A/N: The ballet steps and moves are mentioned in this chapter. If I have written something related to it that I should not, please pardon me.

And if anyone does not get the meaning and gets confused reading about it, no worries, the mention of these terms will only be in a few chapters.

******

Simran

******

"Popcorn, look away." He did not listen for the sixth consecutive time. He was too obstinate sometimes. Not that I minded, but I did not have time for his stubbornness.

"You can't stare at my breasts. That's not right."

I buttoned my jeans up, and then I heard the whistling sound.

Not again.

"Popcorn, no." The whistling sound's intensity grew this time. He was not supposed to do that. But he just does what he loves.

"Ugh!" Annoyed, I instantly picked up the padded yellow tee and pulled it over my head. With my head in, I then put my hands through the sleeves of the t-shirt.

The whistling frequency increased, and I glared at the one trying to make me late when I wanted to be early after the break of two days.

"Stop whistling. I just gave you food. You are not supposed to have this much food, anyway."

I rebuked him softly, though, and then put everything I needed in my bag. But to retaliate, I heard Biscuit digging on the wood I had given her to play with.

One was a headache, but two were migraines.

"Not you too, Biscuit," I said, but she was giving her dangerous glare to me. Like, if I didn't feed her, she would just create disruption. I was no one to underestimate the two powerful forces living with me.

"I can't believe it," I muttered as I fished out hay and pellets from their food container and put the same into their bowls in their home-like cage. They both had separate and big cages, while I slept on a bed that was hardly dealing with my size, even when I was too petite.

"This is a one-time thing, okay..." I squatted down and patted and stroked their heads.

"And this is only because you guys had to live at your foster home for two and a half days. I'm sure you missed Mommy, didn't you?"

They did not care to respond to my petting. After all, their favorite thing—food—was now in their bowls. It seemed they forgot I existed and were munching on their food now. They were my kids, my little traitors.

I rescued the two one night when I went to put out the trash. I found those beautiful fur babies seated near the trash can. Popcorn, my guinea pig, was so small that he fit into my one palm then. Biscuit, my bunny, was slightly bigger than Popcorn but could easily fit into my palm, too. It was one of the coldest nights. Everything was freezing, Christmas was around the corner, and both of them looked as if they were born a day ago. Biscuit didn't even have her eyes open fully. And Popcorn, my littlest baby, had just turned into a shell and was sitting beside Biscuit. Not sure if someone left them there or if someone lost them, but all I could tell was they looked lost, just like me. I knew they were going to be my family then and there. So, I picked the two up and held them closer to my heart. I rushed in, put them on the warmest blanket I had. The first thing I did was take them both to a vet, and since then, I have been their mother.

But here is the worst thing about being a single mother. You can't stay with your kids at all times. You have to work to feed them, and that's where I was heading. I might have become a professional ballerina, like I always desired, but it came with the price of leaving my kids away for those hours. So, when I go for my dance practice or for a show, I always leave them at a nearby farm where the caretakers take care of them while I am away.

I picked up my bag, my phone, and then started pulling out my babies from the cage. Settling them both in a jute basket, I walked to the farm first, which was only a few blocks away from my place. Leaving them at their foster home, I made my way to my destination, The Swan Lake Dance Academy. It was a journey of an hour, which basically started with a bus journey of fifteen minutes and then another forty-five minutes via the tube, London's Underground.

Once I was in the tube and found a perfect seat to relax until I reached my destination, I decided to finally go through my phone's notifications, which I had not checked much in the last two days. The first thing I did was check if there was anything from my father. But there were no texts or calls. Not that he ever texted me in the last three years. The only way he communicated with me was over the call, which also never happened frequently. He would, once in a while, call me to order me to leave the one thing I love, my dance profession, and go back to India to help Ishaan Bhaiya in the business. He was hell-bent on having me leave my profession. I might not have reached the stage in my career where I should have been, but I had confidence in myself that I would. I did not burn the midnight oil and spend years in training just for the sake of pictures. I had always wanted to become a ballet dancer, just like my mother was once. Earlier, I thought it was just a phase and that Dad would stop nagging me. But it kept on going and going, and it's been three years now. However, this time something feels a bit off about his call, so I planned on not calling him back. I'm not sure why I had this feeling, but my intuition kept on giving me warning signs. It could be nothing, or it could be the worst thing ever. But I did not want to focus on anything else now except that I was going to perform as a soloist for the first time. I was finally going to get my big break. Besides, it had been two days since the masquerade ball when I last received Dad's call, so I did not plan on bothering to call him back this time.

