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Reign

M y father's office at Imperium hasn’t changed in years. It still smells like old varnish and espresso, and it still has that same mahogany furniture, and heavy curtains that are pulled halfway shut.

I sit in the leather chair across from his massive desk, hands clasped on my lap. Lando’s beside me, perched on the armrest. He’s wearing a cropped sweater—bright cherry red, clashing with the heavy mahogany furniture—but it suits him.

Our father is standing behind his desk, reading over a thick packet of renovation notes.

His silver pen scratches occasionally on the paper, but his eyes don’t lift to meet mine.

I take this time to really look at him and notice how much I look like him.

We have the same bone structure and white-blond hair, though his is shot through with silver now.

His eyes are darker than mine—steel instead of ice.

I clear my throat, and he finally glances up.

“We need to talk.”

His brow lifts. “If this is about Wendy’s last-minute costume changes, I already approved it. ”

“It’s not about that.”

Lando shifts beside me, sensing the tension pulling at my shoulders.

My father narrows his eyes. “Then what is it?”

I inhale slowly. “I’ve decided.”

His face tightens just a fraction. “Go on.”

I meet his gaze. “Opening night will be my last performance.”

Lando’s head snaps toward me. “Wait, what?”

I keep my eyes on our father. “I’m stepping back from dancing. For good.”

Silence drops into the room like a guillotine.

My father straightens behind the desk. “This is a joke.”

“It’s not.”

“You’re not even twenty-six. Do you know how many dancers would kill to have your body, your training, your stage presence?—”

“And I’ve given this company everything,” I interrupt. “My time, my body, hell even my sanity. But I’m not in love with the stage anymore, and I won’t keep performing just to preserve your legacy.”

Lando blinks, stunned into silence. My father looks like he’s about to explode.

“You want to just… what? Walk away?”

“No.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “I still want to run Imperium, but not as a principal dancer.”

He glares. “Then what the hell do you want to do?”

“Compose. I want to build something more with Imperium, create from the other side of the curtain. My heart’s not in the spotlight anymore.”

He scoffs. “You think I built this company on heart?”

I give a bitter laugh. “No. You built it on control. ”

His jaw clenches. “So, you’re done dancing, fine. But running this company is a different beast entirely.”

“I know, that’s why I’m not doing it alone.” Lando’s head turns to me slowly. “I want to run Imperium with Lando.”

He stills like I’ve knocked the air from his lungs, and our father’s expression shifts from cold to contemptuous in a blink.

“That’s not an option.”

“Why not?”

He tosses the renovation packet onto the desk. “You already know why.”

“Say it.”

“You want me to say it?” His lip curls. “Because he’s gay. Because he doesn’t understand the depth of the work or the discipline that goes into it. He doesn’t have the instincts.”

Lando whistles. “You got all that just from who I fuck?”

My father’s eyes cut to him. “Watch your tone.”

I stand abruptly, the chair legs scraping back.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. Lando’s been here every damn day. Working hard and training even harder. He’s never once let Imperium down.”

“He doesn’t have the image,” my father snaps. “You do.”

“And you only ever cared about that, but image isn’t enough anymore. The future of this company depends on people who understand artistry and empathy.”

Lando stands now too, his face pale, hands clenched at his sides.

“I’m not asking for your blessing,” I say.

“I’m telling you the plan. Lando will take over the lead next to Angelique after opening night.

And when it’s time, he’ll become co-owner next to me, as my equal.

I’ll continue building Imperium with him, but if you can’t get behind that—if you won’t even try to see his worth—then I don’t want any part of Imperium. ”

My father’s eyes narrow. “You would throw this all away. Just like your mother.”

I flinch at the mention of her, but I push through. “I’m not walking away from this family,” I hiss. “But I’m not living a life I don’t enjoy anymore, either.”

And then I turn and walk out. The hallway is cold as my boots hit the marble.

“Reign!” Lando’s voice breaks through behind me and I stop.

