Page 10 of Healing Eleanor

Just breathe, I tell myself. Everything will be fine. It has to be.

Maybe Soren doesn’t mean what I think he means.

Maybe the rumors aren’t true.

Who am I kidding?

Of course they’re true. I just witnessed it with my own eyes.

Soren propositioned me in exchange for a promotion.

And I didn’t say no.

And Sofia, my only friend in this place, heard the entire thing.

The stage lights aren’t lifted yet, but my nerves are already buzzing like a live wire. I can’t shake what happened with Soren this morning. I should’ve been brave. I should’ve said no and gone straight to Margaux.

Would’ve, could’ve, should’ve? None of it can save me now. All I can do is gather myself enough to get through tonight’s performance.

After rehearsals, Sofia slipped down the hallway, vanishing in the direction of Margaux’s office.

Would she say something?

I tell myself she won’t. Maybe she’s going to warn Margaux of Soren’s behavior.

Maybe.

I dab concealer under my eyes with more force than necessary, trying to steady my hand. I haven’t stopped shaking since rehearsals.

My dress clings uncomfortably to my ribs, and I can’t tell if it’s from sweat, fear, or this stupid corset.

A sharp knock sounds on the dressing room door, followed by a steady voice. “Miss Montgomery.”

I hurry to open it. Will, Margaux’s right-hand man, second only to Soren, stands.

“Come with me, please.” He doesn’t wait for a response before turning down the hall toward Margaux’s office.

I have no choice but to follow.

The intensity of the room reduces my resolve to liquid.

As I step into the hallway, attention settles on me. Dancers’ faces flicker with confusion as Will and I pass. Whispers follow, low and sharp, like tiny pricks against my skin.

We walk in silence. The corridors are too clean and way too quiet. The walls already know, haunted by the situation about to take place.

Will stops outside the door with ‘Margaux Lefevre - Artistic Director’ engraved in silver on the glass. My mouth goes dry.

Margaux sits behind her desk, glasses perched on her nose, one perfectly manicured hand resting on a closed folder. A crystal pen balances between her fingers.

Sofia sits across from her, legs crossed, hands folded primly in her lap. Her expression is unreadable, and she doesn’t look at me when Will and I enter.

Margaux doesn’t invite me to sit, and Will closes the door behind me with a soft click that sounds like a gavel.

I stay standing. My fingers curl tightly at my sides. I can’t stop staring at Sofia, but she still won’t look at me.

“Eleanor,” Margaux finally greets, her voice cool and clipped. “This won’t take long.” She glances at the folder beneath her hand but doesn’t open it. “It’s been brought to my attention,” she continues, drawing out each word like a thread she planned to unravel, “that there’s been… impropriety. Between you and one of our artistic staff members.”

Unease coils in my stomach. This can’t be happening right now.