CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
ELISE
THE FIRST FEW weeks without Nathan were chaotic.
Not the good kind, not the organized whirlwind of back-to-back meetings and rehearsals I was used to.
No, this was the kind of chaos where my bed never got made, my food went cold on the table and I found myself wearing a hoodie that hadn’t seen the inside of the washing machine longer than I’d like to admit.
The worst part? I wasn’t even mad at him every second of the day anymore. Anger I could’ve handled. Anger was sharp, clean, and useful. But the ache of missing him was relentless.
I told myself to be strong, to block out his grand gestures—the flowers, the artists at my door, the diamonds.
He thought love was something that could be bought, but love wasn’t supposed to feel like a contract, like a clause buried in a deal.
And yet, even as I tried to focus on what laid ahead, I couldn’t shake him.
I stepped into the dance studio for rehearsals with Titan, hoping the music and movement would anchor me, but my body and mind were still caught somewhere between heartbreak and disbelief.
The mirrored walls of the dance studio reflected back a version of me I hardly recognized.
Hair sticking to my damp face, eyes hollow despite the heavy liner I’d applied, movements a fraction of a beat too slow.
Normally, choreography like this would’ve been a breeze.
Titan’s routines were sharp, precise, and demanding, but I’d been training for this my whole life. This should’ve been cake.
Except my heart wasn’t in it.
My heart was five floors above, maybe in his office, maybe drinking black coffee, maybe missing me, maybe moving on with Sadie.
Stop. Stop thinking about him.
“Again,” Titan barked, clapping his hands.
The bass dropped, dancers snapped into place, and I scrambled to keep up.
My turn was sluggish, my spin sloppy. I saw it in the corner of my eye how the other dancers weren’t even sweating, and moving in sync like a single body.
I was the weak link. “Hold up!” The music screeched to silence.
Titan stalked across the room, sweat gleaming on his forehead and his jaw tight.
His eyes locked on me and my stomach dropped.
I knew I’d been off-count. Choreography that should’ve been muscle memory had slipped through my fingers like sand.
“What the hell was that, Elise? You think because you’re new, you get a free pass? ”
Heat rushed up my neck. “No, of course not.”
“You’re dragging the entire group,” Titan said, stepping closer. His voice wasn’t cruel, but it was loud enough for everyone to hear. “My dancers have been with me for years. They know what it takes to step onstage with me. Right now? You don’t.”
“I’m sorry.” I apologized weakly.
“I don’t care what’s going on in your personal life,” he continued. “When you’re in here, you bring your A-game. Or don’t bother showing up.” He gave a sharp nod toward the mirror. “That's it for today everyone.”
The dancers broke formation like glass shattering, scattering to their bags, water and phones. I stood there while they whispered, while one girl shot me a pitying look that said how did she even get here?
When the last person walked out, silence swallowed me whole.
I sank to the floor, covering my face with both hands. And then I cried. Not graceful tears—ugly, hot, heaving sobs that burned on the way out. Humiliation. Heartbreak. Shame. They all tangled until I couldn’t tell which wound was bleeding the most.
It wasn’t just Titan. It was Nathan. The fight. The lie. The way he’d looked at me when I walked away.
Why can’t I just get it right? Why am I always too much or not enough?
When the sobs slowed, I peeled my hands away and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Mascara streaked down my face, my shoulders curled inward, and for a moment I didn’t recognize myself, only a ghost of the girl who used to shine under the lights.
And that’s when it clicked.
It wasn’t just Titan demanding more from me.
It was my dad, demanding I behave, smile, and be his perfect daughter.
It was Jax, expecting me to bend myself around his chaos.
It was Nathan, asking for trust even when he hadn’t earned it.
Different men. Same script.
And I had played the quiet, agreeable role every time, shrinking myself to keep the peace, always performing. My chest ached. Titan wasn’t wrong. I hadn’t been bringing my A-game, not here, not in love, not even for myself.
I swiped the tears from my face with the back of my hand, shaky but steady. “No more,” I whispered to the empty room.
