Page 17 of Big Billionaire

“Oh my God.”

The remote slips from my hand, clattering to the floor.

The headline scrolls across the bottom in bold, ugly letters:

Blackwell Academy Scandal: Ballerina at Center of Father-Son Affair.

I can vaguely hear my sister calling for me through the phone, her voice worried, wanting to know if I’m okay, but I can’t get out the words to answer her. My ears are ringing so loudly I can barely make out the voices from the TV, but the words still cut through.

“…rumors of her seducing instructors for roles…”

“…pictures circulating online, raising questions about favoritism…”

“…seen with both Logan Blackwell and Damien Blackwell in compromising situations…”

Pictures flash across the screen. There’s an old photo from my own social media of me with Logan, his arm thrown around my shoulder. It’s from the very beginning of our relationship, before I knew what he was—he’s kissing my cheek as I look at whoever’s holding the camera.

I gasp as the next picture comes into view. This one’s of me and Damien, from last night when he walked me to his car. I have no idea who took the photo, but they somehow got close enough to catch the moment we almost kissed, when Damien opened the car door for me. He’s leaning down toward me, our faces close together, and I’m looking up at him like he’s my whole world.

The room tilts.

No. No, no, no.

My throat closes like I’m being strangled, and I stumble backward until my shoulder hits the wall, clutching at it for support. My heart is slamming too fast, too loud, and I slide down the wall, curling in on myself.

I can feel myself slipping into a dark place, but I’m helpless against the pull.

My sister is my lifeline. I pick up the phone to see that our call hasn’t ended. “Abby?”

“Lena.” She sounds so relieved to hear my voice. “Are you…okay? Where are you?”

Her voice helps me gather my strength.

“I’m alright,” I manage to choke out. “I’m…I’ll come home later today. It’s twin time, right?” Today is our weekly sister time—we can’t dance together anymore, so we mostly play Mario Cart and talk. About our lives, our dreams, anything and everything. Abby was the first one to know when Logan broke up with me, and why.

She sighs. She can probably tell by my tone that I’m not up for talking about it yet. “Yes. I have my appointment, but I’ll see you after that. We can talk then. I love you, sis.”

“I love you too, Abby,” I say, ending the call.

“Abby.” I whisper my sister’s name like a prayer. If I give up now, I’m not only quitting on myself, I’m quitting on her too. But what can I possibly do to fix this?

Another buzz slices through the haze in my head. A text this time.

I swipe at the screen with shaking fingers.

Instructor Hayes:Come in. ASAP.

My stomach twists. My chest still hurts from the panic, but I force myself to inhale.

I shove to my feet, wipe at my eyes, and hurry to the bedroom, catching the image of myself in the mirror. I look like a wreck. My eyes are puffy, my skin flushed, but I don’t have time to care. I pull on a black leotard, tug jeans over it, and twist my hair into a bun with trembling hands. My bag slams against my hip as I throw it over my shoulder and head out.

The air in the Academy has felt tense ever since the rumors about me started, but now it’s outright hostile. The moment I step inside, the air becomes heavy, almost stifling. Every click of my shoes down the corridor echoes louder than usual, punctuated by the sharp sting of whispers that follow me like wildfire.

“There she is…”

“Did you see the pictures?”

“…both father and son, can you imagine?”