Chapter Three
Lena
Tears blur my vision. My legs burn and my chest feels like it’s bursting, but I keep running, pushing through the backstage corridors.
I don’t care where I’m going. I just need to get away from the suffocating silence after Damien’s words, from the humiliation of falling, from the heat of his gaze that still lingers on my skin. Everything.
By the time I slam into the locker room, my breath is ragged, my hands shaking. I crumple against the wall, sliding down until I’m sitting on the cold tile floor.
I worked so hard for this night. Every practice, every blister, every moment of telling myself I could survive the whispers…all of it was supposed to lead to something good. And in a second, it was gone.
I just want to disappear. To hide until the world forgets I exist.
The door creaks open.
I look up, and my stomach sinks as Logan walks inside.
He leans against the doorframe like he owns the place, like he hasn’t been the one trying to ruin me for weeks. “Well,” he drawls, smirking, “that was quite the performance. Didn’t think you’d be adding a dramatic collapse to the routine, but…points for originality.”
I push myself up a little, keeping my back to the wall. “Get out, Logan.”
He ignores me, sauntering closer. “You know, all this could go away. The rumors, the whispers, the dirty looks. One word from me, and they’d be eating out of your hand again.” He tilts his head, that smug smile never slipping. “All you’d have to do is come back to me.”
I stare at him, my hands curling into fists. For weeks, I’ve kept my head down, swallowed my words, let him get away with it because I didn’t have the strength to fight back. But now, something in me snaps.
“No,” I say, my voice low but steady. “You don’t get to break me and then act like you’re the one who can fix me. I’m done letting you use me, Logan. You’re nothing without your father’s name, and you know it.”
The smile disappears, his eyes narrowing. “Careful, Lena,” he says, his tone sharpening. “You forget how quickly I can make your life hell.”
“I’m not scared of you,” I lie, though my pulse is thundering in my ears.
That stings his pride. I can see it in the way his jaw clenches and the quick flare of his nostrils. He wants me to be afraid of him.
He steps closer, grabbing my arm hard enough to make me gasp. “Maybe you should be,” he says, his face inches from mine. “Because you’re one bad move away from losing everything.”
I’m frozen, my mind scrambling for a way out, when the door swings open again.
And there he is.
Damien.
He steps into the room like he owns it—well, he does.
His eyes cut to Logan first. “Let her go.”
Not a request. A command.
Logan’s grip loosens, but his jaw tightens. “Dad, we’re just talking—”
“That’s not what it looks like.” Damien’s voice is low, even, but there’s an edge under it, sharp enough to draw blood. “You have two seconds to get your hands off her before I forget you’re my son.”
Logan’s eyes flash with an ill-concealed fear. “You’ve always been dramatic.”
“And you’ve always been a disappointment,” Damien says, stepping closer, towering over him. “Don’t make that worse tonight.”
The air between them is electric, the tension pulling tight like a wire ready to snap. For a moment, Logan looks like he might push back, but then Damien’s stare hardens, and whatever defiance was brewing drains from his face.
Logan lets go of my arm, his lips twisting. “Fine. She’s all yours.” He shoves past his father, muttering under his breath as he stalks over to the door, slamming it behind him.
His exit is followed by an echoing silence.
I swallow, looking up at Damien. “Thank you…for that, and um…for earlier.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches down, takes my hand in his, and gently uncrosses my fingers one by one.
His hands are big, warm, the skin rough against mine, his touch firm but gentle.
The move shouldn’t feel intimate, but with his gaze locked on me like that, it does.
It’s like he already knows my body, its tells, where it holds tension, how to make it feel good…
His eyes… God, they’re even more intense up close.
Gray like a storm, rimmed with thick lashes, and so steady it feels like he can see right into me.
Maybe it’s because he’s standing so close, but he feels taller than I always imagined, his broad shoulders filling the whole room, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw making him look a little dangerous.
God, he’s so close.
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat, my stomach fluttering with a familiar heat, my skin prickling under the weight of his attention.
I’m beyond embarrassed to be feeling this way toward my ex-boyfriend’s dad, a man twice my age.
