Reckless Hearts: Chapters 1–5

"Absolutely not! We've talked about this, Papa!" Andrei Ivanov grunted irritably as he lowered his towering frame on the burgundy camelback sofa in the den of his ancestral home in Glen Eagles, north of Rock Castle.

Surprisingly, Pavel, the Ivanovs' longtime butler, dressed in a dark suit and not a hair out of place, remained unfazed by the tension in the room. The same way Andrei's father, Nikolai, sat unperturbed behind his vintage desk as he gazed back at him, "Yes, you will cancel your flight."

Massaging his temples to stave off a looming headache, Andrei explained—yet again—why he couldn't cancel his flight the following evening, citing every excuse he could think of. When that didn't work, he doubled down and lit a cigarette, taking long, deep puffs before addressing his father again in a much firmer tone, "You've known about my move to Moscow for a while now. It's happening, with or without your approval. I suggest you get on board fast!"

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that," Nikolai stubbornly refused, lacing his hands behind his head as he nonchalantly reclined in his seat. "I can't sign off on your little vacation—"

"It's not a little vacation. This is my life we're talking about!" Andrei said, blowing out a thick cloud of smoke through his nostrils.

"Your life is right here with me," countered Nikolai.

Seething, Andrei shook his head, "No, Papa, we agreed my stay in Rock Castle would only be for a year. I've done everything you've asked of me, appeased the investors, and made nice with all our business partners—"

Nikolai cut in as he sat up and steepled his hands, "And your hard work has not gone unnoticed."

"So, what is this then? Why are you trying to keep me here?" Andrei demanded as he rubbed his tired eyes. They'd been at it for over an hour now, and to say he was exhausted was putting it mildly. How a farewell dinner had turned into a battle of wills was beyond him. He didn't need his father's permission to move back to Moscow. But he'd hate leaving on a sour note.

"Drei, listen to me," Nikolai said, sounding just as drained. "I understand you have a life overseas, but I need you here."

"Need me here? For what exactly? The family runs like a well-oiled machine, and I can manage the company from our Moscow office," Andrei pushed back as he buttoned up his suit jacket, preparing to leave. He'd had enough of the back and forth, and they were clearly at a stalemate.

He'd barely reached the door when his father called after him.

"Would this make you stay?" he asked.

Reluctantly, Andrei turned back around just in time to see his father push a glossy black Aero Shipping folder across his desk, the file barely making a sound on the smooth Acacia wood.

He retraced his steps, stopping in front of the desk before picking up the folder, the tension leaving his face the longer his eyes remained on the document.

"Are you serious?" Andrei asked, looking up at his father when he could no longer keep his disbelief in check.

"Like a heart attack!" Nikolai chuckled, to Andrei's chagrin.

"Papa! A heart attack is hardly a laughing matter!"

"Lighten up, kid," said Nikolai with a small smile. Pointing at the folder in Andrei's hands, he continued in a serious tone. "It doesn't get better than that. Full control of Aero Shipping and all its subsidiaries."

Andrei could only nod in agreement, a thoughtful look in his eye as he sat down and weighed the offer. Complete control of Aero Shipping was enough incentive to cancel his one-way ticket out of Rock Castle. Hell, without his father's interference, he could take the company in an entirely new direction. He'd be a fool to turn him down—

"But there's a condition," Nikolai added, bursting the little bubble of excitement Andrei was almost floating on.

"Of course," he muttered, placing the folder on his lap. There were always conditions when it came to his father.

"What is the condition?" he asked with very little enthusiasm.

"Well, as you can see, I'm getting on in years, and with Aleksei in prison, this is clearly your cross to bear."

Intrigued by the vague sales pitch, Andrei sat up and gazed at his father, "What cross?"

"To continue our bloodline, of course!" Nikolai replied, picking up one of the daily newspapers from a thick pile beside his laptop.

"I'm sorry, what?" Andrei burst into uneasy laughter at this bizarre turn of their conversation.

"What's so funny?" Nikolai asked, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

"Everything!" Andrei said. "You talking about bloodlines and crosses to bear. None of it makes sense!"

"I promise it will in a moment," Nikolai assured him with a shrewd smile as he looked over his shoulder and signalled to Pavel to hand Andrei an envelope.

Andrei reluctantly took it, surprised to find the seal flap, with the Petrovs' family insignia, broken. His father had clearly read the contents of the letter.

With dread roiling in his stomach, Andrei pulled out a fancy cream and gold card the size of a standard wedding invitation. He scanned it quickly, his face growing dark with anger the longer the words on the heavy paper floated in front of his eyes.