Ignoring his missed calls from the party night, I checked other notifications.

There was one from Samaira Di, about dinner at her place the upcoming Sunday. I smiled reading her message and instantly replied to her with, "Have my favorite Bao ready, sister," and then added multiple heart emojis at the end.

There was a message from Niti too, asking about Popcorn's health. I had almost forgotten that I lied to Niti about Popcorn getting sick. It's not like I did it happily. I did not have a choice.

When the next day of the masquerade ball, I woke up at my place; I found my head tied with a white bandage and my phone flooded with too many messages from my best friend, asking my whereabouts, apologizing for she hid the truth about the host of the party from me, and then threatening that if I did not reply, she would send a search party for me. She had presumed I left the party and bailed on her because I got to know who the host of the party was. So, I chose the path of lying and told her Popcorn got sick and the caretaker from the farm called me frantically that she needed me urgently, so I rushed out. After that, I visited a doctor to have my head wound examined. That happened because of the fall when I was following Byrol. I was in a panic that my wound would affect my upcoming performance, which was in ten days, but was assured when the doctor informed me the wound was not that impactful and that I would be fine giving a solo ballet performance. It took me three years to get this chance again. I would have gotten the chance way before, but I did not want to cry over the spilled milk of the past and wanted to cherish the present moment.

The rest of the way, I kept on reminiscing about all the dance steps in my head.

As soon as I reached the academy, I changed into my dance outfit. When I went to the room where I practiced for my performance, my choreographer Arthur was not there. Even Robert, who was the ballet master and would always be the one to reach early for every practice, had not reached yet, which was weird. He would never be late. I decided to wait some more before calling them. I did my stretching and waited some more minutes, but nobody came. Suddenly, the practice room started to fill in with the members of the corps de ballet I used to perform with.

"Hey, Sim..." One of the dancers, Reina, greeted me. I smiled back at her. A few of the other dancers fist-bumped me or high-fived me.

"Good to have you back with us, Sim..." Dustin, the dancer, said as he winked.

"I am just waiting for Arthur," I replied, rolling my eyes. He was too flirtatious for my liking.

"Why would Arthur be here? He is with Daisy, teaching the art of focus instead of dance. You know how strict he is. Poor girl..." Rick replied and laughed.

"Yeah, glad that you don't have to suffer now," Dustin added.

My mind could not track and pass through Dustin's words, though. I could not comprehend what he meant by "I don't have to suffer now" and that he was training Daisy. Arthur only trained soloists, and that was his rule. I could feel my anxiety spiking as my head began to weave all the terrible reasons Arthur was training Daisy and not me.

No, no, this can't happen.

Everything is fine, Simran. Everything is fine.

"Why is he training her?" I asked no one in particular after shutting the voice of my head out, hoping someone would answer. Everyone stared at me, confused, until I asked with more clear words this time, "I am the soloist, so why is he training Daisy?"

Their expressions changed as if they had seen a ghost and that only escalated my earlier anxiety.

"He did not tell you."

That was not a question from Dustin, rather a realization. Everybody's faces marred with pity. I hated that expression that only signified I was a weakling. None of them looked me in the eye now, as if I was so pitiful that they wanted to cry for my state, that I was so pathetic that meeting my eye would cast a dark shadow on them.

I could feel my life going back to the way it was three years back. The sad, pitiful Simran's face flashed in front of my eyes. I did not want to turn into her. That part of me disgusted me too much that I had shut her in the attic of my mind. She was not supposed to come out.

I could not let that happen.

I would never let that happen.

Without saying anything, I sprinted out of the practice room looking for Arthur. I heard the tune of the music I had mastered, and danced like a bird with wings on it, letting my soul heal while I danced on it. The sound was coming from the practice room at the end of the hallway. My heart thudded like the unrhythmic beats of a drum. My head pounded like it would explode because there was too much noise in there. The voices were not quieting down. The moment I reached the practice room, I saw Daisy first, doing the Jete step to the tune of music that had become my anthem all these months. I got my first answer already, but I needed more. Robert, our ballet master, was there too, encouraging Daisy like he had done to me.