He catches up, standing in front of me like he’s not sure if he wants to cry or scream.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

I exhale, slow. “Yeah, I did.”

He swallows. “I’ve never heard anyone stand up to him like that. Not for me.”

“I should’ve done it a long time ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

I run a hand through my hair. “Because every time I looked at you, I saw Mom.”

His face falls.

“You look like her,” I admit. “You have her eyes, her hair, her laugh. It hurt being around you after she left, because you reminded me of the version of the family we used to have, and then Angelique left too, and hearing you talk about her and her accomplishments in New York, I just couldn’t do it. ”

Lando blinks fast, trying to hold the tears in. “Reign…”

“I was angry,” I say. “At her, and at you. Honestly, I was angry at everything, but none of that was your fault, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the distance I kept and for making you feel like I’d abandoned you, too. ”

He nods slowly, his eyes glassy. “You really think I’m ready to help run Imperium?”

“I think you’re the heart of this place,” I say. “The one person who never gave up on it, or on me.”

He lets out a shaky breath. Then he lunges forward and wraps his arms around me.

“Let’s rebuild it,” He murmurs. “The right way. Together.”

For the first time since we were boys, it feels like we’re on the same side again.

I hear the faintest sound of a throat clearing behind us and when I turn around, I find my father standing there.

He’s no longer the looming figure behind his desk.

Just a man in a dark wool coat, his hands buried in the pockets of his slacks, his silver hair slightly tousled like he’s run his fingers through it one too many times.

“Reign,” he says, voice lower than usual, almost… tentative. “May I have a word?”

Lando’s shoulders tense, but he gives mine a quick squeeze before stepping away.

I nod silently and wait as my father walks toward me.

He stops in front of me but says nothing at first—studying my face instead.

Then he looks past me, down the hallway, like he’s gathering his words from somewhere far off.

“I overheard what you just said to Lando,” he says finally. “And I think I was too hard on you.”

I blink, surprised into silence, because of all the things I expected, that wasn’t one of them.

“I thought… after your mother left, if I gave you a goal—something tangible, something with discipline and focus—you wouldn’t fall apart the way I did.”

He exhales through his nose, not quite a laugh.

“You were always so damn still when you were little. Observant and easy to overlook, but hard to forget, and I didn’t know what else to do with all that quiet hurt in you.

Lando had therapy, and he flourished in it.

But you…” His eyes slide to mine. “You didn’t want help.

You just wanted answers I couldn’t give you. So, I gave you Imperium instead.”

I’m stunned into silence. I don’t know what to do with this man—this version of my father. One who admits regret, and who sees me. He nods toward the corridor behind us and starts walking and I fall into step beside him, hands in my coat pockets.

“Tell me about your compositions,” he says.

I glance over at him. “What?”

“I heard the piece you composed for the gala,” he says. “During the pas de deux you and Angelique danced to. I was shocked,” he continues. “It was… beautiful…layered, and sophisticated. Alive, even.”

I slow a little. “You actually liked it?”

“I didn’t just like it. I was… proud.” He stops walking, and I do too. He looks at me. “I know I haven’t said that much over the years, but I am. And not just for the dancing. For the way you see things and the way you’re able to translate emotion into sound. That’s rare, Reign.”

My chest tightens, but I nod once, too caught off guard to say anything more.

He looks down, clears his throat again, like emotion sits awkward in his throat. “If composing is where your heart is now, then it’s where you should be.”

It’s not everything. It doesn’t erase the years of pressure, of silence, of trying to shape myself into something worthy. But it’s a beginning.

“Thanks,” I say, my voice quiet but real.

He gives me a small nod. “I still think you’re insane for stepping away from the stage.” A flash of his old fire glints in his eyes. “But then again, maybe you’re just braver than I was.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, maybe.”

He bumps his shoulder against mine. “I think it’s time I apologize to Lando now.”

He starts walking again, towards the direction that Lando ran off to, leaving me standing there in the middle of Imperium’s halls feeling, for the first time, like my choices don’t have to be acts of rebellion.

They can just be mine.