"What is this?" Andrei whispered, waving the invitation at his father. "What the hell is this?"

"This is what I call a win-win."

"This isn't a win-win! You've completely blindsided me!"

"Don't act surprised. You knew it was coming—"

"I never agreed to any of this!"

"Of course, you didn't," Nikolai nodded his head. "But with Aleksei languishing in prison now, you have to step in."

"So, what am I? Your substitute groom and your baby-making backup plan?"

"All I'm saying is that had you kept Aleksei out of trouble, we wouldn't be here right now. But you failed to fulfil your duty—"

"My duty? How? When I wasn't even around?" Andrei exploded at his father's words.

"My point exactly!" Nikolai retorted with the same fierceness. "If you were here, Aleksei would have had a good role model to learn from!"

Andrei gnashed his teeth, unable to believe the nonsense spewing from his father's lips. If the man hadn't chaired a board meeting at Aero Shipping earlier and charmed the pants off of the shareholders, he would have been so sure he was going senile.

It made no sense to him that he was constantly bearing the brunt of his father's wrath when it came to Aleksei's thoughtlessness. But then again, ever since Andrei could remember, his twin would always get into all sorts of trouble, and he, as the big brother, would have to step in and clean up the mess.

Aleksei's recklessness had gotten old fast, so when the opportunity to take over their overseas operation presented itself, Andrei grabbed it with both hands and never looked back.

He was happy in Moscow—well, as happy as one can be in a foreign country—running his family's various businesses, including a highly successful narco operation. He was even so close to diversifying their portfolio when his old man summoned him home two years ago, after Aleksei had bitten off more than he could chew when he shot Liam Anderson—

"—I think my offer is more than generous," said Nikolai, pulling Andrei back to their chat.

He snapped his fingers at Pavel again, and a moment later, a shiny tray with a fresh bottle of whiskey and two Swarovski crystal glasses appeared. Pavel poured them each a drink and left them alone.

Andrei took his glass to the window and gazed at the frozen pond in the backyard, where a wedge of geese seemed content to glide on the precariously thin ice.

For some reason, the image of a nimble Holly Anderson soaring on stage at the Mirage as a love-struck teen in Joseph Briggs' adaptation of Romeo and Juliet crossed his mind. He didn't even know why he'd gone to watch her damn show last night. He didn't want to. Heck, he hated ballet. But after the Andersons' first invitation, soon after they partnered up on the LUSSO deal, it had become customary for them to send him exclusive invites with box seats and all that shit. Like he couldn't afford to pay for any of it himself.

He didn't stay for the whole thing, of course. He had a business call with the Moscow office to finalise his move. So he didn't even know how impressive or thoroughly lacking Holly's performance was. But he knew she'd received the bouquet of peonies he'd sent her because Monique, his assistant, made sure of it.

Nothing less than peonies would do for the stuck-up Anderson prima donna. He'd learned this after the first show he ever attended, when Holly herself—not her assistant, manager or agent—sent him a handwritten thank you card for the bunch of peach roses he'd sent. He would have found the whole thing cute if it wasn't for her postscript nicely telling him to never send her roses again because they were so ordinary, and she was anything but ordinary.

From that moment on, and in the spirit of maintaining his business relationship with the Andersons, Andrei had made it his mission to send her peonies. Since he never received another snarky handwritten card from Holly after that, he assumed the flowers had met her remarkably high standards, so he'd just stuck with them—

"Andrei!" Nikolai bellowed, waving his glass at him. "Did you hear anything I said?"

Of course, Andrei hadn't heard shit. He was thinking about the youngest Anderson daughter, and all because of some damn geese gliding on an icy pond. But he nodded anyway and lit another cigarette.

"I still don't see why I have to get married and give you an heir just to get what's rightfully mine?" he muttered as he blew out a massive cloud of smoke and watched it float to the ceiling. "Just this past quarter alone, Aero's profits have more than doubled. I've managed to unbundle us from that bad deal with Dreams and brought in more revenue streams with the LUSSO deal."

"You killed Ethan Wilson and his wife," Nikolai reminded him.

"They had it coming. No one steals from me and gets away with it—"

"That's exactly what I'm talking about," Nikolai clapped his hands, smiling smugly as he pointed at him. "A wife and kid will soothe that awful temper of yours and quell your thirst for blood."

