I was the fiancee of Lucian Veris, the celebrated Swan Prince, who had offered up the principal role in exchange for my hand.

On stage, he was proud and untouchable, yet he surrendered completely to the choreography I created for "Eternal Crown."

When I came back after three years in Valmont, I discovered that the understudy who mirrored me had already claimed our private rehearsal hall.

At the company's welcome gala, Lucian abandoned a room full of sponsors just to chase after the crying understudy.

From behind the velvet curtain, I overheard words he had never spoken to me.

"Elara, I chose you only because you reminded me of her. I was looking for a replacement. But you were different. Your choreography captivated me—more than she ever could. Just make sure she never finds out until the closing night of 'Eternal Crown.'"

Then came the muffled sounds of their entanglement, followed by his whispered vow. "I'll give you the principal's place."

Right there, in that same room, he had once held my hand and sworn that I, Astraea Lynelle, would be his only soulmate in this lifetime.

I turned and walked away, the sharp echo of my pointe shoes striking with finality.

Back in the dressing room, I dialed his greatest rival, Caelan Thorne.

"Mr. Thorne," I said evenly, "I accept your offer to join your company. And one more thing—prepare a gift for me. I intend to turn Lucian's grand finale into the most spectacular downfall the art world has ever seen."

The Shattered Crown

I had just hung up the phone with Caelan Thorne when the door burst open with a violent kick.

Lucian stormed into my dressing room, his face ashen, with Elara Grace trailing behind him.

Her eyes were rimmed with red, yet there was no mistaking the smugness flickering beneath her tears.

"Astraea!" Lucian's voice was cold as ice. "Do you even realize what you've just done?"

I turned toward the man who once swore to walk through life by my side, only to see him now standing against me for another woman's sake. Bitterness rose in my chest.

"What exactly did I do?"

"You walked out just like that! You embarrassed the sponsors and humiliated the entire team!"

Lucian stepped closer, his eyes brimming with disappointment. "Are you even the same Astraea Lynelle I used to know?"

Behind him, Elara sniffled softly. "Ms. Lynelle, I know you don't like me, but on an occasion this important—"

"Enough." Lucian cut her off, his gaze turning on me with a chilling edge. "Astraea, when did you become so narrow-minded? Since when can you not make room for a newcomer?"

Ten years of love, and all he saw in me was narrow-mindedness.

"You think I'm narrow-minded?"

"Just look at yourself!" His voice sharpened. "Seething with resentment, lashing out at the innocent ones. Is this how a principal choreographer is supposed to behave?"

Out in the hallway, several dancers had gathered, whispering and pointing toward the door.

"I knew it. Astraea's jealous…"

"Elara's so talented, and she just can't stand it…"

And in that moment, I heard the sound of my own heart breaking.

Not because of their whispers, but because of the man standing before me—the one who once vowed he would protect me for life.

"Astraea." Lucian's voice grew even colder. "With the state you're in right now, you're no longer fit to direct the closing performance of 'Eternal Crown.'"

"Eternal Crown" was my masterpiece. The work I had poured every ounce of my imagination into for this team. And he dared to say that to me?

"To ensure good quality," he went on, "Elara and I will be taking over your job together."

The dressing room fell into a suffocating silence.

Elara looked at me with a feigned shock. "Ms. Lynelle, I know you've misunderstood me, but 'Eternal Crown' is Lucian's life's work, and it's the team's signature production. I only want to help take some of the weight off his shoulders and make the performance even more perfect."

Her voice dripped with softness, the kind that pretended to be innocent, as if she truly had the company's best interest at heart.

And just like that, my creation became his life's work in their mouths.

"There's one more thing." Lucian's tone hardened. "Studio One will now serve as Elara's and my main rehearsal space. Astraea, move your things to the spare room next to the storage closet."

The spare room.

That tiny, windowless cell.

Right on cue, Elara chimed in, her smile as sweet as sugar. "Ms. Lynelle, we'll need to borrow your choreography notes and drafts while Lucian and I study 'Eternal Crown.'"

Her eyes glittered as she added, almost playfully, "After all, we're the ones in charge now."

The Woman He Chose

I dragged my exhausted body back to the apartment Lucian and I shared.

The lock beeped, and the heavy security door swung open.

A cloying wave of perfume rushed at me, so sweet it nearly made me gag. It wasn't mine.

By the entryway lay a pair of red stilettos, their sharp heels stabbing straight into my chest.

On the living room couch, black lace lingerie was tossed carelessly aside, next to a torn-open box.

Two wine glasses stood side by side on the bar counter, faint lipstick stains smudged along the rims.

The master bedroom door was left ajar, spilling a dim, suggestive glow into the hall.

