They stripped me of my lead role just before the tour.

In a panic, I rushed to demand an explanation, but my mind was in such turmoil that I tumbled down the stairs. Gritting my teeth against the searing pain, I fumbled for my phone to dial 911. That’s when a notification lit up the screen—an update from someone I followed.

**[Crimson Plains Dance Troupe: A warm welcome to our new lead dancer @Dorothy, and our generous patron @Keith!]**

The attached photo showed two beaming faces: my husband of seven years—a secret marriage—and his pampered little songbird. Keith had an arm around Dorothy’s waist, planting a light kiss on her cheek. She, in turn, had her arms looped around his neck, her face a picture of bashful delight.

Wiping the blood from the corner of my mouth, I didn’t hesitate. I posted a photo of our marriage certificate in the comments.

**[Is your troupe's new production called 'The League of Bastards'?]**

Keith’s call came through almost immediately.

“Anna, what the hell are you doing? How many times do I have to say it? Dorothy and I are just putting on a show for publicity.”

I sniffled, my voice thick. “Keith, by what right did you have them take my lead role?”

A beat of silence. “You’re at Crimson Plains?”

Another pause, then a tone of utter indifference. “Dorothy wanted the lead spot for the tour as a birthday present. I didn’t realize that role was yours.” His voice hardened. “Go online right now and clear this up. Say the certificate was photoshopped.”

A sudden, hysterical laugh threatened to bubble up inside me. He didn’t even know where I worked, yet he remembered Dorothy’s birthday wish list.

“And then what? Why would I photoshop a marriage certificate?”

“You could say you’re just a fan,” he replied flatly.

“Keith, what do you take me for?”

A low sigh traveled through the line. “Anna, we’ve been married seven years. We’re practically an old married couple by now. Dorothy’s young. There’s no need to get into a fight with her.”

He seemed to have forgotten. I’d married him before I even finished university. Though it’s been seven years, I’m only a year older than Dorothy.

“Keith, I fell down the stairs. My leg… it really hurts.”

“Anna, it’s just an apology and a clarification. It’s not that hard.” He sounded… disappointed. “When did you become such a liar?”

*Plop. Plop.*

Tears as big as raindrops, mixed with the blood still trickling from my nose, splattered onto the back of my hand. I clamped a hand over my mouth and ended the call.

He called again. I just switched my phone to silent.

I called 911 myself. When the paramedics arrived, they asked if I had any family with me.

“No,” I answered numbly, staring at the ceiling. “They’re all gone.”

Halfway to the hospital, a text from Keith came through.

“Anna, Dorothy is so upset she fainted. Get your ass to the hospital right now and apologize to her face. Bring an appropriate gift. There will be reporters. Don’t worry about losing face. You started this.”

My fingers trembled as I typed out a two-word reply: **“In your dreams.”**

Then I powered off my phone, shutting out the world and sealing myself in my own private silence.

While waiting in the hospital corridor for my X-ray results, I heard a familiar voice.

“Dr. Donald, I’m Anna’s boyfriend. Please contact me directly if there’s anything she needs going forward.”

I looked up just as Keith, walking over, met my gaze. He faltered mid-step, his body going rigid for a moment. Then, as if he’d never seen me before in his life, he continued his conversation with the doctor and walked right past me without a second glance.

The faint scent of citrus on him twisted my stomach into a knot.

I was on the verge of fleeing when Keith turned and came back. He seemed to be in a hurry. Seeing me still there, an expression of exasperation crossed his face.

“Anna, have you come to your senses?”

“I said, in your dreams.” I shoved past him, limping painfully in the opposite direction.

I could feel Keith’s gaze land on my leg, lingering for a moment before turning icy.

“Anna, are you really resorting to self-inflicted injury just to avoid apologizing?”

I ignored him, desperate to escape this corridor that now reeked of Dorothy’s perfume.

A large hand clamped down on my shoulder, yanking me back. I stumbled, my injured leg screaming in protest.

“Ah!”

A cry of pain escaped me.

Keith’s frown deepened, his displeasure palpable. “You’re unbelievable.”

With practiced ease, he reached into my pocket and took my phone.

“Give that back!”

I lunged for it, but Keith pushed me away impatiently. “Alexander, hold her.”

The bodyguard was a mountain of a man. One firm grip, and I was trapped, powerless to break free.

“Keith!!”

A mask landed in my lap. "Cover her mouth. Don't let her scream."

A hand clamped my wrist in a vice grip. Pain shot through my legs, locking them in place. Then, a mask smothered my mouth. All I could do was cry.

Helpless, I could only watch as Keith took my phone, logged into my account, and posted an apology and clarification in my name.

"I've changed your password and switched the verification number to mine," he said. "Behave yourself. Don't cause any more trouble for a while."

Noticing my state, Keith looked up, startled. He stepped forward, pushed the bodyguard restraining me aside, and shot the man a reproachful look. "What's with the rough handling?"

Gently, he rubbed my wrist. "Does it hurt? It would've been easier if you'd just listened sooner."

In a daze, I snatched my phone back and opened Twitter.

**[Dancer Anna: I'm sorry. I apologize for my comments on @Crimson Plains Dance Troupe's post. I am not married to Mr. Keith. I was merely a fan harboring some personal feelings. I also apologize to @Ms. Dorothy and @Mr. Keith for the trouble caused.]**

My fingers trembled so badly I could barely open the comments.

**[@Dancer Anna, have you no shame?]**

**[@Dancer Anna, my god, your thirst to be the other woman is practically dripping off the screen.]**

**[@Dancer Anna, you trash. Stop tarnishing dancers' reputations. Get out of the dance world!]**

...