But I can’t help it. Not when he’s this close. Not when he’s looking at me like…that.
“You danced well tonight,” he says finally, his voice deep and smooth. “The way you held that arabesque…the fluidity of your port de bras. Most dancers your age rush their transitions. You don’t. You breathe through them. It’s rare.”
I blink at him, startled by the precision of his words. By how much he noticed. “You…know a lot about my dancing.”
A flicker of something—amusement?—crosses his face. “I’ve been watching you for a long time.”
My breath catches.
“You remind me of a firefly,” he says, his tone softening just enough to send a shiver down my spine. “Bright. Impossible to ignore. Meant to be caught, but too elusive to hold without breaking.”
I don’t know what to say. My lungs feel too tight, my thoughts too tangled. Being this close to him is overwhelming, but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
And he’s still holding my hand.
The silence between us stretches, heavy enough to press on my chest. I can’t seem to pull my gaze from his, but the longer it goes on, the more my pulse races. I don’t know what to do with myself or the heat curling low in my stomach.
I clear my throat and ease my hand back, turning toward my locker just to have something else to focus on. The metal door screeches as I pull it open, then something slips out and flutters to the ground.
It’s a card.
Not the kind you give someone for their birthday, but a thick, black rectangle with jagged silver edging, almost metallic in the light. There’s no name on the front, just a small crown engraved in deep crimson at the center. The sight of it sends an involuntary shiver down my spine.
I bend to pick it up, my fingers trembling. Damien shifts behind me, his presence so close I can feel the heat of him, but all my attention is on the weight of the card in my hand.
My heart thunders as I pry it open.
Inside, scrawled in sharp, uneven ink, are four words.
Watch your back, princess.
A cold rush floods me, my vision blurry, and I swallow hard, trying to push down the wave of nausea rushing up my throat.
It’s not just the words…it’s the way the letters lean, aggressive, like they were carved instead of written.
And suddenly, I feel like I’m in the middle of a nightmare. This was supposed to be a spotlight night for me.
How did I get here?
“What’s that?” Damien’s voice comes from directly behind me, low and commanding.
I had almost forgotten he was there.
I straighten a little too quickly, snapping the card close. “It’s…nothing.”
“Lena.” The way he says my name…so softly. It sends a wave of calmness down my burning nerves. He steps closer, his heat wrapping snugly around me. “Let me see it.”
There’s no point arguing. My fingers loosen, and he plucks the card from my grasp, his gaze dropping to the message.
His jaw tightens.
The muscles in his forearm shift as he flips the card over, then back again, scanning every detail like he’s memorizing it. When he finally looks up, there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes, controlled, but enough to make my stomach dip.
“Any idea who put this in there?”
Logan.
“I—I don’t know,” I stammer, ignoring the thought in my head. “It must have been slipped into my locker while I was onstage.”
He studies me for a long moment, then tucks the card into the inside pocket of his jacket like it belongs to him now. “I’ll find out who sent this,” he says, voice low enough that it feels like a vow. “And when I do, they’ll wish they’d never heard your name.”
The certainty in his tone steals my breath.
“You’re not staying in your room at the Academy tonight.”
I blink. “What?”
“You’re coming with me,” he says simply. “Until I know you’re safe, you’ll be at my place.”
My heart jumps, my mind tripping over the implication. “Damien, I—”
“It’s not a request.” His gaze holds mine, unyielding, like the matter is already decided. “Pack what you need. I’ll wait.”
There’s something in his tone, a finality that makes me realize I’m not getting out of this. And maybe…a part of me doesn’t want to.
So I do as he says, and before I know it I’m leaving the locker room at his side, stepping out into the night. It’s dark as we walk to his car, a streetlight forming a spotlight like we’re on a stage.
He opens the passenger door for me, and for a moment as he leans down, his face is close to mine. Maybe too close.
I catch my breath, and I wonder what I’d do if he kissed me. How his mouth would feel on mine. What he would taste like.
He’s close enough to do it, the warmth of our breath clouding together in the cool night air.
But then the moment is gone, and he’s circling the car to the driver’s side while I buckle my seat belt. And I’m wondering what I’ve gotten myself into.