The worst part? I wasn’t even mad at him every second of the day anymore. Anger I could’ve handled. Anger was sharp, clean, and useful. But the ache of missing him was relentless.
I told myself to be strong, to block out his grand gestures—the flowers, the artists at my door, the diamonds. He thought love was something that could be bought, but love wasn’t supposed to feel like a contract, like a clause buried in a deal. And yet, even as I tried to focus on what laid ahead, I couldn’t shake him.
I stepped into the dance studio for rehearsals with Titan, hoping the music and movement would anchor me, but my body and mind were still caught somewhere between heartbreak and disbelief.
The mirrored walls of the dance studio reflected back a version of me I hardly recognized. Hair sticking to my damp face, eyes hollow despite the heavy liner I’d applied, movements a fraction of a beat too slow. Normally, choreography like this would’ve been a breeze. Titan’s routines were sharp, precise, and demanding, but I’d been training for this my whole life. This should’ve been cake.
Except my heart wasn’t in it.
My heart was five floors above, maybe in his office, maybe drinking black coffee, maybe missing me, maybe moving on with Sadie.
Stop. Stop thinking about him.
“Again,” Titan barked, clapping his hands. The bass dropped, dancers snapped into place, and I scrambled to keep up. My turn was sluggish, my spin sloppy. I saw it in the corner of my eye how the other dancers weren’t even sweating, and moving in sync like a single body. I was the weak link. “Hold up!” The music screeched to silence. Titan stalked across the room, sweat gleaming on his forehead and his jaw tight. His eyes locked on me and my stomach dropped. I knew I’d been off-count. Choreography that should’ve been muscle memory had slipped through my fingers like sand. “What the hell was that, Elise? You think because you’re new, you get a free pass?”
Heat rushed up my neck. “No, of course not.”
“You’re dragging the entire group,” Titan said, stepping closer. His voice wasn’t cruel, but it was loud enough for everyone to hear. “My dancers have been with me for years. They know what it takes to step onstage with me. Right now? You don’t.”
“I’m sorry.” I apologized weakly.
“I don’t care what’s going on in your personal life,” he continued. “When you’re in here, you bring your A-game. Or don’t bother showing up.” He gave a sharp nod toward the mirror. “That's it for today everyone.”
The dancers broke formation like glass shattering, scattering to their bags, water and phones. I stood there while they whispered, while one girl shot me a pitying look that saidhow did she even get here?
When the last person walked out, silence swallowed me whole.
I sank to the floor, covering my face with both hands. And then I cried. Not graceful tears—ugly, hot, heaving sobs that burned on the way out. Humiliation. Heartbreak. Shame. They all tangled until I couldn’t tell which wound was bleeding the most.
It wasn’t just Titan. It was Nathan. The fight. The lie. The way he’d looked at me when I walked away.
Why can’t I just get it right? Why am I always too much or not enough?
When the sobs slowed, I peeled my hands away and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Mascara streaked down my face, my shoulders curled inward, and for a moment I didn’t recognize myself, only a ghost of the girl who used to shine under the lights.
And that’s when it clicked.
It wasn’t just Titan demanding more from me.
It was my dad, demanding I behave, smile, and be his perfect daughter.
It was Jax, expecting me to bend myself around his chaos.
It was Nathan, asking for trust even when he hadn’t earned it.
Different men. Same script.
And I had played the quiet, agreeable role every time, shrinking myself to keep the peace, always performing. My chest ached. Titan wasn’t wrong. I hadn’t been bringing my A-game, not here, not in love, not even for myself.
I swiped the tears from my face with the back of my hand, shaky but steady. “No more,” I whispered to the empty room.
My bag sat across the floor, my phone inside like a weight pulling me forward. I thought of my dad, the first man I’d learned to perform for. The one I was still running from.
And for the first time, I wanted to stop.
I pushed myself up off the floor, legs trembling but strong enough to carry me across the studio toward my bag. Toward my phone.
I wiped my tears and stared at my reflection. Every misstep, every stumble proved Titan was right. But it wasn’t just about him. It was about all of them, my father, Jax, Nathan. And it was me who had been letting it happen
