Ksenia stared at them for two heartbeats, her lips parting as if to speak, before she quickened her pace to leave.
Suddenly, Lu Jiting lunged forward and grabbed her arm, wrenching her back.
"Are you insane?" Ksenia snapped.
Almost simultaneously, a car roared past, missing her by inches. If Lu Jiting hadn't pulled her back, she would have been sprawled across the asphalt.
"Watch the cars," he said flatly.
There was no word of thanks, no softening of her gaze. Lu Jiting knew how much she loathed him. He gave a bitter smile and waved a hand dismissively at Christine. "She's only like this with me. She's different with everyone else."
Christine scrutinized Ksenia's retreating back. She didn't see a fragile, ethereal dancer; she saw a deep-cover operative, the kind who could seamlessly swap identities in a crowd while maintaining a state of perpetual vigilance.
"But she went to Cloudglow Manor," Christine remarked. "In my book, that doesn't make her one of the good guys."
"Well, you went there too, and so did I. We just didn't make it inside," Lu Jiting countered, still shielding Ksenia. "We've monitored her for days; she hasn't done anything suspicious."
It had been a strange coincidence. Both of them, unbeknownst to the other, had followed Ksenia to the outskirts of Cloudglow Manor that night.
Since they had already been spotted, the two decided to head into Paradise for a bite to eat.
Lu Jiting ordered a classic Fish and Chips. Christine had no appetite; the events of the past few days had left her exhausted. She simply ordered a drink to meet the bar's minimum spend.
"Are you going to keep tailing her tomorrow?" Lu Jiting asked, poking at his food. "Does this bar not have a chef? This is atrocious."
Christine shot him a cold glare. "Are we friends now? Do I look like I'm in the mood for jokes? I'm tailing her for a case. You're tailing her, which is illegal."
Lu Jiting raised an eyebrow. "This is inedible. Is there any salt? Cumin? Anything?"
"I'm talking to you, Mr. Lu."
"I hear you. But I have to bring her back to China. My father is ill and wants to see her. We won't have the freedom to leave until this case is cleared, will we?"
After investigating the dance company, Lu Jiting had concluded that Henry was the most suspicious. His logic was fueled by a romanticized hope: if Henry were the "Cleaner," then Ksenia would be cleared of suspicion, allowing her to return to China with him. Perhaps, then, they might still have a future.
To prove his theory, he had begun surveillance on Henry. But instead, it was Ksenia he had seen slipping into that dark sedan in the dead of night.
Spurred by a mix of intuition, obsession, and a protective urge—along with a desperate need for a confrontation—he had followed that car to the vicinity of the manor, where he crossed paths with Christine, who harbored her own suspicions.
"That place might not be as bad as you think," Lu Jiting tried to rationalize. "Maybe it's just an elite social gathering?"
In the noisy bar, neither noticed they were being overheard.
Christine felt like she might get sick. "You've said that a dozen times. Stop lying to yourself."
Lu Jiting wouldn't back down. "For all we know, the higher-ups at M-6 might be involved in Cloudglow Manor themselves."
Christine knew he was right. She had recorded the license plates of the cars entering the manor. The results of her search had made her skin crawl. Those names... she recognized them. A philanthropist frequenting charity galas, a financial legend from the Financial Times, and a playboy who had made headlines for a "fatal accident" months ago that was quickly swept under the rug.
In fact, anyone who followed the news knew those names.
There was no way M-6 was ignorant of Cloudglow Manor. A gathering of that many high-profile figures should have been a top priority for surveillance. And yet, in the entire organization, no one besides her seemed interested.
It was more than suspicious. It was terrifying. If even M-6 was staying silent, she didn't know how far the manor's reach truly extended.
She downed her drink in one go. "I can't trust anyone at M-6 anymore. Can you help me? Or rather... if you had a chance to save Ksenia, would you take it?"
"What are you planning?" Lu Jiting put down his fork, unable to stomach another bite of the greasy fish.
"I've thought about it for a long time," Christine said. "I'm going to go into Cloudglow Manor—impersonating Ksenia."
Lu Jiting burst out laughing. "Have you seen your posture? You're sitting like a soldier; half the men in here are staring. And look at your frame—Ksenia doesn't slouch. Your voice isn't right either; hers isn't as deep as yours."
"But sitting like this is comfortable," Christine grumbled, before straightening her back and clearing her throat. "I'll learn. For now, I just need Ksenia's fingerprints and a mold of her face. I'll study her expressions, her walk, her habits. I need you to help me lure her out."
"You think she'll accept an invitation from me?" Lu Jiting said mockingly. "Only if you promise you won't arrest me."
"What?" Christine looked confused. "What are you going to do?"
