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“But,” he adds, “I also want to make sure you’re doing it because you want to. Not because my father put on the charm and pressured you into it.”

I look away, trying to will the blush off my face, but it’s already too late.

“You could’ve said no,” he says quietly. “I wouldn’t have held it against you.”

“I should have,” I admit, my voice lower now. “I quit dancing.”

“And yet here you are,” he murmurs, gaze locking with mine again .

I exhale slowly, eyes dropping to my hands as I fidget with the hem of my top. “I want to see if it’s different here,” I say. “If Imperium can be something The Big Apple never was.”

His brow furrows, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“I want to know if I can be the kind of dancer I used to dream about being before life got all twisted.”

He’s quiet for a beat, and when I finally look up, his eyes are soft.

“You might be surprised,” he says. “Imperium has a way of giving people room to become who they really are.”

“But Reign…” I start, choosing my words carefully. “I don’t think I can dance Odile. That role is—” I stop myself before I say too much. “It’s just not in me.”

“Yes, it is,” he replies without hesitation. “You just haven’t realized it yet.”

I don’t know whether to be flattered or terrified.

He leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. “We’ll run rehearsals at Imperium during the day, like any other company. And we can put in extra time after hours until you feel like you’ve mastered your version of Odile.”

My stomach drops. “After hours?” I ask, and I hate how my voice shakes.

His head tilts, just slightly, eyes scanning my face with quiet focus.

“As in, just us two?” I ask again.

“If you’d prefer someone else present,” he says slowly, “we can make that happen. If that makes you more comfortable.”

“That’d be great,” I say, but the words trip over themselves in their hurry to get out, and I instantly regret how desperate they sound.

He nods once but says nothing as his eyes continue studying me, like he’s cataloguing every buried fear I’m trying so hard to keep hidden. I shift, finishing my stretch and folding my legs in front of me, palms flat against the floor for something to ground me.

“What about our understudies?” I ask, mostly to fill the silence.

He raises a brow. “Are you planning to break a leg or something?”

I don’t smile. “I want Lando to be yours.”

Reign stills, his brow knitting as he blinks once. “Lando?”

I nod.

“Does he even want to dance the part?”

“He does,” I say firmly, meeting his eyes.

He runs a hand through his hair, visibly thrown by the suggestion. “I thought he didn’t enjoy leading roles.”

“He’s never been given the chance to find out if he does.”

Reign studies me for a long moment, before he finally nods. “Alright. He can be my understudy.”

Relief rushes through me like a sudden breeze, momentary but real.

“But we’ll hold auditions at Imperium for your understudy,” he adds.

I nod again, then wrap my arms around my knees, pulling them to my chest. The room feels colder now, and the weight of what I’ve just agreed to settles deep into my bones.

“We start Monday,” he says, standing up and making his way toward the door.

“Wait,” I call out.

He pauses, turning just enough to glance over his shoulder at me .

I sit up straighter. “We haven’t talked about how much I’ll be paid.”

A small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth—infuriating and undeniably attractive. “I was wondering when you’d ask,” he says. “I’ll have a hiring agreement emailed over by the end of the night.”

I narrow my eyes slightly. “Do you even have my email?”

He begins walking again, his voice casual as it floats back to me. “I’ll text you for it later.”

I blink. “You have my number?”

He doesn’t answer, and he’s gone before I can ask again, leaving nothing but the faint scent of his cologne behind. I stare at the empty doorway, my heart thudding annoyingly loud in my chest.

Unknown Number:

What’s your email address?

Me:

Who is this?

Unknown Number:

Tall.

Blond.

Handsome.

Probably has opinions about your fouettés.

Me:

Reign?

Unknown Number:

I always knew you thought I was handsome.

My cheeks burn as I add his number to my phone.

Me:

Don’t flatter yourself, Harrington. What do you want?

Reign of Terror:

Your email…unless you’d rather I drop the contract off in person.

My heart pounds violently as I picture him turning up at my doorstep this late at night, but instead of scaring me, it turns me on, and that scares me.

Reign of Terror:

Me:

You’re ridiculous.

Reign of Terror:

That’s not a no.

I roll my eyes and send him my email address.

Me:

How did you get my number, anyway?

Reign of Terror:

It’s a secret.

Me:

Do you always go around ‘secretly’ collecting numbers?

Reign of Terror:

Just yours.

I fall back onto my bed, holding my phone above my face with the world's goofiest smile. Reign Harrington, texting like a menace and somehow making it... cute? Who knew he still had this side to him.

Reign of Terror:

Agreement is on the way.

Check your inbox.

I switch to my inbox and find his email at the top.

Offer – Imperium Ballet

I click the email, scrolling through the attached agreement, and when I see the pay, I drop my phone straight onto my face.

“Ow,” I groan, clutching my nose as the sting radiates between my eyes.

I blindly fumble around the bed, feeling for my phone and pulling the screen back up again to make sure I’m not seeing things. There are so many zeros. I reread the contract header. Then scroll. And scroll again.

Me:

Is this amount of compensation even legal?

Reign of Terror:

Sweet dreams.