“Just know this.” Stephanie takes my hand in hers. “In order to be Giselle, you have to be a whole ballerina and a whole person. No one denies you’re a whole ballerina with perfect technique and elegance that’s spoken about in all the ballet circuits, but are you a whole person, Lia?”
She releases me and summons the staff over, unaware of the shackle she just snapped around my ankle.
My insecurities bubble to the surface, attempting to suffocate me and pull me under.
Turning around, I stuff all those emotions to the bottom of my gut. Luca once said that I have to face my past to live on, but I declined, stubbornly burying that black hole and its dark box and going on with my life. I’ve been doing great and I will continue to do so, no matter what he or Stephanie says about it.
After the warm-up, we go through the opening scene. I don’t stop moving or take any breaks. I feel like if I do, my ankle will act up. I need to see Dr. Kim about it. He’s been taking care of my legs since I had enough money to hire him as my attending physician. He’s the best orthopedist around, and as someone whose daughter wants to become a ballerina, he understands how much we fuss about the slightest pain in our ankles. But I’m sure he’ll shoo me away with some muscle ointment, as usual.
When it’s time for my entrance, I step into Giselle’s shoes. I’m the timid maid who loves to dance with no care for the world. I leap, then twirl, letting the symphonic music flow through my veins.
Since it’s a somewhat solo scene, I’m pulled from my surroundings and living in my head, a poor maid who has nothing on her mind but dancing. Not knowing that in her innocence, she’s attracting a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
That’s when I sense it. I’m about to jump when a sharp presence wrenches me from the confines of my fragile Giselle.
For the first time during a rehearsal, I stare at the audience. The producers are there, animatedly chatting among each other.
One isn’t a producer, though.
Far from it.
His dark gray eyes lock with mine and I lose my footing. But I save it at the last second, landing on my feet instead of on pointe as per the choreography.
He’s here.
The stranger has come back.
4
Lia
I cease breathing.
I blink once, twice, desperately trying to chalk this up to another play of my imagination, a manifestation of my demons and hallucinations.
Maybe I’ve exhausted my mind so much that it’s started to fabricate things.
Raising a shaky hand to my wrist, I sink my nails into it. Pain explodes on my tender skin and my mouth parts.
This is real.
I’m not dreaming or hallucinating. I’m not waking up from this nightmare in a cold sweat. This is the actual world.
A few rows ahead, the stranger who held a gun to my head a week ago is sitting with the producers. He’s wearing a gray cashmere coat over his black shirt and his hair is styled, neat, looking like a CEO who’s just been to a meeting. His demeanor is composed—normal, even.
But there’s nothing normal about him.
Even from this distance, I can feel the danger emanating off him in waves and aiming daggers straight at my chest. His expression is neutral, but it wouldn’t be more terrifying if he were scowling. Because I know what that façade hides, what actually lurks beneath the surface.
A killer.
A lethal, cold-hearted one at that, who wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.
Did he change his mind and come to kill me after all?
Is this my last dance before I meet the fate of the men from that night?
My legs tremble and I’m a second away from collapsing on my face or vomiting the salad I had for lunch.
“Lia!” Philippe’s impatient voice echoes through the air, yanking me back to the present. In my stupor, I forgot that I stopped mid-movement.
What the hell? That’s a first and it doesn’t go unnoticed. The other dancers scowl at me as if I personally hurt them. Philippe and Stephanie watch me, puzzled, because they know I’m not the type to lose focus or get distracted.
Not when it comes to ballet.
“I’m sorry.” I release a long breath. “Let’s go again, please.”
I don’t trust myself to not break down here and now if I keep staring at him or imagining his gun pointed at my head. So I take refuge in the one thing that gives me joy—dancing.
My movements aren’t as fluid as I like, but it’s impossible to force myself into that headspace. Not when dread and fear like I’ve never felt before continue to shoot at me from every direction.
When I was trapped in that black box, I believed I knew what fear felt like. It was dark and tight and made me wet myself.
But that was far from what I’m experiencing right now. Fear has evolved into a tall, dark-haired stranger with terrifying gray eyes and a lethal weapon.
I try my hardest to ignore the spectators, like I always have, but it’s damn near impossible when I know he’s there, watching, contemplating, biding his time until he decides to pounce on me.
I never pay attention to the audience, because they interfere with my performance and my interpretation of the character’s emotions. The only time I look at them is once I’m done and everything is finished.
Now is different.
Now, I can feel his intense cold eyes piercing into me and peering inside my head. In a way, it feels like everyone else has disappeared and he’s the only presence I can sense. The only person who’s watching me. Just like Albrecht was watching Giselle that day and became infatuated with her.
That thought sends a chill to my bones, but my feet don’t falter. I don’t lose my footing again. If anything, I become one with the music, and as Stephanie said, I let Giselle take over me. I let her be a naive fool who’s dancing in the forest. The lone difference is that I’m well aware of who’s watching me—more than aware. I know his eyes are taking in my every movement.
Instead of deterring me, the thought allows me to completely let go. I’m free-falling like a feather, boneless and suspended from my body’s physical reality.
I stand on pointe more than specified in the choreography and give my performance of the year. I don’t even know what’s come over me. Is it the fact that this could be my last dance? Or do I want to show him my passion for what I do, hoping that he’ll have mercy and let me go?
Either way, I don’t stop or hold back. I give it my all, pushing my muscles to their limit.
When I’m finished, I stand in place in fourth position, catching my breath. A round of applause comes from Philippe and I’m immediately wrenched to the present. The spell breaks, the world and people filtering back in with a symphony of sounds and chatter. For some strange reason, I miss the state where it was only me. I turn around to find the director ready for a hug.
“Bravo, chérie! This is my Lia.” He points at his forearm. “You give me chills.”
“Thanks,” I murmur.
Stephanie rubs my arm. “You became one with her, didn’t you?”
“I think so.” I keep talking in a low tone, not wanting a certain someone from the audience to hear.
I chance a glance around the theater and find the stranger’s seat beside our producer, Matt, empty. I search for him in case he’s changed places, but he’s nowhere to be seen.