Keith took my phone again. "Don't look."

My lips moved numbly. "Keith, is this what you wanted?"

He turned his face away. "People online have short memories. I'll have someone steer the narrative later. Just stay off your phone for a few days."

Slowly, I shook my head, my vision blurring, my focus dissolving. "Keith, you've ruined me."

I couldn't see his expression, only heard the edge of irritation in his voice. "I *said* I'll handle it. What are you making a scene for? If you hadn't acted out on your own, would we be in this mess?" His tone hardened. "Anna, get this straight. Even if I deliberately threw you to the wolves, you brought it on yourself!"

A ringing filled my ears. All I could manage was a bitter, hollow laugh. "Keith, let's get a divorce."

He probably smiled. His voice was indulgent, resigned. "You're upset. Vent if you need to."

He was convinced I wouldn't leave him. This was his magnanimous tolerance.

Amid his laughter, a strange calm settled over me.

Just then, a doctor called from down the hall. "Anna? Here for your test results."

Keith froze. "What test results?" he asked, starting to follow me.

"Keith," a soft, sweet voice called from behind. "You've been gone so long."

He turned immediately, heading toward Dorothy, who stood at her hospital room door. "Why are you out of bed, sweetheart? Go back and rest."

I dragged my numb, aching legs in the opposite direction.

Every step felt like walking on blades. Every step carved out bone and flesh with pure, agonizing precision.

The doctor told me I needed complete rest for the next month. Otherwise, I could kiss my dancing career goodbye.

Alone, I took a cab home to a cold, silent apartment.

Because of our secret marriage, Keith and I kept separate places. He'd deliberately chosen the apartment directly above mine.

The first night I moved in, he pinned me against the wall and kissed me. "This way, I can sneak into your bed every night."

He seemed especially fond of this illicit, sneaking-around game.

I'd thought it was just a quirky preference beneath his serious exterior. I never imagined that sneaking around wasn't the game—it was his nature.

He'd grown tired of me. So he went looking for someone fresher. Someone like Dorothy.

Keith arrived at nine, a bag of fruit in hand.

"Brought you some cherries, Anna. Care for a few?"

I tossed my phone onto the table in front of him. The screen glowed with Dorothy’s latest post:

*[I said I wanted something sour and sweet like cherries, and he ended up buying these. Lol.]*

"So Dorothy didn’t want them, and now I get the charity case?"

"Don’t be like that," he frowned.

He stepped closer, his arm slipping familiarly around my waist. "Is this because it’s been too long since we—"

I shoved him away hard, then doubled over, retching dryly right before his eyes.

A shadow crossed Keith’s face. "Anna, that’s enough. Don’t push your luck."

"What luck?" I pressed a hand to my chest, tears spilling freely. "Do you have any idea how many hateful calls I’ve gotten? I’m blacklisted by every major dance troupe. My career is over—just like that. Keith, what did I ever do wrong?"

I’d always had a mild temper, which really just meant I was easy to push around. Keith used to pinch my earlobe, over and over, gazing at me with tender affection. "Anna, you’re so easy to bully. What would you do without me?"

I never imagined he would be the one to discard me.

When my parents died in disgrace, everyone turned away. It was Keith who pulled me from the mud. He fought his family for me—I can still see him kneeling in the rain for what felt like hours. He took me far from that heartbreak, to start anew in another city. Even at my most wretched, he never gave up on me.

Now, after we’ve weathered the worst, this is my reward: his changed heart.

"Let’s get a divorce," I said, closing my eyes. "Just leave me a shred of dignity."

"Anna," he rubbed his temples, weary. "It’s not like you haven’t been criticized before. Why the dramatics now?"

My eyes flew open. I stared at him, disbelieving. "What did you say?"

His lips pressed into a thin line. "When your parents killed themselves, the whole country was criticizing you—"

"Get out!" I snatched a cushion from the sofa and hurled it at him like a madwoman. "Get out!"

He stood stunned—he’d never seen me like this—then stormed out in a huff. He even took that bag of cherries with him.

"Don’t want my charity? Fine. Let’s see how long your stubborn streak lasts."

Less than ten minutes after he left, Dorothy posted again.

*[First day officially moving in. The decor is so tacky, what’s with this typical guy’s taste?]*

The attached photo was of the apartment directly above mine. The "tacky" decor she mocked was something I had personally overseen.

Keith commented below: *[It really is pretty dated. Let’s tear it out and redo it.]*

I rubbed my sore, dry eyes. The tears had long since stopped. A home could be renovated. An old love could be replaced. To him, I was just a worn-out toy he’d grown tired of.

My phone buzzed with another harassing call. This time, I simply removed the SIM card and replaced it with the number I’d used years ago during my overseas performances. Back then, a prestigious international dance troupe had extended an olive branch. I’d turned it down because I couldn’t bear to be apart from Keith.

Hands trembling, I dialed the old contact. "Hello, is this Mr. Christian?"

Silence. If not for the faint sound of breathing, I’d have thought the line was dead.

Why wasn’t he speaking? Had he seen the scandal trending?

I clutched the phone, my palm slick with sweat. "Mr. Christian, please listen. I didn’t do any of those things. I tried to post a clarification, but all my accounts were locked. I made a new one, and everything was taken down within seconds. I—"

"Wait for me."

A muffled male voice came through—oddly familiar, yet nothing like the memory of blond-haired Christian.

I froze. "You’re not Christian?"

"Wait for me."

The voice repeated the phrase, and the call ended.

I was still trying to make sense of it when a text arrived: *[Boarding now. Phone off.]*

A few seconds later, another vibration: *[Wait for me to return. I’ll take you away from there.]*