My bag sat across the floor, my phone inside like a weight pulling me forward. I thought of my dad, the first man I’d learned to perform for. The one I was still running from.
And for the first time, I wanted to stop.
I pushed myself up off the floor, legs trembling but strong enough to carry me across the studio toward my bag. Toward my phone.
I wiped my tears and stared at my reflection. Every misstep, every stumble proved Titan was right. But it wasn’t just about him. It was about all of them, my father, Jax, Nathan. And it was me who had been letting it happen
I stared at my phone longer than I probably should have, my thumb hovering over the green call button.
It had been weeks since my mother’s birthday dinner in Florida, the one where Nathan told my parents about Jax.
My mother had gone quiet, but my father had been harder to read. The way he always was.
And yet, I knew I couldn’t move forward, not fully, without speaking to him. Without saying the words I’d been holding back, the ones I’d shoved deep down every time a man in my life tried to control me, belittle me, or manipulate me.
But today felt different. Today, I needed to speak to him.
Not to argue, not to prove anything, but to finally strip the armor I’d been carrying all my life.
The armor that had made me soft and bending, always pleasing, always accommodating.
The same armor that had let Jax manipulate me, let Nathan’s carefully calculated love ensnare me.
I hated it, but I needed to understand it. And I needed him to understand me.
I pressed the call button.
“Hello?” His voice came over the line calm, but with that underlying tension I could hear even from miles away.
“Hi, dad,” I said, my voice smaller than I intended.
“Elise,” he paused, as if he were weighing whether to keep speaking. “I wasn’t expecting a call from you today.”
“I know,” I admitted, curling my fingers around the phone like I could steady myself. “I figured it was time we talked.”
“Go on,” he said, voice clipped but not unkind.
“I think I understand now why I’ve been the way I am. Why I let people, specifically men, push me around. Why I always felt like my job, my love, my life had to be about pleasing them. And I think… I think a lot of it comes from you.”
There was a pause so long that my heartbeat practically echoed in my ears.
“You think I caused that?”
“You never supported me,” I said softly, more statement than accusation. “Not as a dancer. Not as someone who had bigger dreams than you thought I could manage.”
“I know,” he admitted, his voice thick with something I hadn’t heard in my life. Regret. “I didn’t support you because I was afraid. Afraid you’d get hurt, afraid you’d fail, afraid I wouldn’t be able to protect you. I loved you enough to want the best for you, I just didn’t know how to say it.”
I closed my eyes, letting the words sink in. All those years I’d felt unseen, unsupported, punished for daring to dream, it wasn’t hatred. It was fear. A fear that had masqueraded as control, as doubt, and as cold indifference.
“So you loved me by being a nightmare?” I whispered, a laugh slipping through, soft and broken.
He was quiet for longer than I wanted, and I felt that old tightness creeping back into my chest. But then, he spoke.
“You’ve always been different, Elise. Fierce. And I’ve been terrified that the world would break you. I tried to protect you, but I see now that I protected you poorly. My way of loving you was cold and distant. I see now that it hurt you.”
I blinked, my chest aching, but relief threading through me. “It did,” I whispered. “It hurt me for years. And I blamed myself. For being soft. For wanting love that wasn’t conditional. For wanting to be seen.”
“I loved you badly. But I never stopped.”
I felt something inside me loosen. The knot I hadn’t realized I’d been holding since I was a little girl.
My throat burned as tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I let them come.
“I forgive you,” I said, and it was more than words, it was a release.
“I forgive you, and I forgive myself for believing that love had to hurt.”
“I want to do better. I want us to have a better relationship, Ellie. If you’ll let me.”
I smiled through the tears. “I want that too, Dad,” I paused. “So you gotta let go of your dreams of me being a doctor.”
He chuckled softly, a sound I hadn’t heard in years. “No white coat. I can accept that.”
And in that moment, I felt something I hadn’t in a long time.
Light.
Light enough to breathe, light enough to finally start shedding the person I had been. The one who had bent and twisted herself for approval. Today, I was Elise. Whole, unafraid, and finally ready to dance in my own rhythm.