"I don't want a wife and kid!" Andrei raged. He knew how to sell drugs, count money, and kill people. He just didn't know how to be a husband and father. Not exactly his fault there. After all, he never had a shining example of a good marriage. His own father had killed his mom in cold blood. Shot her and the pool boy to death when he found them in his bed, screwing their brains out in the middle of the day.

Andrei and Aleksei were at boarding school when it happened. The teachers had tried to protect them from the brutal truth, but the other boys, especially the older ones, weren't so nice. Every chance they got, they taunted them about their mom being a whore.

If there was anything Andrei took from that bloody part of his childhood, it was to never make surprise home stops in the middle of the day or trust a woman.

Sure, he adored women, but he didn't trust them. Maybe because they were a nuisance ninety-nine percent of the time. But now, he was being strong-armed into doing the one thing he swore he'd never do when his parents' marriage ended in bloody murder.

"This is bullshit," he said as he paced the room. "You ran Aero for many years without a wife—"

Nikolai interjected, arguing, "I already had you, boys. I didn't need a wife."

"I can still run every aspect of Aero without a wife, just like you."

Determined to move ahead with his agenda, Nikolai brushed him off with an impatient flick of his hand. He pushed an A4-size manilla envelope across his desk. "This is Veronika's résumé. The Petrovs will be here in six weeks. I don't need to tell you how important this meeting is. Your union with Veronika is our gateway to Asia and will strengthen our alliance with the Bratva."

Andrei glared at the envelope, refusing to look inside. "Does it have to be the Petrovs?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, my wife. Does she have to be a mail-order bride? I have a girlfriend, you know!"

"Oh, you do?" Nikolai arched his brows in amusement.

"Yes, I do!" Andrei retorted. It was all lies, of course. He didn't have a girlfriend. But his father didn't need to know this. "How am I supposed to explain Veronika to her?"

Nikolai shrugged carelessly, asking, "Why have I never met this mystery girlfriend?"

"You've never met any of my girlfriends," Andrei reminded him, suddenly glad he'd never made the mistake of bringing women home to meet his father. Who knew keeping his love life under wraps would work in his favour someday?

"Your PA is always your plus-one at company events, and you've never been photographed with a woman before. I find it strange that you've never mentioned a girlfriend."

"Strange or not, I'm not marrying Veronika. So call off this damn thing."

"Who is she?" Nikolai ignored his outburst, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "And how long has this thing been going on?"

Andrei took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, surprising himself with how easily the lies rolled off his tongue when he spoke. "We've been dating quietly for a few months now, and you haven't met her because she's out of the country a lot."

"I see," Nikolai nodded, but the suspicious look in his eyes told Andrei he didn't buy his tall tale one bit. "What does she do?"

"You can ask all your questions when you meet her," Andrei said, praying it would end the interrogation.

It didn't.

Instead, Nikolai pushed forward with his crazy demands, "Three months from now, I want you married and her belly swollen with my grandson."

"Papa!" Andrei protested, unable to believe how quickly his little lie had spun out of control. "It's too soon. She's not ready to settle down. Her career's just taking off."

"She doesn't need a damn career!" Nikolai retorted. "The sooner she quits her job, the better. Three months is all you have. Marry her and fill her belly with an heir, or Veronika steps in!"

Andrei knew his father all too well. Once he committed to a particular course of action, it was impossible to convince him otherwise, so he didn't even try to change his mind. Instead, he negotiated, "Give me six months."

He had no fucking clue where he'd find a wife in six months. Not after he'd burned his bridges with Dreams. He doubted Vivienne would want to send him a fake bride.

Nikolai bluntly refused, shaking his head. "I want a daughter-in-law and a grandson on the way in exactly three months."

"What if it's a girl?"

"Even better. I've been told women make the best leaders," Nikolai beamed.

"Fine then!" Andrei sighed with resignation, feeling utterly defeated as he headed for the door, amazed at how quickly things changed. An hour ago, he was ready to jump on a plane and leave Rock Castle behind for good. But now…now he had to find a wife.

"Andrei!" Nikolai yelled after him just as he was about to disappear from view.

"What?"

"You forgot Veronika's résumé"

Andrei turned around and asked, "Why do I need Veronika's résumé when I have a girlfriend?"

"Well, just in case things don't work out with your mystery girlfriend?" Nikolai replied, his smug smile matching the shrewd look in his eyes.

Wordlessly, Andrei crossed the room again, snatched the offending envelope from the desk and tucked it under his arm.

The housekeeping staff bid him farewell in the hallway as Pavel saw him off, "Good night, young Ivanov."

"There's nothing good about this night, Pavel!" Andrei growled over his shoulder, not bothering to wait for the butler's response as he slammed the front door behind him.