With a sudden creak, it flung open.

Elara leaned against the frame, wearing nothing but Lucian's white shirt. The buttons hung loose, baring the smooth expanse of her skin.

Purple bruises marked her throat, impossible to ignore. Her hair was tousled, her eyes gleaming with smug triumph.

"Well, Ms. Lynelle. You're home." She dragged out the words in a singsong voice. "What a shame. Lucian just fell asleep."

My hands curled into fists. "Get out."

"Get out?" Elara's laugh was sharp, grating. "You're the one who should leave. This is Lucian's and my place now."

She stepped closer, her voice dropping low.

"Lucian said being in bed with you felt like holding a corpse—cold, stiff, lifeless. Nothing worth remembering."

Her lips curved as she twisted the knife deeper.

"He said it's my body that drives him wild, my voice that makes him lose control. When he held me, he told me he finally understood what it meant to be with a real woman."

From inside the bedroom, I heard Lucian stir.

A vicious gleam flashed in Elara's eyes. "Oh, that reminds me. He also said you're boring, that the only thing you can do is dance. You don't even know how to please a man. He's been sick of you for a long time."

My whole body shook.

Elara turned and dragged out a suitcase. My suitcase.

"Since Lucian doesn't want you anymore, stop clinging like dead weight."

She yanked the zipper open and dumped everything inside onto the floor.

My ballet shoes landed with a soft thud. She deliberately ground her heel into them, pressing down hard.

A sharp rip tore through the room.

My treasured choreography notes were shredded into scraps, fluttering down like snow. Photographs from performances, certificates of awards—she ripped them all apart in a frenzy.

My most intimate clothes were hurled about, scattered across every corner of the living room.

"Take your trash and get out! Don't you dare dirty the space Lucian and I share!" She seized my arm and shoved me toward the door with all her strength.

The door slammed shut in my face. The click of the lock echoed like a blade.

A home I had built for years had turned into someone else's nest overnight.

…

At the gate, the security guard gave me a long look, his eyes clouded with sympathy he didn't know how to express.

"Ms. Lynelle… what happened to you?"

"I'm fine."

I flagged down a cab. The driver studied me through the rearview mirror, taking in my disheveled state.

"Where to?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came. I didn't know where I belonged anymore.

"Just find me a hotel."

In a shabby inn, I curled up on the narrow bed and stared at the water stains on the ceiling.

My phone buzzed again and again, group messages from the company filling the screen.

'Did you hear? Astraea and Mr. Veris broke up?'

'I knew it. With her personality, no man would last.'

'Elara's so gentle. No wonder Mr. Veris chose her.'

I shut the phone off and closed my eyes.

The Broken Crown

The next morning, I slipped into a wrinkled dress and forced my feet into high heels before stepping into the Celestia Ballet.

As I walked down the hallway, people turned their heads and whispered to each other.

One voice rose above the murmur, deliberately sharp. "A certain someone really has no shame. Got dumped and still dares to show up at work."

I pretended not to hear a thing and kept going straight toward my office.

But when I opened the door, I froze.

The desk was bare. The chair was gone. Even the framed awards that had hung on the wall had vanished.

"Ms. Lynelle." The receptionist hurried over, avoiding my eyes. "Your things have been moved to the small room beside the storage closet." Her voice dropped lower. "It was Mr. Ashford's decision."

The small room beside the storage closet—the one without a single window.

Dragging my tired body down the hall, I pushed open the door. A damp, musty smell rushed out to meet me.

The room was barely fifty square feet, and all my belongings had been tossed carelessly on the floor.

My choreography notes were trampled and smeared with dirt. The glass frame around one of my award certificates lay shattered across the ground.

Then music drifted out from the rehearsal hall.

I followed the sound and peered through the narrow crack of the door. Lucian was there, his arm looped firmly around Elara's waist, the two of them pressed far too close.

"Elara, make the movement softer," he said, his voice so tender I almost didn't recognize it.

"Lucian, I can never get it right. Teach me again, please?" She pouted playfully, her tone dripping with sweetness.

Lucian chuckled and demonstrated once more, his hand sliding across the small of her back, the intimacy of the gesture stinging my eyes.

My heart clenched as though someone had seized it in a merciless grip.

Just then, Gregory Ashford hurried over, his voice pitched with urgency. "The judges have arrived early! Everyone, get ready!"

Wearing a practiced smile, Gregory ushered several stern-faced judges in dark suits into Studio One—the very studio that once belonged to me, but now was Lucian and Elara's domain.

"Ms. Lynelle, you're here too?" The panel's chair, Edmund Harrington, caught sight of me, a spark of delight flickering in his eyes. "We came especially to witness the brilliance of the original director of 'Eternal Crown.'"