I was there to look for Arthur. Instead, I saw every mosaic of my dream shattering with every glide of Daisy's body, every instruction of Robert. And then I heard Arthur.

"Sim, hey. How are you? How is your head now?"

He walked to me and brought my attention to him. Daisy stopped and so did the tune of the music. There was no confusion, worry, or anything slightly remotely similar to that on Arthur's face. He had his normal smile plastered on his face. He acted like it was normal for me to be out and Daisy to be in.

The voices in my head were screaming. Before I went numb completely, I needed the answers.

"Why is Daisy practicing for the soloist?" I kept my voice gentler even when there was a tornado forming inside of me.

"Oh, about that. Didn't Roger tell you?" He gave a look at Roger, who was ignorant and did not even look at us when his name was brought up.

"No," I replied.

"You are replaced."

And there went the final straw to break the dream I had nurtured. It happened for the first time three years back. I took the pieces of it and built the glass castle of the dream with mosaic pieces again, only for it to shatter ruthlessly.

Replaced.

Just like that. He might have said 'replaced', but it meant that my efforts were worthless and I was a dispensable, pitiable piece of shit.

"I have been practicing for months for this." The tornado was causing my emotions to take over. If that happens, the clouds of pity will attach to me. I did not want that.

"I know that, and I am also aware that you need rest after your injury."

"But my injury is fine. I am fine." The first thing I did after talking to my doctor was inform Arthur that my wound was not going to be a hurdle in my performance, that I had a green light from him.

"The decision has been made. You will get another chance."

Another chance? This was already a second chance, which was slipping out of my hands. And in my profession, these chances were golden tickets that one does not get to win often.

"Another chance? I worked my ass off for this one chance. Three years, Arthur. It took me three years to get this opportunity. I trained day and night. I practiced on Sundays and at whatever odd hours to perfect every step, every move, every spin. And you just threw me out like that?" My voice got louder with every word. My frustration caused all of it, and so did my haywire nerves. My insides were churning with so much anxiety that I knew I would need to have some pills to calm myself.

"Simran, you need to listen..." He was calm, too calm compared to the upheaval I was containing inside of me, ready to combust any moment.

"Listen to what? Three days ago, Daisy was struggling to execute the pirouette en dehors with a développé effectively, and suddenly she is the star performer you need. How could you do this? I deserve this opportunity. This was mine to begin with...I..."

"It was me who selected you, and I had every right to replace you."

He yelled back, standing right in his place, leaving me speechless. The voices in my head quiet down. The pitiful Simran broke the shackles of the attic of my head she was in as she came out. She had not taken over me entirely, but I was scared she would. And this time, no one would be able to save me.

Just because he had the right to do it, he did it. He sounded like every other person in my life.

Just because my dad could hate me, he hated me now. Just because my family could dislike me, they stopped treating me like before. Just because everyone could, everyone did.

Just because.

I felt a lump in my throat forming. The tornado suddenly was too quiet, perhaps forming a shape so big and dangerous which no one had ever seen before. But I was not going to let my emotions overtake me at that time as I still had a little control over myself, the same control which I was losing.

"Simran, this is just a piece of art. You will get another opportunity. My decision is final and everybody approves of it."

I gulped the lump in my throat as I watched Daisy sneaking glances in my direction. My opportunity that I received with nothing but sheer hard work slipped out of my hands just like that.

"It's not just a piece of art. It never was," I whispered that more to myself as I walked out without shedding a single tear. I did not cry then, nor the entire day; rather, I practiced like a corps de ballet dancer. If I had stopped or not practiced that day, no one would have said anything. They would have pitied me instead. But I did not become a dancer to gain people's sympathy. Even if the pitiful Simran was free and could trap me, I was still going to fight for my rights. My dance had always been my freedom, never the binding of a shackle. I would never let anyone steal that from me, be it anyone.

"The entire day I practiced like my heart was fine, like a good part of me was not just corroded. I smiled, ate, laughed. I did all of it when, from inside, every vein was rusting. I was slipping back into the same state of mind as three years ago, and it was scary. That feeling made me terrified to the bones. I needed to do something, desperately needed to find a way out. Though I pretended to be someone else the whole day, I could not do it for a longer time without losing myself in the process, and that was the scariest experience I did not want to live again."

