Ginger stood up, wearing a long, flowing white dress, and walked gracefully onto the stage. The music started again—it was the piece for my dance.

“Judges, audience, before we begin, I have something to reveal.” Her voice carried through the entire hall, amplified by the mic. “This contestant’s performance? It’s actually plagiarized from my original work.”

The crowd erupted. I stood there, frozen, watching the scene in disbelief.

“This dance,” she continued, “is something I created last year during my study trip in Paris. And to prove it, I’ll perform the original version right now.”

The music began again, and she started to move. Every step and every expression… matched mine perfectly. Because it was mine—my dance, my hard work, my creation.

I looked toward the other judges, desperate for someone to see through this. But all I saw on their faces was doubt and disgust.

The worst part? Ulysses was sitting in the front row, head down, not even glancing in my direction.

“This isn’t true…” My voice shook. “This is my work. I can prove it…”

“Oh?” Ginger stopped mid-dance, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “And how will you prove it? With your rehearsal videos? Those videos were all recorded after I publicly released my piece.”

She wasn’t wrong. Every shred of evidence I had was useless, thanks to the trap she’d set. Whoever threatened me to drop out of the competition? It had to be her accomplice!

My vision blurred, and I staggered back a few steps. The whispers in the audience became louder and louder, and I heard what some of them said.

“So it’s true—she really plagiarized.”

“No wonder she’s been freeloading off the d'Amboises! What kind of person does that?”

“Poor Mr. d'Amboise, taking in someone so ungrateful!”

Each word cut deeper than the last. I looked at Ulysses, silently begging him to step in and say something. But he just sat there, unmoving.

Then, out of nowhere, a voice rang out. “Hold on!”

I turned and saw my coach Debra Jasinski rushing onto the stage.

“This dance is Darcey’s original work,” she said firmly. “I can vouch for her. I’ve witnessed every step, from her initial concept to the choreography!”

Ginger didn’t even flinch, just smiled faintly. “Miss Jasinski, are you sure about that? You do realize giving false testimony is a serious legal offense, right?”

Miss Jasinski hesitated for a moment but quickly firmed up her stance. “I’m only telling the truth.”

“Well then,” Ginger said, pulling out a document from her assistant’s hand. “This is the creative registration from the Paris Opera Ballet School, dated October of last year. Miss Jasinski, can you prove Darcey Lynn was working on her piece before that?”

Miss Jasinski went silent. She couldn’t. I had only started creating this dance earlier this year.

“That’s enough,” I blurt out, my voice strangely coming out steady. “I’m withdrawing from the competition.”

With that, I turned to leave the stage.

But Ginger wasn’t done. “Can withdrawing erase the fact that you plagiarized?” she said coldly. “I suggest the judges take this matter seriously as a warning to the other contestants.”

I stopped and stared back at her. This woman wasn’t satisfied with just taking my love—she wanted to destroy my dreams too.

But what was the point of arguing? No matter how many explanations I’d make, they would appear powerless against her carefully made-up story.

One last time, I looked at Ulysses. Finally, he raised his head, and our eyes met.

For a brief moment, I saw hesitation and pain in his gaze.

But in the end… he chose to stay silent.

That was it.

I turned and walked off the stage, ignoring the rising buzz of murmurs behind me.

By the time I reached backstage, I heard Ginger announcing she’d perform the dance again—this time as the original creator.

The worst part? She danced it really beautifully.

Of course, she did. She’d had plenty of time to dissect every move and every expression. She didn’t just steal my work—she wanted to parade it in front of everyone like it was hers all along.

I didn’t look back. I just kept walking until I was out of the venue.

It was drizzling outside. I stood there in the rain, letting the cold drops soak my whole body.

And at that moment, I finally got it—some things can’t be kept… no matter how hard you try.

Like my feelings for Ulysses.

Like my dream of becoming a professional ballet dancer.

Both had been torn apart in this carefully planned disaster.

The rain came down harder, matching the tears I couldn’t hold back anymore. They just poured out, no stopping them.

When I got back from the competition, I locked myself in my room for two full days. No food, no water.

Meanwhile, that ridiculous video spread like wildfire online. My socials blew up with angry strangers flooding my feed.

[Plagiarist!] [Ingrate!] [Shameless!]

Each word hit like sharp arrows, piercing my heart deeper than I thought possible.

On the third morning, I finally came out of my room.

In the dining room, Ginger was sitting there, enjoying a fancy breakfast. When she saw me, she gracefully wiped her mouth with a napkin.

“Awake? I was starting to think you were planning to starve yourself to death in there.”

I went straight to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water.

But of course, she wouldn’t let it go.

“Darcey, about the competition,” she said. “We should probably talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” I twisted the cap off the bottle, my voice raspy.