Lucian's expression shifted ever so slightly.

Elara immediately chimed in, her tone sugary and coy. "Mr. Harrington, actually, the choreography of 'Eternal Crown' is now handled by Lucian and me together. Ms. Lynelle no longer—"

"That's not correct." Edmund cut her off with a sharp wave of his hand. "What we came to see is Astraea's original style. Elara, your technique is commendable, but you lack the depth, the essence."

For the first time in days, a flicker of hope stirred in my chest.

Gregory shot a panicked glance at Lucian. "Well…"

Lucian gave a cold, measured smile. "Then, let Astraea perform." He paused deliberately before adding, "Though the other dancers are busy rehearsing the new version, none are available to partner with her. Astraea, why don't you dance alone? That way, everyone can see whether your unique style is still intact."

The fragile hope crumbled at once.

Alone? For a group sequence? He wanted nothing more than to humiliate me.

"For the sake of the company, Astraea," Gregory pressed, cloaking his coercion in moral righteousness, "why not push through? This is also your chance to prove yourself."

I was trapped, cornered with no way out.

"Fine." I clenched my jaw and forced the word past my lips.

But when I went to change into my costume, I discovered my dance shoes were gone.

"Ms. Lynelle, you can wear my spare pair." Elara appeared at just the right moment, holding out a pristine set of shoes identical to mine. "They've just been sanitized," she added sweetly.

The instant I took them, our eyes met.

Her gaze was wide, innocent, almost saintlike.

Maybe she really was only thinking about the company's reputation.

I slipped the shoes on.

The music swelled, and I began to dance.

The intensity of the choreography soon drenched my socks in sweat.

Then, a sudden searing pain shot through the soles of my feet.

It was as if red-hot needles were stabbing, burning, eating their way into my flesh.

Something hard and gritty pressed beneath me, grinding against my skin with every turn and leap, tearing deeper with each movement.

Lime. She had filled the shoes with lime powder.

Agony surged through me in waves. My face drained of color, sweat beaded at my forehead, and my body trembled under the torment, but the judges were watching, their eyes fixed on me.

So, I clenched my teeth, forcing every ounce of pain into my movements.

Desperation twisted into beauty. Anguish erupted into raw, explosive power. Each step struck with more force than I had ever summoned before.

Edmund nodded again and again, admiration blazing in his eyes.

Lucian watched me with an expression I couldn't decipher, shadows flickering across his face.

Elara's gaze, however, stayed locked on my feet, her eyes flashing with venom.

The finale had arrived.

The last crescendo—the relentless whirl of spins followed by a soaring grand jete.

I forced my body through it, grinding my bones against the searing agony in my feet, pushing every shred of strength into that final leap.

And at the precise moment my body rose, suspended at the apex of power and grace, the massive stage spotlight above me tore free and came crashing down without warning.

There was no time to dodge.

The heavy fixture slammed onto my right shoulder and back, driving me into the floor with brutal force.

The air split with a cacophony of sounds: the shriek of metal breaking, the shatter of glass, and the sickening snap of bone.

Blood gushed from my mouth and nose in an instant.

I didn't even manage a cry of pain before my body collapsed into a grotesque angle, sprawling in a widening pool of red.

The hall froze in horrified silence, then erupted in screams.

Lucian bolted toward the stage, but when his eyes caught the spreading blood beneath me, his steps faltered. The color drained from his face, his body paralyzed.

Elara, right on cue, let out a high-pitched scream. She threw herself into his arms, clutching him tightly. "Lucian! There's so much blood! I'm terrified!"

Instinctively, he wrapped his arm around her trembling frame, his voice quivering. "Call an ambulance! Now!"

A stagehand moved toward me, but Lucian barked, "Don't touch her! Get Elara out first. She can't handle this!"

Even now, at the edge of my life, his first thought was Elara's feelings.

I lay in the blood soaking the stage floor, listening to his words, and in that moment, my heart died completely.

Gregory, ashen-faced, rushed to reassure the panel of judges. "An accident! Nothing but an accident! The equipment must have been too old."

But the judges only shook their heads and filed out, grim and disappointed.

Amid the chaos, I caught sight of Elara casting a quick, deliberate glance toward a stagehand.

I knew what would come next: whispers that I had suffered a breakdown, that I had sabotaged the equipment myself.

The wail of sirens grew louder, closer.

Broken like a discarded doll, I was lifted onto a stretcher—my feet shredded and bloody, my shoulder and back a raw crimson mess, my fate hanging by a thread.

From a distance, Lucian held Elara as she sobbed, watching silently as the ambulance carried me away.