******

A FEW HOURS LATER

******

Everybody had almost left the academy except for a few staffs who had the responsibility of cleaning around once everybody left and closing the academy. I was still there as I needed to go to the first floor before leaving, just like every day. I was putting my stuff in my bag when there was a call from Dad.

I stared at the phone screen, craved to pick up the call. But things had changed between us. He was not the same father who consoled me, motivated me, cheered me up. He was now simply a man whose younger daughter was nothing more than a mistake for him.

I could almost recall what he would say if he knew I had lost an opportunity.

'You have always been a disappointment.'

'I should have never let you dance in the first place.'

'Stop bringing shame to our family.'

It stabbed my heart to think about his words he had used for me time and again, but I did not shed a tear. I did not cry. Instead of ignoring his call like every other time, I cut it and turned off my phone. I was about to head out of the changing room when I noticed Daisy standing at the door. She was looking in another direction, looking confused. She had left for home fifteen minutes ago but was back and seemed troubled, in some kind of turmoil.

"Daisy?" I called.

"Yeah?" She looked flustered by the way I called her. I must have taken her by surprise.

"Congratulations!! I am sorry about earlier. I'm sure you will ace your first dance as a soloist."

I meant it genuinely. I did not have any bad feelings for Daisy. Besides, she simply grabbed an opportunity she was presented with. Anybody else would do that too, and she was nowhere to be blamed. Yes, I was hurt, upset, angry, but that did not mean I was not happy for her. I was just sad for myself and nothing else.

She walked in now, looking grim and guilty.

"Simran, I am sorry."

"You should not be. I am not angry at you at all. Instead, I am happy for you."

She looked very surprised, almost shocked, as if she did not see that coming. But she was not to blame for that reaction. Anyone would be surprised, too. Moreover, I was not someone who held grudges against others who had no part to play in the whole scenario of disappointing me or hurting me. Heck, I start finding reasons to forgive the person who has hurt me.

"Thanks...."

Though she did seem somewhat relieved hearing me, and a small smile graced her lips. Yet, it still felt like something was bothering her.

"I should not be doing this, but I need to. You deserve the truth, and I hated how he lied to you." She blabbered all of a sudden, looking too determined, holding the strap of her tote bag tightly.

"Who?"

"Arthur."

"Arthur?"

She nodded before continuing, "This is not about your injury. I overheard him and Roger arguing yesterday after Arthur told me I would be replacing you. I am not your replacement, Simran. I am their only choice."

She said it all in one go, confusing me more than ever.

"I don't get it," I said.

"You know how Arthur is the cousin of the director of this academy? He replaced you because of him only. The director did not want you to be a soloist and wanted me instead. They would have chosen Scarlett if she was not pregnant and not me. Roger does not support this decision at all...." She paused, took a breath, and added, "Neither do I. I never wanted to steal your opportunity. Roger was so guilty, he could not even look at you when you confronted Arthur."

I recalled how Roger did not even glance in our direction when his name was mentioned. It was because he felt guilty and not because he did not care like I had thought.

"Why does the director meddle in? He never did before." It never made sense for the director to meddle in until someone with too much power had a bitterness towards me.

"Apparently, this show is sponsored by someone the director is trying to please. For what reason, I don't know. But the sponsor is an influential man, Simran. Nobody crosses him; no one can even think of that."

I did not like where the conversation was headed. It was never about my dance skills, but about someone who was misusing his power to make us play to his tunes like puppets.

"Look, I don't know what's your issue is with that man for him to tell the director to not keep you as the soloist, but in my opinion, you are the best. You are the best I have seen till now ...." Seeing admiration in another dancer's eyes boosted my confidence, but I was still not fine with all the revelations. I wanted to... no, I needed to know who was behind all of it.

"Who is he?"

"Huh?" Daisy did not seem to get what 'he' I referred to, so for her clarity, I rephrased my question, "Who is the sponsor?"

Daisy took a step closer, looking scared as if we were talking about a deadly or supernatural entity. Once closer, she mumbled her response, almost like a whisper, as if saying it loud would put her in some kind of threat.

"Lampyris Estates' owner." Daisy left instantly after that, leaving me shocked to the core with her response.