"Extreme times call for extreme measures."
Christine frowned. "I'll be watching you. If you end up in the Security Bureau, my whole plan goes down the drain."
Compared to West Loughton, the rent in South-East Loughton was much cheaper. But for Ella, that meant waking up an hour earlier than Ksenia. If she wanted to shower, do her makeup, and style her hair to maintain the "dignity" of a dancer, she had to rise even earlier. Like now—5:00 AM.
She waited ten minutes in the biting wind for a bus to the station, bought coffee and bread there, and then took the train into the city center.
Today felt no different from any other, except the rain was heavy and the wind was fierce, blowing the hat right off her head. By the time she retrieved the hat—one that had cost her half a month's salary just to keep up appearances—it had landed in a puddle. Her mood was just as ruined.
Being a dancer for the Royal Ballet paid well by the standards of her hometown, but in Loughton, it was barely enough for a "warm and full" life. In her small rural village, an elite dancer like her should have been a source of pride. In two hundred years of history, the only other person from her village to appear on TV was a farmer who had struck it rich selling tractors.
But her parents weren't satisfied. And neither was she.
The scenery flashed past the train window. She thought back to a few days ago when she had obtained Ksenia's address from the manager. It was close to the subway, close to the bus, and close to the studio. Yet, Henry still drove Ksenia to and from work every day.
It was a high-end apartment. The sidewalk outside was so clean even the homeless stayed away. The lobby behind the glass doors smelled of expensive perfume—a scent that immediately broadcasted the gap between classes.
Ella had stood there, looking at her own disheveled reflection in the glass, realizing her fate was to be a supporting character no matter where she went. She had checked online; the monthly rent was equal to her entire month's income. She stood under a tree, staring at Ksenia's home as if looking at an unreachable dream.
Irritation, anxiety, jealousy. She didn't even have the courage to knock on the door and pretend to pay a casual visit. She laughed bitterly at herself. She had been faking it for so many years, after all.
"I delivered the letter like you told me to, but she still went on stage," Ella said into a phone in a public booth.
A man's voice came from the other end. "But her performance was interrupted. You should be happy. And listen to me—didn't she get a fracture? The rumors must be making her life hell, too. Go for the role of the Black Swan. That position was always yours."
"Can you guarantee I'll get the role of Odile?"
"Of course. Don't you always get what you want?"
Ella arrived at the studio.
Ksenia was there today. She hadn't been crushed by the rumors. Henry was clinging to her again, laughing and smiling. It was nauseating.
"Ksenia! Is your foot feeling better?" Ella approached with her practiced, perfect smile.
"I still need help just to walk."
Ella felt a surge of secret joy. For some reason, from the first time she saw Ksenia, she had loathed her. That image of Ksenia—pampered, aloof, untouchable, and perfect—was like a thorn buried in Ella's heart.
"Maybe it's better to rest at home," Ella said "kindly."
"True. But today I'm watching the solo audition tapes with the instructors. You're auditioning for the role of Odile, aren't you? I'm sure your performance is in there. I'll be sure to say a few good words for you."
It was exactly that—that condescending, top-down tone—that made Ella's skin crawl.
Ksenia was only a year older than her. They had gone to the same high school and the same university. For years, Ella had witnessed the birth of this "genius," while her own talent was rarely noticed. Even her parents said, If you can't reach Ksenia's level, why bother being a dancer at all?
But she was a genius in her hometown, too! She was the one who won every award and was looked up to by everyone. She was just unlucky—she had encountered a monster.
Ella suppressed her trembling hands and smiled. "Then you must help me!"
That morning, Ksenia had received a fax from the Bearded Man at her apartment. On a plain white sheet of paper, only one name was printed in black: Ella Bergman.
She had stared at the name for a long time, and everything finally clicked.
She had been puzzled before—why Ella had told her about being dropped from Swan Lake right before rehearsals, why she had screamed for no reason. On the day of the incident, Ksenia had messaged Kate, and Kate's response was clear: there had been no talk of replacing her.
But how did Ella know about the Artistic Director's death?
Ksenia couldn't figure that out yet, but she knew that asking blindly wouldn't satisfy her need for revenge.
She noticed the way Ella's hands trembled with suppressed irritation. She noticed the unnatural smile on Ella's face. Everything was so clear now, yet she had been deceived for so many years. Thinking back on the bullying she had endured over the years, she realized how much of it was Ella's handiwork.
Ksenia reached out and gently straightened a stray lock of Ella's hair.
"Of course," Ksenia said, her voice smooth and a smile playing on her lips. "We're best friends, aren't we?"
There was no warmth in her smile. Only the cold, calculated gleam of a mask.