. Meanwhile, as my understudy, you've been overworking yourself every single day. This industry needs opportunities."

"I've decided to withdraw from the finals. The spot is yours."

The crowd completely erupted.

"Oh my god, Eve is actually giving up her spot?"

"She finally matured, Daisy is finally getting her break!"

The shift in public opinion was instantaneous. My concession had just crowned the underdog persona Daisy had so painstakingly curated with absolute perfection.

Daisy froze. A flash of pure ecstasy crossed her eyes, but she quickly masked it with feigned panic, shaking her head. "No, I couldn't! Eve, that's your spot, I can't accept—"

"You can." I took a step closer and handed her the bag containing the custom pointe shoes.

"Haven't you always said how much you wanted a pair like these? Since you're going out there, go out in the best. Consider it my apology for last night."

Daisy stared at the dust bag I held out, her face draining of all color.

She recognized it, of course. She was the one who had smeared the grease on the soles with her own hands.

"No... that's okay." Daisy forced a smile that looked more like a grimace, desperately hiding her hands behind her back. "They're too expensive. My own shoes are fine... really, I don't need them!"

She instinctively tried to back away, but her gaze suddenly darted downward, landing on my feet.

I was already wearing an identical pair of backup shoes.

"Take them," Julian intervened coldly, acting the protective knight. "It's the least she owes you. Since the princess has finally learned to bite the bullet, don't be shy."

The surrounding dancers began to urge her on:

"Put them on, Daisy!"

"Hurry up and take them, you're up next!"

Daisy was backed into a corner.

She shot one last frantic look at the backup shoes on my feet, her eyes betraying an agonizing internal struggle.

Ultimately, trapped under Julian's encouraging gaze and the relentless prodding of the crowd, she reached out, took the bag, and put the shoes on.

I watched it all with cold detachment before slipping into the shadows of the wings.

Tchaikovsky's score swelled through the theater—grand, thunderous, and laced with a tragically fitting prelude.

Daisy took a deep breath and stepped onto the stage, carrying the expectations of the entire room.

Her movements were remarkably light and precise. The layer of grease didn't immediately take its toll, and murmurs of approval even drifted over from the judges' table.

Julian threw me a smug glance. "See that, Eve? That is the power of raw talent and hunger. You can't buy that with money."

I ignored him.

The music climbed to its most intense variation. Daisy pushed fiercely off her right foot, preparing to launch into the core climax of the routine.

As if stepping on sheer ice, her entire leg instantly lost traction. Her body twisted violently, crashing heavily into the hard floor.

The theater fell dead silent for a split second before terrified screams erupted simultaneously from the audience and backstage.

Pure chaos consumed the judges' table as stage managers and crew rushed the stage. Beside me, Julian turned deathly pale. He slammed his shoulder into mine, launching himself toward the stage like a madman.

A blood-curdling scream tore from Daisy's throat.

Paramedics hoisted her onto a stretcher. As they rushed past the wings and right in front of me, the blinding pain and absolute despair dissolved whatever remained of Daisy's sanity.

Her bloodshot eyes locked onto mine.

"It was her!!"

She raised her arm, her trembling finger pointing directly at me.

"She forced me to wear those shoes! There was something on the soles! She set me up—she tried to destroy me—!"

Previous Chapter
Next Chapter