The name felt like a slap of betrayal to me. It felt as though someone poured acid on my caged heart, making it beat too hard, making it feel more intensely, just like eating my heart out inside out, leaving nothing to transform but only a mold of it. It did not turn my heart into ashes, but what was left was similar to it only.

How could one feel betrayed by someone they are merely tangled with?

But I was feeling it.

How could someone feel hurt because of someone they hated to guts?

Yet I was hurt.

The betrayal felt too personal this time when I heard who was behind my downfall.

He was an untouched God for many,

a celebrity for some,

dangerous to a few,

and a beast for none.

But for me....

He was a crush to me once, who stole my heart...

Crushed it into pieces, tearing me apart.

But now, he's no more than just a beast to me,

A shadow of what he was, and a Devil I was too blind to see....

Daisy did not have to say more, because everybody in the world knew the owner of that estate and I knew him a little too well than others. I knew the part of him no one had ever seen or would believe even existed.

Kiaan Chauhan was not a man to simply forget, after all, and neither was anything related to him. Once I made a silly mistake, and now I was paying the price for it, every day. He surely knew how to kill me and my heart, bit by bit.

But this time I would go to lengths to protect how much of me was left, even if it meant creating chaos no one had ever seen before.

******

It was time to follow my routine, but this time it was going to hurt doing it. Ever since I joined the academy, it had been my routine to perform alone at the auditorium on the first floor when everyone left. And ever since I was told I was going to be a soloist, I had been the happiest while doing everything, especially dancing alone. My moves had been smooth, my flights had been mood-lifting, and every turn and twirl had been more flexible. I could feel the grace and perfection in me, could see it in others' eyes, the way they watched me dance.

The lights of the auditorium were still on. As soon as I took my spot on the stage, in the middle, I smelled the distinctive cologne. It smelled like oud and amber and darkness.

He was here. My Stalker.

The lights of the auditorium turned off instantly, even when there was no one in the studio room to do that. The center light on stage focused on me. I could see nothing of the seating area in front and around. But I could be seen from every angle: from the Stalls, Box Seats, Mezzanine.

The lights turning off were my cue to start. But I did not, not yet. I needed a moment for myself to put aside the broken parts of me before I could let my rage, fear, and pain turn miscible and mix with my blood.

With the pain of my shattered dream, rage because of the evilness of my crush turned enemy, and fear of my stalker, who had come to watch me dance alone religiously, like every other time I bent my knees to perform a plié. The music began after that. I did not play it; it came from somewhere else. Perhaps from where he was seated. It was his first. It was strange that he played music when other times I never forgot to do that. He was indicating his presence for the first time to me.

I began with the first step, plié. I bent my knees smoothly, like I was creating a gentle curve. My breath deepened, but with the high intensity of emotions I was feeling. My body grounded, and my muscles stretched in preparation for what was to come.

I did not know where he was seated, but I could feel his gaze burning every inch of my skin.

I transitioned into a tendu, extending my right leg with precision. My toes brushed the floor like the soft touch of a lover, just like I craved to be touched sometimes. That feeling always surfaced when I danced alone, and that too, for the man who was on a mission to torment me until my soul was turned to ashes. I hated that feeling, and I hated that I had no control over it. I despised that after all this time, some part of me still had feelings for him, even after everything he did. He was a beast who planned to unalive me the entire day, and then there was this monster of the night, the one who was watching me dance.

With every step, my body became more alert. The stalker had never missed any of my solo practices, and I had never dared to question him. The terror of the unknown reached my head sometimes, making me more alert, yet nothing had ever caused my dance to be messed up, not even the gaze of the stalker. His gaze was nothing like the lenses of an admirer, but the caress of darkness.

My life was a mess, and amidst all of it, there were two inhumane creatures I was dealing with. Dealing with the beast of the day, Kiaan Chauhan, was already tough. But when I was cursed with the one who watched from the dark, things became even messier.

Just when I began taking spins after I drew one leg into my body, rising onto the ball of my supporting foot, my mind troubled me with so many questions that I had before, too.

Who was the monster of the darkness?

A married man, a divorcee, or simply a lusty stalker?

