[A parting of the ways—may we each find our own happiness]
***
“Zayn, please… don’t… don’t break my legs…”
Backstage at the competition, I trembled in fear, my body pressed into a corner as Zayn’s cold, merciless eyes bore into me.
I had fought to get here, barely surviving the torment I’d endured, only to face his wrath. His anger burned through me like fire, erasing any hope of comfort.
“Xandra,” he growled, “why don’t you ever listen to me? Do you have any idea how important this competition is to Melinda?”
Tears spilled down my cheeks as his words struck me. A genius, he called me—a genius who could win championships effortlessly. So what if I gave up this chance? What did it matter?
But he didn’t understand. This wasn’t just a competition. The winner would become the principal of the dance troupe and lead international tours. It was my lifelong dream to showcase our classical dance to the world, a dream my grandmother had cherished for me before she passed.