Reclaimed My Stage, Left Him Kneeling in the Rain Chapter 08
Another year passed.
I led the company to a gold medal at the Global Adaptive Arts Festival and became artistic director.
The title marked more than a promotion. It proved that the accident had not removed me from the highest level of dance.
The company reserved a rooftop restaurant for the celebration.
When a server opened champagne, the heavy wooden cork slipped from his hand.
It struck the floor with a sharp, dull sound.
I instinctively looked down.
My legs remained steady.
The old phantom pain of blades cutting into bone did not return.
For years, sudden sounds had pulled me back to the competition floor. This time, the sound remained only a fallen cork.
Adrian stood beside me and offered a glass of warm water.
“Congratulations.”
He lowered his voice.
“Are you tired from standing?”
I accepted the water.
“Not at all.”
After the celebration, I received an invitation to lead an adaptive youth dance benefit in Briarhaven.
It would take place in the city I had fled.
Adrian read the invitation.
“You can decline if you don’t want to face the past.”
I placed it in my bag.
“It’s work. I can’t hide from terrible people forever.”
I decided to return.
I was not returning as Rhys’s injured fiancée or Sienna’s former partner. I was returning as the professional responsible for the entire production.
On the day I arrived, I walked through the airport’s private exit and breathed the familiar air.
At the benefit’s planning meeting, I saw Whitaker Dance Company on the list of major sponsors.
My assistant asked whether we should avoid contact.
“No. We’ll keep everything strictly professional.”
At three that afternoon, Rhys entered the conference room.
He was painfully thin, with dark circles beneath his eyes.
The celebrated choreographer who once filled every room with confidence now looked as though grief had hollowed him out.
When he saw me standing firmly in the doorway, he stopped as if struck.
I closed the file in front of me.
“Mr. Whitaker, please come in.”
During the meeting, I presented the benefit choreography with calm professionalism.
Rhys watched my legs with red eyes.
I explained the formations, accessibility requirements, and transitions without giving him a single private glance.
When the meeting ended, he rushed after me and blocked the hallway.
“Brynn, your legs.”
His voice shook.
“How did you recover?”
“I don’t discuss personal matters at work.”
I cut him off.
Rhys pleaded.
“Have you been well? I have lived in agony for years.”
“That was the consequence of your choices.”
My answer was cold.
He sagged against the wall.
His suffering did not restore the six years he took from me.
I walked around him without breaking stride.
His voice followed me.
“I’m sorry.”
I did not turn.
“Those words rotted six years ago. They’re worthless now.”