His lieutenants, Igor and Ivan, were waiting in the car. Several bodyguards occupied the other two cars parked behind them.

"I'm guessing the last supper didn't go well?" said Igor as soon as Andrei slid in the back.

"There was no last supper. We're staying," he announced, his tone oozing annoyance as he quickly filled them in on his meeting with his father.

He pulled out his phone and called his assistant. They spent ten minutes sorting out the logistical nightmare of cancelling his flight and putting the brakes on his transfer to the Moscow office.

"True off my chest, I'm glad we're staying," confessed Ivan when Andrei finally hung up the phone. "I mean, I can't even stand the winters here. How the hell would I have survived the Russian cold?"

"You did just fine for four years," Andrei reminded him.

Igor cleared his throat, putting an end to their back and forth. He shifted the car into gear and pulled away, carefully navigating his way down the long, winding driveway.

"Straight to the penthouse then, Boss?" he asked when they sped through the gates and down the quiet street.

"No! Take me where people find wives," Andrei retorted as he pulled out Veronika's résumé.

"And where might that be?" Both men guffawed, their booming laughter practically rattling the walls of the car.

"It's not fucking funny. I have three months to find a wife and nut her, or I'll have to marry Veronika Petrov over here just to get what's rightfully mine!" Andrei growled with distaste as he stared at his future wife's photo.

Veronika was stunning, in that ice-maiden—no—in that Russian assassin kind of way. There was no way she'd be the mother of his child. She looked a little too trigger-happy and had what Andrei called the 'mad eye', hinting at her propensity for violence and destruction.

"Here," he said, handing the document to Ivan. "Get me everything on Veronika. The last time I saw her was two years ago. I need to know what she's been up to since."

"So you are marrying her then?" Igor asked, his eyes still on the road.

"Do I look insane to you?" Andrei snorted. He had no intention of marrying Veronika willingly. But if push came to shove, and he didn't find a wife in three months, there was a real possibility he'd end up with her. And while their families were well acquainted, Andrei knew very little about her. He had to know who he was getting into bed with.

"Do it quietly; I don't want my father to know about this," he added.

"Sure thing, Boss," Ivan said as he paged through the document. "And there's a solution to your little dilemma."

Andrei instantly perked up at this. He liked solutions. So he wedged himself in the space between the two front seats, "I'm all ears. Tell me more."

"Online dating," Ivan announced.

"There are tons of apps," added Igor. "I use a few myself."

Other than Dreams—not that it qualified as a dating app—Andrei had never tried online dating. He was old school and preferred meeting his women the good old conventional way. The idea of chatting up random strangers online didn't sound appealing to him. But since he wasn't looking for a real wife, what harm could it do?

"Are you in or what?" Ivan demanded, brushing a lock of unruly black hair from his forehead as he turned slightly in the passenger seat to look at Andrei.

Igor, too, took his eyes off the road long enough to promote Hot Connexions and all its perks.

Andrei was still not sold after his sales pitch, but since he had no other options, he relented.

"Okay, create a profile for me," he said, handing over his phone to Igor.

He glanced at his wristwatch, leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Now that he didn't have to finish packing up his life, he had plenty of time on his hands, so he instructed his men to head to the Mirage.

"I thought you hated ballet," said Ivan.

"I do," Andrei replied.

"Then why are we going to there again?"

"Because I didn't see the ending last night, and you know I hate leaving stuff unfinished."

"It's Romeo and Juliet!" Igor rolled his eyes. "It always ends the same way. They off themselves!'

"That's because they are star-crossed, dummy!" said Ivan.

"Star-crossed my foot! They were just plain dumb kids who had no business falling in love, that's all, especially when their families were sworn enemies and all—"

"Guys!" Andrei groaned. He really wasn't in the mood for an in-depth analysis of the play. "It's entertainment. Don't overthink this!"

"And you know what else is entertainment?" asked Igor.

"What?" Andrei mumbled.

"Finding you a wife!" Igor smiled wryly, threw Andrei's phone at Ivan, and told him to do the honours, "Make the boss look irresistible."

Andrei opened his eyes and sat up, shaking his head vehemently, "No, tell them no lies. Tell them exactly the asshole that I am. I want them to know what they're getting themselves into."

"Sure thing, Boss." Ivan chuckled and got down to work. Within minutes, Andrei's dating profile on Hot Connexions was live. But he had zero matches.

"Ivan! Where's my new wife?" he asked.

"I don't think they like you, Boss."

