Brutal Obsession (126)

I try not to rear back, but I must make some motion, because she twitches. She twists my hair between her fingers. Not pulling, just staring at the blonde strands.

“I came to Rose Hill to see you,” she says faintly. “I waited outside the studio. And you yelled… I’ve never seen you so mad. So hurt. At me. But was I so delusional to think that you’d make it so far, so fast? True, raw talent like yours is rare. I had to nurture it. And you! I nurtured you, made you into who you were. And you just wanted to leave me to go be one of his soloists.” She scoffs, pounding her chest with her fist. “I make prima ballerinas. Not him.”

“You scared me,” I guess. “That night? Was I frightened?”

By the way she sucks in a breath, I know I’m right. I can almost see it, too. What a reality check. To be told by a choreographer that I so admired that my director was leading me astray. Filling my head with fantasies, when all I needed was to work harder. I know how angry I’d be at Mia.

If I’m only good enough to be a principal dancer at Crown Point Ballet, of course I would never leave her. I’d never get a contract as a principal anywhere else. And a few years of being the best, of getting the roles I wanted… Yeah, I can see how she could’ve manipulated me.

It hits my ego, too.

I can’t help but begrudge the fact that I have to learn this twice.

“You ran to your car. Sped out into the road, and that stupid boy hit you,” she spits. Her eyes are wild.

This is escalating. I scramble for something to ease her—and give her what she wants.

“I’m going to stay with you.” My stomach turns. I take her hand and thread my fingers with hers. “Please don’t make me dance as Giselle again. I want to be Aurora for you.”

A tear rolls down Mia’s cheek. It falls off her jaw and lands on my chest. “You don’t know how much it means to me to hear you say that.”

It’s all a lie.

She releases me and straightens, dragging the chair with her back into the kitchen. I watch her from the floor as she opens the fridge and pulls out containers, pours a glass of water. I see her take a vial from her pocket and let a few drops fall into the water. She mixes it with her finger, then comes back to me.

Is it a test?

She offers me the water first, her eyes large as I bring it to my mouth.

I don’t think I can get out of drinking this.

“Is that food?” I ask, lowering the glass slightly.

She nods. “But you’re dehydrated. Drink up.”

I close my eyes and nod, then take a sip. It doesn’t taste any different. There’s just a hint of sweet aftertaste. She hands me the container second. Cut up chicken, broccoli, and yellow rice with a plastic spoon shoved into it. I eat quickly, practically shoveling it into my mouth. Any faster and I’ll be sick… but maybe the food can slow whatever drug she gave me.

Might be wishful thinking.

My stomach turns, and I brace my hand on the floor. “What was in the water?”

“Something to help you sleep,” she says. “It’s late. You need rest.”

I nod. My inhibitions are fading like I’ve drank too much liquor. My tongue feels thick, my eyes sluggish.

“Oh, and Violet? If you tell anyone what happened, I’m going to gut your senator’s son boyfriend and paint your skin with his blood. Okay?”

It’s the last thing I hear.





56





GREYSON





I’m going to lose my mind.

Coach made me play the first ten minutes of the game. He said we had to keep up appearances for the scouts. For my future. I felt sick every second I was on the ice. When he finally switched me out, I left. I hired a car and got back to Crown Point as fast as I could.

Willow met me outside my house. I went inside and checked every room, even the basement. Just in case. Her phone has been off, rendering her location tracker I gave myself access to ineffective.

There was no sign of Violet. No sign that she came back from her audition.

So we kept looking. I kept in touch with Willow as we searched. The hockey team got back and joined in, and eventually, the sky started to lighten.

All night, and nothing.

We meet back at my house. Willow is distraught, her eyes red and watery. I don’t have the patience for that. For any of it. I just want Violet back—safe and in one piece.

I punch the wall, and Willow makes a tiny peep of surprise. It’s the only sound she’s made since she followed me into the living room, her mouth pinched with worry.

Violet was transparent with her about everything.

Maybe she can figure out who her best friend’s stalker is. And I just haven’t pushed hard enough to jog her memory.

I wheel toward her, uncaring at the flash of fear that crosses her face. She’s never had a reason to fear me, but here we are. “Tell me what you know.”

“I know what you know,” she snaps. “She went to Crown Point Ballet. She’s been paranoid about someone following her for months, but no one did anything. We couldn’t prove it.”

I growl. “This isn’t helping.”

“You’re the obsessive one,” she argues. “Don’t you have some way of finding her? You’re psychotic enough to plant a tracker under her skin. Didn’t think of that, did you?”