“How could there not be anything to talk about?” She set her fork down. “Do you have any idea what kind of damage this has done to the d'Amboises? People online are saying they raised an ungrateful wolf! Even Lee’s company is taking a hit!”

My hand froze mid-twist. “So?”

“So,” she said, her voice dripping with fake kindness, “I think you should release a statement. Admit to the plagiarism, apologize to everyone—it’s really the best solution for all of us. Don’t worry, though. If you take responsibility, I won’t press charges.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Admit it? Why should I admit to something I didn’t do?”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Her tone suddenly turned cold. “This industry is small. You really think you’ll have a future in ballet dancing if you cross me?”

I turned to face her, staring at her. “Do you hate me that much?”

“Hate you?” She chuckled. “Why would I hate you? You’re just the adopted kid. You’re not even worth competing with. I just can’t stand the way you look at Lee—it’s so obvious. Honestly, anyone watching might think you two… have something going on.”

These words are like a knife, accurately piercing my soft spot. My grip on the bottle tightened, my hand shaking. “You’ve known all along?”

“Gosh, everyone knows!” She stood, taking a step closer. “Everyone except Lee, who still insists on seeing you as a little sister. But not anymore. He’s finally seen you for who you really are. Someone who steals other people’s work. How good of a person could you possibly be?”

I could feel my composure cracking. “You stole my work and then turned it all back on me?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Got any proof? If you don’t, you should really keep your mouth shut. It won’t end well for you.”

Just then, a voice cut through the tension.

“What are you two talking about?”

I turned and saw Ulysses standing in the doorway, sharp in his suit, brows furrowed.

I couldn’t tell how much he’d heard.

Ginger immediately put on this helpless, pitiful look. “Lee, I just wanted to persuade Darcey to admit her mistake and stop being so stubborn.”

I turned to him, hopeful that he’d see through her act and understand the truth. But he just let out a sigh. “Darcey, let’s end this here.”

That sentence shattered me completely.

So, in his eyes, I really was just an ungrateful plagiarist.

“Fine. Let’s end it here.” I nodded, my voice bitter, strained. “Enjoy your meal. I’ve got things to do.”

I turned around and headed upstairs, locking myself in my room again. The moment I hit the bed, the tears came uncontrollably.

Turns out, the worst part isn’t being falsely accused. It’s not the insults from strangers online. It’s being misunderstood by the one person you trusted the most.

The one who promised to protect me—always—now chose silence.

I opened my laptop, searching for flights. The soonest, the fastest.

If there’s no place for me here, then why stay?

Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Aunt Petunia.

“Darcey, I saw the news,” she said, her voice filled with concern. “Sweetie, are you okay?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Auntie, I want to leave early.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Your passport and visa are ready. When do you want to go?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Alright. I’ll book the ticket now.” She paused. “You don’t need to explain anything, sweetie. I understand. Some things… time will prove.”

After the call, I started packing. There wasn’t much I wanted to take. The ballet dancing supplies I’d collected over the years? I didn’t even want to take them. They were loaded with memories I couldn’t bear to relive.

Halfway through packing, I noticed my notebook was gone—the one where I’d sketched out the entire process of my choreography, from the first idea to the final steps. It was the only proof I had of my innocence.

I tore through the room, checking every corner, but it was nowhere. And then, a chilling thought hit me. ‘Had Ginger stolen it?’

But honestly, what did it matter now? Even if I found it, what would it change?

Late at night, I heard Ulysses and Ginger talking downstairs.

They were chatting about wedding plans, decorating their new villa, and their future together. Their voices floated through the floor like a dull knife, repeatedly twisting and tearing at my heart.

I stood by the window, staring at the roses blooming in the yard.

There was a time when I also pictured myself beside Ulysses. A different version of us, a different future. But now, even the simplest thing—trust—is gone. What was left to hold on to?

It’s better to leave now. While they’re still wrapped up in their happy little bubble. I’ll take whatever dignity I have left, pack up my broken dreams, and slip away quietly from this place that’s hurt me so much.

At least at Royal Ballet School, I can start fresh. No one there knows my past. No one will judge me. I can create something new and better and finally prove myself.

This time, I’ll keep everything—every shred of evidence—safe. No one will ever get the chance to take me down again.

After I hung up with my aunt, I found myself sitting in the rehearsal room, staring blankly.

This space held so many pieces of me.

The photos on the wall? They captured every milestone. The trophies in the corner? Proof of how far I’d come. And the costumes in the closet? Each one carried a memory.

I walked to the mirror and stared at my reflection.

My black training outfit is faded now. It used to be my favorite. I still remember the day I bought it—Ulysses was there with me, helping me pick it out.