For years, I poured everything into this dream—every grueling practice session, every drop of sweat and blood. My feet bled from endless rehearsals, my wounds reopening time and again. Each pair of dance shoes I wore bore the stains of my sacrifices.
And now, with all that effort behind me, they expected me to simply step aside.
Zayn took another step toward me, a golf club gripped tightly in his hand. My heart pounded as the suffocating memories came rushing back—the heat of that car, the wilderness where he had abandoned me, my desperate cries for help that echoed into emptiness.
I clenched my fists, the pain of those moments mixing with my fury. My voice trembled as I finally spoke, my words laced with anguish.
“Zayn, you promised to love and protect me for the rest of our lives. How could you be so cruel? Dancing is my dream—my everything! Would you really break my wings for Melinda?”. Desperate and humiliated, I tore free from the bodyguard’s grasp and fell to my knees before him.
“Please, Zayn,” I begged, tears streaming down my face. “Let me compete. Just this once.”