“Lea.” Yuri extends a hand to her. “Perfect timing. Tell Vincent what we discussed.”
My mother moves to Yuri’s side, taking his offered hand. “Vincent, sweetheart,” she begins, her voice wavering. “Yuri and I have been talking, and we think… well, we think it might be best if you spent some time away from here.”
“Away?” I repeat, my lips trembling despite my best efforts to keep it together. “You mean kicked out.”
She flinches but doesn’t contradict me. “It’s not like that. We’ll support you financially, of course. There’s that apartment in the city, the one near Juilliard. You could take classes there, focus on your dancing without… distractions.”
“Distractions,” I echo, bile rising in my throat. “You meanAlex.”
My mother’s eyes dart to Yuri, then back to me. “We just think it would be healthier for both of you to have some space right now.” She attempts a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You can still come home for holidays, of course. We’re not—”
“Home?” The word tears from my throat. “This has never been my home. And you—” I look at my mother, at the woman who once supported every dream I had. “You’re choosing him over me.”
“Vincent, please try to understand.” She takes a step toward me, but I back away. “This is complicated. Yuri has concerns about—”
“Fuck you,” I say sharply. “Fuck both of you.”
The sound of the slap echoes in the studio before I even register the movement. Pain blooms across my cheek, my head snapped to the side by the force of Yuri’s hand. In the mirrors, I see my own shocked face, the red mark already forming on my skin.
“You will respect your mother. And you will do as we say.”
My mother gasps but makes no move to intervene. Her inaction is another betrayal, another knife in my back.
“You’ll leave tonight,” Yuri continues, straightening his cufflinks as if he hasn’t just struck me. “And you’ll stay away from Alexander. If I ever see you near my son again—” He steps closer, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me. “I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you ever do. Touch him, contact him, even look at him, and you die. Do I make myself clear?”
My legs feel suddenly weak, my body numb with shock and terror.
“Vincent,” my mother says softly, tears in her eyes. “Please. It’s for the best.”
I look between them—the Russian mafia king and the ballet dancer who sold her soul to become his queen—and something inside me breaks clean in two. Without another word, I push past them both and run into the night. The gravel path cuts into my bare feet as I sprint toward the house, tears blurring the moonlit world into a smear of silver and shadow.
Behind me, the studio light winks out, a final punctuation mark on the life I’m being forced to leave behind. Ahead, the mansion looms, cold and imposing. Alex is in there somewhere, unaware that this is the last night we’ll exist in the same world.
I run faster, choking on sobs that burn my throat and chest. By morning, I’ll be gone. By morning, Vincent Bell will have disappeared without a trace.
Goodbye, Alex. I’m sorry.
10
Vincent
THE SIREN'S BACK ENTRANCE looms ahead, its metal door tagged with graffiti and peeling posters. I’ve walked through that door hundreds of times, but today it feels like marching toward execution.
The memory of what happened in the Champagne Room plays on a loop in my head—Alex’s hands on my body, the hardness pressing against me through his expensive pants, the hunger in his eyes. The way my own body betrayed me, responding to him like we weren’t raised as brothers. Like he wasn’t the son of the man who drove me from home with threats that still wake me in cold sweats.
It was only a matter of time before Alex found me. But now that he has, the clock is ticking. How long before Yuri Orlov discovers where I am? Before black SUVs circle the block?
I force myself to take a few deep breaths to calm my nerves.I need to focus on one thing at a time. I’ll focus on surviving today. On making it through another shift without falling apart.
The staff entrance creaks as I push it open, the familiar smell of cleaning products and stale beer washing over me. Music thumps softly through the walls—someone testing the sound system for tonight. I follow the corridor past the storage rooms toward the staff area.
Voices drift from the break room—laughter, the clinking of dishes, normalcy that feels jarring against the chaos in my head. I pause outside the door, straightening my shoulders, fixing my face into something resembling calm. Just another day. Just another shift.
I push the door open to find my coworkers scattered around the room. Kayla sits perched on a barstool, her hair piled on top of her head, painting her toenails a shocking pink. Rina and Mark huddle at the small table, sharing a cup of instant ramen. Caty is sprawled in the only armchair, scrolling through her phone as she nurses her coffee.
“There he is!” Mark calls. “Man of the hour.”
I force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