And how did I know he was a man? Well, he talked to me once, whispered something that brought goosebumps right after. One night, I thought of finding out who he was when he came to watch me dance. Though I did not know how he looked or where he went after my dance ended, I was determined to find him. So, I kept strolling in the dark streets nearby in hopes of finding him in the darkness he always vanished into. But I saw nothing—no shadow, no figure—just heard a whisper that seemed sinful.

'Careful, Star. You are not ready to face your sins yet.'

I did not understand anything he said and was too spooked to find anything further. I had tried telling people I had a stalker, but every time I said something about it to someone, something happened to them. Even the cop I tried taking help from was now lying in a hospital. I had to stop, because I did not want the blood of more than one on my hands.

When I was done with the pirouette step, he stopped the song. Still not sure where he was, I looked at the seating area, only to make out a dark figure standing on the balcony area. He stood there like a mannequin, without saying anything. But he was making his dark presence known. My breathing stopped.

He had never done that before. He was now doing things he had never did before. I did not like this change, as it put me in a more vulnerable state than I had ever been in.

His silhouette was too dark to make anything out, but it was there. One had to focus too much to notice, but I could see him without putting much effort. Maybe because my body was too alert and reacted to his every move. He never made me see even his shadow before, but this time he did. I saw the silhouette walking, blending into the darkness. His cologne of oud and amber left the space, and so did the feeling of being watched. As soon as he was gone, the lights were turned back on, but I did not move. Not until I was breathing again, not until I felt my blood pumping into my heart again, feeling the warmth of blood feeding my veins.

This whole stalking thing started a year ago. At first, I used to think he was an audience member who sneaked in because of no money when everybody left, but with time, his gaze began to burn my body and glide over my skin. He would come to watch only me, alone. I then knew he was not a mere audience member who sneaked in, but my stalker.

Once my heart rate was fine and so was my breathing, I got down from the stage and rushed to the balcony seating area from where he had watched me. Something strange and suspicious caught my eye there. A box wrapped in yellow wrapping paper was kept on a chair. On top of the box was a sunflower.

He knew my favorite color and my favorite flower. It does not take a genius to figure out I loved yellow, but for that, one has to be around me. He only saw me for a few minutes when I danced alone.

He could have interrogated someone I knew to find about things about me, or he could be someone I knew. The possibilities of both situations erupted goosebumps all over my skin. There were tingles of fear I was experiencing. The day after the party, when I found myself safe and nestled in my bed, I got scared. Only because I somewhat thought of the possibility of my stalker being the one who got me there. And that was the worst realization that had kept me restless.

While every probability of his identity kept me on edge, the yellow box kept untouched there. I picked up the sunflower and touched the petals. He should not have known what I liked, should not have made a gesture like that. Receiving a flower so gentle from the nurturer of darkness was not a good thing. Setting aside the flower on the other seat, I picked up the box.

Curiosity entangled with the anxiety peaked to find out what was in it, and I began unwrapping it. I did not know what to expect from it—a bomb or a box of chocolates? But something told me neither of those was going to be in there. As I tore the wrap and opened the box, the contents of it shook me to the core, causing the box to slip out of my fingers and fall back onto the same chair. A gasp of dread and horror left my mouth as my eyes widened.

There was a tie covered in blood in it that caused my reaction. There was a note too, which had no ounce of blood on it, along with a small yellow velvet box.

I did not dare to touch the dainty tie, but I watched it for a long minute, with my pulse rate rising every second, only to realize I had seen it before. Byrol Paine wore it the night of the masquerade ball. I grabbed the note instantly after realizing who the tie belonged to, and the note had "Grand jeté" written on it. Grand jeté is a ballet dance step, but understanding the significance of its mention in the note was impossible.

What did he mean by that?

My suspicion from earlier was confirmed: he was the one who put me in my bed the night of the masquerade ball. The darkness I saw before losing my consciousness was him. He had been there all night, watching me. It might have been a coincidence for him to be there, or maybe nothing was a coincidence at all. The sentiment of fear, nothing like before, unraveled in me.

I opened the small yellow box too, with shaky hands, hoping there was not something deadly in it. There was a black crystal inside it. I took it out and watched it more closely. Once I examined it that closely, the shine of it intrigued me but also mesmerized me. It was not just any crystal, but a black diamond.

The beast of the day and the monster of the night just made their moves, trapping me in a maze, and now I had to figure out what to do.