The lights hit her first—bright and hot, bleeding into the sides of her vision. Mirelle stood just off-center, her toes brushing the tape line, breath shallow, heartbeat wild in her throat.
It was time.
The music swelled, and she stepped into it.
This was it. Make or break. The moment she'd bled for, wept for, rehearsed until her toes bled through satin. The air felt electric, trembling around her as if the stage itself held its breath. Every nerve in her body screamed, every instinct tuned to the thrum of music and light.
For sixty seconds, the world shrank. There was no noise in her mind. No fear. No second-guessing. Just the rhythm—divine, terrifying—the choreography etched into her bones, and the crowd beyond the lights like shadows at the edge of a dream. Her arms sliced through the air like silk on steel, legs extending into impossibly clean lines, each movement radiant with the sharp, controlled fire Rafe had carved into her.
She wasn't just dancing.
She was claiming space that had never been hers.
She was no longer a shadow in the background. This moment was hers.
The final note hovered in the air as she struck the ending pose, chest lifted, arms frozen in breathless suspension.
Silence.
Then applause.
Thunderous, genuine, and not just polite. It struck her like wind.
A wave of emotion crashed into her—disbelief, relief, and the kind of joy that made her chest ache. Her eyes stung, but she held back the tears, her body still humming with adrenaline. She had done it. Not perfectly. Not effortlessly. But fully, completely, with everything she had.
She then blended seamlessly back into the corps, heart still racing, muscles electric, dancing the rest of the piece with every ounce of power left in her body.
After the performance, they bowed together as a company. Names were called in ascending rank—corps, demi-soloists, soloists. When hers came—"Demi-soloist: Mirelle Vasseur"—the applause surged just a little louder. Her chest tightened. They had noticed.
She bowed again, and this time, she let herself smile.
Backstage, the other dancers swarmed her. "You killed it!" one said. "First solo and you nailed it." Another patted her shoulder, and someone handed her water she barely remembered taking.
"Mirelle," a familiar voice said warmly. She turned—it was India, smiling. "I saw it all. You were radiant."
It was overwhelming, the joy blooming in her chest. That one minute—that flash of spotlight in the middle of a larger piece—had been hers. After years of background roles and silent exits, of always standing behind someone else, she had finally stepped forward. And now, the praise felt earned.
"Good job, sis," a voice rang out, sugar-sweet and loud enough for everyone to hear.
She nearly groaned—here came the attention-seeking bitch of a sister she had.
Kaia was there, gliding into the dressing room like she belonged onstage too. She smiled, radiant and performative, as if she were the proud sister basking in Mirelle's glow. Some of the other dancers glanced over, smiling faintly, taking Kaia's words at face value.
But Mirelle stiffened.
Kaia stepped closer, lowering her voice until it was velvet and venom, just enough for both of them to hear. "Rafe must be training you so well. He's so good, isn't he? So... attentive."
Mirelle snapped. "You're disgusting."
Kaia only smiled wider and reached out—gripping Mirelle's arm tightly, too tightly, pulling her in under the guise of a sisterly hug. "Funny thing, though," she whispered into her ear, "Rafe isn't even here. Didn't even watch your big moment. You know what he's doing instead? He is with Mother."
Mirelle froze, heart stuttering. The words landed like a slap. She had wondered, briefly, why he wasn't in the wings—but to hear Kaia say it like that...
No. That couldn't be true. Their mother knew it was her first solo performance. Celeste wouldn't skip something this significant—right? But as the thought lingered, a chill crept in. Her mother had abandoned moments before, dropped her off like dead weight when it didn't serve her. It was possible.
But Rafe?
A sinking feeling pressed into her ribs.
Would he do that too?
"Stop," Mirelle hissed, yanking her arm back.
But Kaia leaned in, eyes glittering. "Do you do that too, Mirelle? Is that how you got so good?"
Mirelle was so angry she wanted to rip her sister's hair out, to scream in her face and drag her out by the throat—but then she caught the expressions around them.
Mirelle glanced around and realized half the dressing room was watching. Smiling. Probably thinking how Kaia is such a good sister.
It made Mirelle sick. None of them could see it. The blade behind the smile. The venom tucked neatly beneath the hug.
She breathed hard, then straightened her spine. "You are so pathetic, Kaia. I'm not doing this with you. You'll drag me into a scene and make me the villain again, right? Isn't that your game?"
Kaia blinked, feigning innocence. "What are you talking about sis? I'm happy for you, ain't I?" She said in a loud voice.
Mirelle stepped closer to her, fake smile on her face for their audience, her voice low just for her to hear. "What is it, really? You can't stand it when I do something well? You have to poison it before it even settles?"
Kaia's smile faltered for half a second.
Mirelle smirked coldly. "Next time, pick a target that still cares what you think." Then in a loud voice, "Thanks, sis," she said sweetly, venom tucked behind her teeth. She wouldn't give Kaia the satisfaction of making her snap—not again.
And with that, she walked out of the dressing room—head high, heart roaring.
But as her heels clicked against the hallway floor, the buzz inside her chest started to turn sour. Kaia's words wouldn't leave her. Rafe isn't even here. He's with Mother. She wanted to believe it was just another one of Kaia's lies—vicious, calculated, meant to ruin her moment.
Their mother knew this was Mirelle's first solo. Even Celeste wouldn't skip that. Would she?
But then came the worse thought.
What if Rafe really had gone with her? What if Kaia wasn't lying?
The image hit her all at once—her mother's manicured hand on Rafe's chest, his mouth against her neck—and Mirelle nearly gagged. She stumbled slightly in her walk, bile rising at the back of her throat. The idea of the two people who haunted her most being entangled like that made her want to tear her skin off.
Her head spun.
Should she find them? Burst in and see for herself? But what if it was true?
She gritted her teeth.
Maybe it was better not to know.
Maybe ignorance was the only peace she'd get.
Her steps slowed. For a moment, Mirelle could barely feel her own body moving. It was like her mind had dropped through the floor.
She felt so small. So stupid. How had she let herself believe, even for a second, that today mattered to anyone but her? She danced like her life depended on it, and they didn't even show up. If Kaia was right—if they really were together, doing God knows what while she bled her heart out onstage—what did that say about her?
It said she didn't matter. Not to her mother. Not to him.
And in that moment, she hated how much that hurt.