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I squinted at the mirror, adjusting the sequined top of Venus’s costume. It was snug in all the wrong places, designed for her petite frame rather than my taller, curvier one. Sighing, I reached for the double-sided tape. This wasn’t my first rodeo with wardrobe emergencies, but it had been a while since I’d had to MacGyver an outfit quite like this.
“Dammit, Venus,” I muttered, securing the top in place. “You couldn’t have given me a little more notice?”
The text from Venus still burned in my mind. No explanation, no warning—just a terse message saying she quit and wouldn’t be back. It was so unlike her that alarm bells were ringing in my head, but I pushed them aside for now. I had a show to save. I glanced at the clock. Ten minutes until the curtain rises.
I slipped into my heels and gave myself one last once-over in the mirror. It would do. It had to.
A pang of disappointment twisted in my chest as I made my way to the stage. Venus was my ace, my star performer. Losing her was like losing my right arm. But I’d been in this business long enough to know that the show must go on, with or without my star.
I nodded at Darcy as I took my position on stage. She gave me a thumbs up and the music started.
My body moved on autopilot, muscle memory kicking in as I lost myself in the routine. For a moment, I forgot about Venus, about the chaos of the day, about everything except the music and the movement.
Then I felt it. A gaze so intense it was almost physical. I turned, mid-spin, and locked eyes with Fury Gracen.
Time seemed to stand still. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but there was something in the air between us that made my skin tingle. For a heartbeat, I forgot to breathe.
Then he looked away, and the spell was broken. I stumbled slightly, cursing under my breath as I forced myself back into the rhythm of the dance.
When the music ended, I was breathing hard, and not just from the exertion. I grabbed a water bottle, chugging it down as I tried to shake off the lingering effects of Fury’s gaze.
“Alright, ladies,” I called out as the dancers filed in. “We’ve got some changes to discuss for this next performance.”
I briefed them on Venus’s resignation, watching their faces for any signs of wavering. But these girls were made of stronger stuff. They nodded, determined, ready to step up and fill the gap.
Pride swelled in my chest. They were survivors, every one of them. Just like me.
“Okay, let’s do our best,” I said, clapping my hands.
As the dancers lined up, I heard a familiar voice behind me. “Sienna, darling. I didn’t know you were back on stage.”
I turned to find Gavin approaching, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “I’m not,” I said, suddenly very aware of how little Venus’s costume covered. “It’s just... Venus quit. No notice, no explanation. She just sent a text saying she was done.”
Gavin’s face darkened. “Venus quit? Why wasn’t I informed immediately?”
I shrugged, feeling a twinge of guilt. “It just happened, Gavin. I was trying to sort out the routine before bringing it to you.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This is... unfortunate. Venus was one of our top draws.”
“I know,” I said, the weight of the situation settling on my shoulders. “I’m handling it, Gavin. We’ll make it work.”
He nodded, but I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “If you need anything—resources, extra staff, whatever—just let me know. We can’t afford any hiccups right now.”
There was something in his tone that set off alarm bells in my head. “Gavin? Is everything okay?”
He waved off my concern, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. “Nothing for you to worry about, darling. Just focus on the show.”
As he turned to leave, I felt a surge of determination. Something wasn’t right here—with Venus, with Gavin, with this whole situation. And I was going to get to the bottom of it.
After our performance, I headed back to the dressing room, my mind racing. As soon as the door closed behind me, I was pulling out my phone, dialing Venus’s number. It went straight to voicemail.
“Venus, it’s Sienna. Call me back as soon as you get this. We need to talk.”
I hung up and immediately sent a text: “Venus, what’s going on? Are you okay? Please call me.”
No response. I tried again. And again. Each unanswered call, each unread text, ratcheted up my anxiety. This wasn’t like Venus. She’d always been reliable, always answered when I called. Something was definitely wrong.
I paced the room, my mind whirling with possibilities. Did something happen to her? Was she in trouble? Or did she just decide she’d had enough of this life and wanted out?
