Chapter 16

Kenya.

Five days later...

I stood in my new dressing room, still struggling to process the rapid turn of events. The space was beautiful, adorned with elegant decorations—a gesture from Mr. Dave Byron that felt almost too good to be true.

Tonight, everything was different. I wasn't just another dancer in the back row; I was the lead, dancing opposite Lloyd. It was a remarkable feeling, a surge of adrenaline and nerves coursing through me. Lloyd, ever the professional, had come by earlier to congratulate me. He spoke of a natural chemistry between us, a shared rhythm he claimed had been missing in his performances with Odette. I was stunned; until Dave’s announcement, I felt as though I hadn't even existed to someone of Lloyd’s stature.

Sitting alone in the quiet room, fully costumed, I couldn't help but catch my reflection. My skin seemed to glow against the immaculate white of the ballerina’s ensemble. But it was the gifts from Levi, sent just moments ago, that truly completed the look. A diamond jewelry set lay in a velvet-lined box, accompanied by a small, elegant hair comb and a handwritten note.

To the Belle of the Night.

Break a leg, Kenya.

Levi Ruthford.

I held the note close to my heart, a soft thrill radiating through my chest. The memory of our dinner five nights ago flickered in my mind—not just the conversation, but the intense, magnetic connection that had hummed between us. He had treated me with such delicate care, leaving a tender kiss on my forehead at my doorstep. Since then, our interactions had been limited to phone calls—warm, supportive, but carefully avoiding the heavy desire that had anchored that night. I found myself following his lead, grateful for the steady pace even as my heart raced at the mention of his name.

The door creaked open, breaking my reverie. I turned to see Odette Withers standing in the doorway. A heavy silence fell between us as she stepped into the room. Under her icy glare, I felt a sudden, sharp pang of guilt, as if I were a usurper in her kingdom.

“Odette...”

"Save it, Kenya,” Odette bit out. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her expression a mask of bitter resentment.

“You think you earned this spotlight,” she said, her voice trembling with venom. “You think you’re here because of your talent alone, relegated me to the sidelines while you take my place.”

I rose instantly, shock coloring my features. "Odette, I know Dave’s decision was unexpected, but that gives you no right to make such accusations."

“Oh, Kenya. Don't tell me you’re truly this naive,” she countered with a hollow, bitter laugh. “You think this is about Dave Byron? Dave is just a puppet on a string, doing exactly what he’s told by the man pulling them.”

I stared at her, my heart beginning to sink. “What... what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Levi Ruthford,” Odette announced, her words like stones being cast. “He’s the one who bought you this chance. He’s the one who put you in the spotlight.”

I felt a wave of denial wash over me. “That’s nonsense, Odette. Mr. Ruthford wouldn't do something like that. He believes in my work...”

“Does he?” she sneered, closing the distance between us. “Think about it. Dave threw me off the production of the 'Suffering Princess' with almost no notice. He gave the lead to you, even though you hadn't rehearsed the role. Didn't you find that strange? The new room, the sudden ‘appreciation’ for your talent despite your recent absence... it’s all been paid for, Kenya. Byron boasted about it—how handsomely Levi compensated him to ensure you were the queen of the night.”

My chest constricted, the air suddenly feeling thin. I staggered back, gripping the edge of the vanity for support.

"It's not true," I whispered, though the seeds of doubt were already taking root.

"Enjoy your coronation, honey," Odette said, her eyes flashing with a final spark of malice. "Just remember that a throne bought with gold is never yours to keep."

A sharp knock interrupted the tension as Dave popped his head in. He took one look at the two of us and scowled at Odette.

“Odette, what are you doing here? You should be in the wings or the audience,” Dave barked.

Odette smoothed her expression, casting a cunning look toward him. "I was just helping her get into character, Dave," she lied smoothly.

“If I see you in a performer’s room again without cause, you’ll never step foot on this stage again,” Dave replied curtly. He waited until a pale-faced Odette brushed past him before turning to me.

He saw the tears shimmering in my eyes and the doubt clouding my face. "Whatever she told you," he said, his voice unusually soft, "know that you have the talent to carry this show. No one is more deserving of this moment."

I searched his eyes, wondering if he was sincere or merely protecting his investment. Before I could find the answer, Dave extended his hand, palm up.

"It’s time to go out there, Kenya Anderson. Show them who you are."