It already felt unreal.
Friday.
Tomorrow was the ball.
We were seated in the studio, stretching, scrolling through phones, tying shoelaces, fixing hair. The air carried that familiar mix of perfume, sweat, and polished wooden floors. Everyone was quieter than usual — nervous energy wrapped tight around us.
Then the choreographer walked in.
"Places."
We stood.
Music started.
The room transformed.
Lucien stepped beside me, offering his hand without looking at me.
I placed mine in his.
His grip was firm — steady, grounding. He pulled me close into frame position, his palm settling at my waist, fingers respectful but unyielding. His jaw was tight, eyes focused ahead.
We moved.
One, two.
Pivot.
Turn.
His lead was precise. Controlled. Every step calculated.
My body followed instinctively.
Our movements mirrored each other like we'd rehearsed for years instead of weeks. When he guided me into a slow spin, his fingers brushed my wrist just enough to remind me he was still there. I caught the way his shoulders tensed whenever another couple drifted too close.
He didn't look at me.
But he never let me slip.
Not once.
There was something intimidating about dancing with Lucien — the quiet intensity, the way he commanded space without raising his voice.
A few feet away, Ella and Adam were a completely different story.
Adam danced like he lived for attention.
He exaggerated every move, flashing that careless grin of his, leaning dramatically during dips just to make Ella stumble. She kept scolding him under her breath while trying not to lose balance.
"Stop showing off," Ella whispered.
Adam spun her anyway.
"What? The crowd loves it."
"There is no crowd."
He leaned close to her ear. "Yet."
Ella shoved his shoulder lightly, but stayed in sync.
He made ballroom look like a performance instead of discipline — all charm, no restraint.
On the other side, Elias and Lyra were locked in something quieter.
Lyra followed Elias' lead with surprising seriousness. Elias rarely spoke while dancing, his expression unreadable, eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the studio mirrors. Their movements were sharp, almost military — clean footwork, clean lines.
Lyra tried to joke once.
He didn't respond.
She stopped trying.
The music carried us for nearly an hour.
By the end, my muscles burned.
I stepped back from Lucien's frame.
"I'm done," I said quietly.
He nodded. "Restroom?"
I gave a small nod and walked out.
The washroom was empty.
Cold water hit my palms as I leaned over the sink, grounding myself. I stared at my reflection for a second — pale, composed, eyes tired.
Then—
Movement.
From the corner of my vision.
A shadow.
Hands lunged for my neck.
My body reacted before my mind did.
I grabbed his wrist, twisted hard.
Bone popped.
He screamed.
I drove my elbow back, shoved him down, and pinned him against the tiled floor with my knee.
He clutched his arm, gasping.
I straightened, calmly returned to the sink, and continued washing my hands.
He was whining behind me.
It didn't matter.
I turned slowly.
"You should've attacked me outside," I said flatly."Entering a women's washroom? Shameless."
His eyes were wide with fear.
I stepped past him.
Left him there.
Back in the studio, I picked up my bottle and drank water like nothing had happened.
If Lucien found out, there would be questions.
Too many questions.
I chose silence.
I moved to a quiet corner, sitting alone.
Just breathing.
Just existing.
Of course, peace didn't last.
Amara appeared beside me.
She sat.
"Well," she said, tilting her head, "Nyx… you dance really well. Where did you learn?"
"Myself."
Her brows lifted. "Oh. Self-taught. That's impressive."
I didn't respond.
She continued, softer now. "You know… I really adore you."
I looked at her.
My voice stayed even.
"Thank you."
Then I stood and walked away.
Behind me, Amara remained seated, staring after me in confusion.
Practice ended soon after.
People began packing up.
Lucien approached me, jacket already slung over his shoulder.
"Come with me," he said quietly.
"For what?"
"My latest collection arrived this morning. I think I found something that matches us both."
I studied his face for a second.
"You don't give up easily, do you."
He didn't answer.
He just waited.
And somehow… I followed.