The familiar aroma of stir-fried tomatoes and eggs drifted from the kitchen into Ksenia's bedroom. She checked her phone—8:00 AM. She hadn't slept a wink.
"There isn't a range hood here," she said, leaning against the doorframe. For a fleeting second, time seemed to warp back to years ago, back to the days when Lu Jiting cooked for her every single day.
"Sorry, I just realized," Lu Jiting said, expertly scooping the food into a bowl. The eggs were slightly charred. Ksenia took a few bites; it tasted exactly like it used to—sharply acidic. Lu Jiting always insisted on adding extra vinegar, complaining that modern tomatoes lacked real flavor.
"Can we go back to the way things were?"
Ksenia set her chopsticks down, her appetite vanishing. "What are you doing in Loughton?"
"I overheard people talking about you. Congratulations on becoming a Principal. Once I confirmed you were alive, I bought a plane ticket. I had to see you." His gaze was searing, making Ksenia feel intensely exposed.
"Fine. You've seen me. I'm alive. Now go back to Country Z."
"No. This time, I'm never leaving you again."
Ksenia choked on her words. It was clear he had come prepared.
"I have a new life now. Seeing you only reminds me of the years I spent at your house. To be honest, I don't want to see you at all."
"I can change whatever you don't like," he persisted. "We were so happy when we were together."
Ksenia looked at him coldly. "Feelings fade, Lu Jiting. Especially when we spent years apart, maintaining a relationship through a sentence or two a day. Besides, I hold grudges. I haven't forgotten what your mother did to me—or what you did."
"I'm transferring to the branch office here in the UK. We won't be long-distance anymore."
Ksenia sighed, exhausted. "It doesn't matter. I don't want to be with you. Please remember that."
Lu Jiting's Adam's apple bobbed. "If it weren't for that Henry guy... would you still be with me?"
"I'm not going to argue with you. You're sober now; go get your nose checked."
Lu Jiting's eyes seemed to ask: Hasn't the agony of mourning you for years been punishment enough?
Not even close, Ksenia's eyes fired back.
Though Lu Jiting's arrival had sent her pulse racing, it didn't disrupt her routine. She went to the studio as usual. Most dancers were still buzzing with a mix of excitement and anxiety over the explosion. Ksenia pushed through the whispers and took her usual spot to warm up. Knees, arches, waist, neck—this was her reality.
"You left me alone at the bar yesterday."
Henry's voice came from behind her. He tried to sound indifferent, but the dejection in his eyes gave him away.
"I'm sorry. That man was drunk and collapsed on the street. I couldn't just leave him there," she said, feeling a twinge of guilt. "I was a victim in this, too."
"Fine. Monday's show is canceled. Loughton authorities are still investigating."
"What does that have to do with us? We were on stage when it happened," Ella chimed in, joining them. "Ksenia, you were on stage the longest. Did you see anything?"
"No. My mind was entirely on the dance."
Ksenia loved dancing and acting for this very reason: she could stop being herself. She could be Juliet, Marguerite, or anyone else.
"Hey, Ksenia! Show Erica how to do a fouetté."
Erica. Ksenia tilted her head back, glancing at the girl whose face was flushed and whose blonde hair was matted with sweat. They had been at odds for years. It started with adjacent lockers—Erica had kicked Ksenia's bag out of the way once, and it escalated into a years-long campaign of hostility, isolation, and glares.
"Ksenia! Don't just stand there. Demonstrate the fouetté! Teach your colleagues something." The instructor, Kate, looked her way.
Thankfully, her talent surpassed Erica's. She could always use her technique as a weapon for revenge. Ksenia moved to the center. Her movements were crisp, her supporting leg anchored to a single point without shifting an inch. Every rotation hit the beat perfectly. She couldn't suppress a haughty, triumphant smile. The perfect fouetté was a resounding slap to Erica's face.
"You're quite proud of yourself, aren't you?"
In the dressing room, Erica's voice drifted over the locker door. "I can't wait for the day someone replaces you."
"There are plenty of people better than me," Ksenia replied smoothly. "But at least I learn with humility instead of playing petty games. Erica, next time you do a fouetté, try not to orbit the room like a satellite. It's actually impressive; I couldn't do it if I tried. Oh, and don't look so angry. It's quite unbecoming."
"You'll get what's coming to you," Erica hissed.
"Retribution? If it exists, it should visit you first."
Only when the rehearsal room was empty did Ksenia drop her sharp, defensive facade. She danced the final scene of The Lady of the Camellias with total abandon, feeling Marguerite's tragedy, losing herself in the allure of the performance. She should have been on a real stage tonight; she was the one who had destroyed that chance.
"Magnificent, Ksenia." Applause came from the doorway.
"I thought you left."
Henry stopped clapping. "I was worried that man would come back to bother you. I wanted to make sure you're safe. Let me take you home."
Looking at Henry's earnest, simple face, a plan solidified in Ksenia's mind. "Do you... want to come up for a bit?"
Henry looked surprised. "Is that okay?"
"We're partners. Of course it is."
Outside her apartment sat a basket of roses. Her favorite. Henry looked at them with distaste. "Is it him?"
"Ignore it. Come in."
The apartment was impeccably arranged—niche art on the walls, unique decor, a warm French-style aesthetic. It was refined yet restrained, much like Ksenia herself.
"The view is great. You can see the Angel Lights on Anne Street," Henry remarked, looking out. "And our theater."
"Would you like a drink? I have dry white, red, or I can mix something."
"Red is fine."
After a few glasses, the social distance between them dissolved into a soft pink haze.
"Henry, do you like me?"
The sudden question made Henry's heart skip a beat. He looked shyly at her, reaching out tentatively to touch her flushed cheek. "Are you drunk?"
"Do you want to date me for a while?" Ksenia asked, her voice bordering on a slur.
"You are drunk."
"I'm not. Are you unwilling?"
"I..." This was too sudden. He had known her for ten years, and she had never shown a hint of interest. "...I am willing. As long as you actually like me, and you're not just using me as an excuse to reject someone else."
"Then... you're my boyfriend now."
Henry looked at her in disbelief. "You're definitely drunk! You'll regret this tomorrow!"
"I won't. I'm not drunk. This little bit of alcohol isn't enough to make me lose my mind."
She just needed enough to quiet her conscience.
Ksenia leaned in closer, close enough to see the curve of her lashes and the depth of her brown eyes. Her lips brushed against his. The soft touch shattered his reason. He wanted to steal her breath. So, a girl's lips are this sweet, he thought.
He pressed back against her, lost in the sensation.
"Can you feel that I'm serious?" Ksenia murmured.
Henry pulled at his collar, his brain on fire. "Don't you think... it's hot in here?"
Ksenia didn't give him room to breathe. "Will you stay tonight?"
His Adam's apple rolled. "If... if that's what you want."
The next morning, while Henry was showing off his egg-frying skills, the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it." Ksenia opened the door, knowing deep down she was about to start a war.
It was Lu Jiting. He looked hopeful, though the bruise on his nose was more prominent than his smile. He held a cat carrier containing a meowing ginger kitten.
When they were eight, they had rescued a ginger stray in the park. They had raised it in secret, buying treats and taking it to the vet—sharing a cat was far more intimate than playing house. But Lu's mother was allergic; the kitten was eventually taken away, and they were both punished.
"I brought a gift," he started.
Then, his smile died.
Ksenia's hair was a mess. There were faint red marks on her neck. She was wearing a silk nightgown.
Then, a man's voice called from the kitchen:
"Ksenia, who is it?"