Page 22 of Dance of Madness

“Oh, we’re going to blame his behavior on the fact that he was drunk?” I snap.

My father shakes his head. “You have every right to be angry about what happened four years ago, Milena. You also have every right never to see or speak to Leo Debolsky again. But…”

“But people canchange,” my uncle grunts. “And your father is right. Neither he nor I is going to live forever. And you have no brothers.” He shakes his head. “This, like it or not, is how our world works, Milena.”

He forces a tight smile to his face.

“Leo’s no angel. But he’s a useful devil. And a manageable one.”

“And I’m just a pawn.”

Papa’s mouth tightens. “You’re not. This would be a powerful bond, I won’t pretend otherwise. But you are still my daughter.And you willneverbe asked to do anything you don’t want to. I promise you that.”

Eventually I say goodnight to them both, then leave the study with my head high.

They say it’smy choice.

I’ve lived long enough in this house, though, to know there’s a second part to that statement:but choose wisely.

By the time I reach my bedroom, I feel like I’m splintering.

I shut the door behind me, lean against it, and exhale heavily. My reflection stares back at me from the vanity mirror—hair scraped back, collarbones sharp, eyes hollow.

Dancer. Daughter. Pawn.

I used to think ballet was my escape from this world. The one place where no one else got to choreograph my future.

Now I’m not so sure.

Because even there, I’m losing control.

Even there,hefollows me.

I peel off my clothes and shower quickly before changing into pajamas and crawling into bed. My body aches in all the ways it usually does at the end of a workday, but tonight, there’s something deeper there.

Leo Debolsky wants to marry me. I should be thinking aboutthat, and how my decision to do so or not could affect the future of my family’s empire.

But all I can think about is the masked man who chased me like I was his prey, bent me over the piano and rasped filthy promises into my skin.

Worse, the black, venomous thought that lingers after I replay the whole thing start to finish, to the part where I got away from him.

The little voice that wonders—maybe even wishes—that Ihadn’tgotten away, a dark part deep inside me dying to know what might have come next…

There’s something wrong with me. Something rotten and hungry.

I press my thighs together and close my eyes.

I think about the masked man, and about running. I think about the rush and the exhilaration ofalmosttouching that part of me I’ve never explored. The part of me I’ve only ever shared with one person.

One boy, four years ago.

Someone I told my every black secret to.

…Who then became a monster.

.

Here’s a question.

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