Page 38

The praise makes my spine straighten. I smile politely, but my heart thuds against my ribs. Reign’s thumb rubs a slow, grounding circle against the small of my back. His body angled toward mine, protective without being obvious.

“She’s the reason this entire production exists,” he adds, eyes never leaving mine.

I barely have time to respond before the lights dim slightly, drawing everyone's attention toward the stage where the orchestra plays.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Charlie’s unmistakable voice echoes across the marble and crystal space. “Thank you for joining us tonight to support Imperium’s upcoming season. It’s an honour to host you all at our annual gala—and tonight, we have a rare gift. ”

My heart pounds uncontrollably with nerves, but Reign gently presses his palm against my back, and my heart calms a fraction.

“Before Swan Lake graces our stage this Summer, we invite you to witness a small preview—a duet between our Swan Queen and her Prince Siegfried, choreographed by our very own Terry Baker, and accompanied by a special musical composition.”

He pauses, blinking down at his speech cards that his assistant must have written, based on the shocked expression he has as he looks up, eyes connecting with Reign’s from across the room.

“Written by my son…Reign Harrington.”

The crowd reacts instantly in soft gasps, murmurs of surprise, and a few turned heads in our direction. I turn to look at him, but Reign just lifts his chin slightly, expression unreadable beneath the mask.

He turns to face me. “Ready, Angel?” he asks quietly.

I nod and take his hand, my fingers sliding into his like they were meant to fit there. The centre of the room has been cleared, a polished circle of floor surrounded by the onlookers. We stand in our starting positions, and there’s a long pause as the orchestra’s instruments raise and still.

I take a deep breath and as I exhale, the first note blooms, melancholy and tender, the piano lead aching. The string instruments follow, slow and mournful. It’s not Tchaikovsky’s, or anyone else’s. It’s Reign’s masterpiece. I glance at him as we move, but he’s already watching me.

Terry’s choreography is devastatingly intimate and I’m aware of everything—the crowd, the lights, the eyes fixed on us—and my body hums. I feel myself tightening inside, heat pooling low as I melt into the performance and into Reign.

The music rises, and everything falls away, leaving only him.

His mouth just inches from mine, and his breath hot against my cheek.

His eyes lower to mine and I see the exact moment he realizes how turned on I am. The slight parting of his lips and the surprised look in his eyes before his gaze deepens, turning molten and hungry. He tightens his hold on me just slightly, and my pulse stutters in answer.

I let the choreography melt into instinct, the music carrying me to the places I never let myself feel in New York. And when he lowers me into the final dip, our faces barely an inch apart, no one makes a sound.

I stare into Reign’s eyes, certain now that I love him more than anything, and his eyes soften, almost like he can hear the thoughts in my mind. Applause erupts, crashing against the quiet we left behind.

The applause is still echoing as we bow to the crowd, but as we straighten, something changes. Reign’s hand stiffens slightly against mine, and his head turns toward the crowd, eyes locking onto something, or someone, just beyond where I can see.

I glance up at him, confused by his stillness, but he doesn’t say a word for a moment.

His jaw clenches, and his expression reminds me of the night those drunk men tried to corner me in the alley.

It gives me goosebumps as I look around, fully expecting one of them to be here.

When he finally turns back to me, his voice is quiet and way too calm for how he looks.

“I need to check on something,” he says. “I’ll be back.”

And then he’s gone—walking off without another word. A chill rushes over my skin as I step back into the crowd of people, disoriented, still trying to catch my breath when Charlie appears beside me .

“There she is,” he says, clapping with a proud smile. “That was magnificent, Angelique. Absolutely unforgettable.”

“Thank you,” I manage, my eyes still scanning the crowd, looking for Reign. Hoping he’ll come back through the haze of bodies.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Charlie continues. “He’s a guest of mine tonight. He’ll be joining Imperium next season. I think you’ll be delighted—you two know each other.”

I turn toward him absently and my entire body goes cold when I see the man standing beside him.

“Hey, Pigeon,” Alec says, and my lungs forget how to function.

I blink, but I can’t move as I stare back at him, my legs frozen and my vision beginning to blur at the edges. The sound of his voice cuts through me like a dull, rusted knife—one that’s already been buried there once before.

He’s here, standing right in front of me, and he’s smiling like what he did to me never happened. I taste bile rushing up my throat.

“I—” My voice catches. “Excuse me.” I turn and run, and I don’t look back.

I don’t even know where I’m going, all I know is that I need to get out of Imperium, and away from Alec.

My pointe shoes tap furiously down the front steps of the estate until I hit gravel, the stones uncomfortable under my shoes, causing me to stumble.

I internally curse myself for not bringing a change of shoes to this stupid gala.

I gasp in a full breath of air, but it’s not enough. Nothing is enough. I hit my knees at the bottom of the steps and vomit . It burns up my throat, violent and ugly, and my eyes water from the force of it, mascara bleeding down my cheeks.

“Well, that wasn’t the reunion I imagined,” Alec says from behind me, voice casual like we’re old friends.

My blood turns to ice as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and slowly force myself to stand.