Page 9 of Healing Eleanor

The hallway tilts the moment I step into it. The overhead lights are too bright, searing spots into my vision. Music and counts echo faintly from the studio, but the sound feels far away, muffled, as if I’m trapped underground.

Then a voice cuts through the haze.

“Eleanor?”

I turn sharply.

Sofia stands by the water fountain, her hand loosely gripping her bottle. Her expression is… unreadable.

“I didn’t mean to overhear anything,” she says quickly, stepping forward. “I just needed some air before center…” Her voice drops. “But what I heard…”

My stomach plummets. “What did you hear?”

“Enough,” she says simply, eyes fixed on me.

I try to swallow, but my throat turns to sandpaper. “He… he offered me a promotion.”

Her brows lift slightly. “Yeah. I know.”

“I honestly have no idea what to do.” I search her face, desperate to read her tone.

Her gaze darts down the hall, then settles back on me. “Honestly, I don’t either.” Then she adds, softer, “I don’t think you should make any decisions right now. Let’s just get back to rehearsal, okay? We’ll figure this out later.”

I nod, desperate for reassurance. Her voice is calming, but something in her eyes says otherwise, though I decide to ignore it for now.

We turn back toward the studio, but my mind remains in that dim hallway. The floor beneath me is less like solid ground and more like a tightrope with no net to catch me if I fall.

Bile creeps up the back of my throat. I force myself to breathe, to look composed. But Soren’s words keep looping in my head, over and over. My weight. The promotion. His offer.

And the worst part isn’t even what he said… it’s that I didn’t say no. I froze, then ran, like a scared dog with its tail between its legs.

In the studio, dancers are already at center—stretching, adjusting shoes, and running quiet tendus to the muted counts of the pianist.

Sofia slips past me without another word, her water bottle still in hand. I wish I knew what she was thinking.

There are girls in this company who would kill to have this kind of information. They’d run straight to Margaux, pretending to be concerned, casually reminding her of the contract.

And what Sofia overheard… is definitely not in the contract.

My legs carry me to the back of the room on autopilot. I drop beside my dance bag and reach for my snack, but my hands tremble so badly I drop the bag of almonds twice. When I finally get it open, Soren’s voice slithers through my head. “You looked like a whale up there.”

My throat locks up. I zip the bag shut and shove it away.

I’m barely on my feet when Julian’s voice cuts through the air, low and smug. “Well, look who finally decided to rejoin the commoners.”

I don’t look up. There’s no way I can deal with him right now. Though of course, he doesn’t stop.

“Everything alright, Ellie? Or were you just off receiving some artistic feedback?”

A few dancers nearby glance our way. A few of them even snort. Heat surges up the back of my neck.

One day… One day I’ll bury this little weasel’s head in the sand.

I straighten slowly, biting the inside of my cheek. “Maybe try minding your own business for once, Julian.”

He grins, unfazed. “Touchy.” He exaggerates a grimace. “You know, stress shows in your port de bras.” He shrugs, like he’s doing me a favor. “Just looking out for you.”

I turn away before I say something I can’t take back. The room is too warm, the lights too bright. I take my place at center, but my focus is shattered into too many sharp, fractured pieces.