"Excuse me, what does that mean?" Andrei demanded. "I'm handsome, and I have a shit ton of money. What's there not to like?"

"Well, everyone knows you have close ties to the mob."

"So? There must be someone out there for me. Someone that's not Veronika."

And so Igor and Ivan spent the rest of their drive to the Mirage trying to find a bride for Andrei.

While a glum Andrei sat with his lieutenants in one of the highly sought-after boxes at the Mirage, pondering his father's offer, on stage, under the dazzling spotlight, Holly Marie Anderson had none of his ninety-nine problems.

In fact, life was going swimmingly for her. And why wouldn't it? After all, she was the star of the show, and the only reason the theatre was packed to capacity for the second night in a row.

Drunk on the awe and adoration of her fans, Holly had one job and one job only: to deliver yet another jaw-dropping, heart-thumping performance. And that's precisely what she did.

To say she was on fire was an understatement. Hell, she'd spent a tough three months preparing for the show and survived countless hours of gruelling practice sessions and dress fittings before embarking on a whirlwind press tour.

In the twelve weeks leading up to this moment, Holly had lived and breathed Juliet, so much so that sometimes she was terrified she'd have a hard time letting go of her when the season wrapped up.

For the audience, though, not a sliver of her anxiety showed. From the iconic balcony kiss scene in Act I, set to one of the most intensely romantic scores in ballet history, to the violence erupting in the streets of Verona in Act II, and finally to the lovers' tragic misunderstanding in Act III, the crowd was utterly spellbound by her magic, captivated by her graceful movements.

Every leap she took, every twirl she made, brought them to the brink of euphoric tears.

Everything was coming up roses for Holly.

Until it wasn't.

Until the scene just before the final intermission, when a popping sound, as deafening as a gunshot, echoed through the theatre just as she took off on her feet and soared in the air in what would have been a flawless grand jeté if Lola Thornton hadn't stepped on the hem of her dress.

Convinced the floorboards beneath her had given way, Holly felt her soul separate from her body. For a frightening moment she could only describe as an out-of-body experience, she could see herself, pure horror and confusion contorting her face as she flailed her arms, trying to grasp at anything just to break her fall. But the pain...the sharp, blinding pain shooting straight from her knee to every part of her battered body was all she could focus on as the force of gravity sucked her down, and she landed on the floor in a lacklustre move amidst the stunned gasps from the audience.

Holly didn't have to be a surgeon to know she was screwed and couldn't possibly continue with the show. Not when her knee was a mangled mess. But she'd never been in the habit of quitting before curtain call. So, despite the mind-numbing pain, she danced on, praying she wasn't dragging Cooper down with her sluggishness. But, her dance partner—and occasional lover—covered up for her beautifully with his magnetic movements as he followed her lead in an improvised routine.

It was chaos the minute the curtains slid in place for the intermission, obscuring the cast from the audience.

Russel, the choreographer, lost his shit all over Lola as soon as they were in one of the dressing rooms backstage, screaming at her for her rookie mistake, while Cooper and a few members of the corps de ballet tended to Holly's injury.

"It was an honest mistake. Do you think I wanted to step on her gown?" Lola screamed right back at Russel.

"I don't know? Did you?" Russel fired back.

"Are you suggesting I did this shit on purpose?" Lola demanded, getting up in Russel's face.

"Guys," Holly quickly stepped in before things could get ugly. "It's okay, I'm fine. I'm sure it was an honest mistake, Russ."

Russel glared at Lola for the longest time before spinning on his heel and exiting the room.

Just then, Naomi Saunders, the show's technical director, rushed in, her narrow face taut with worry as she fired fifty million questions at Holly.

Holly calmly answered them all, assuring her she'd finish the show, and her pain level was a three when, in actual fact, it was an eight.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Naomi asked over and over. "I think we should get Dr Baker to check you out."

"I'm fine, really. Stop stressing; you're making me anxious!" Holly insisted, breathing a sigh of relief when the costume and makeup guys stepped into the room to help her prepare for the final act.

While everyone hovered around her, touching up her makeup and smoothing down her gown, her mind drifted back to the mishap on stage.

Mistakes were not unheard of during performances. But Lola was a seasoned soloist, and there was absolutely no reason why she should have been in such close proximity to her...Unless...Unless...

"No," Holly shook the notion out of her head, refusing to even entertain such a thought.

"She wouldn't do it," she told herself over and over as Russel rounded everyone up for the final act.

A short while later, Holly was back under the dazzling lights, moving the audience to tears with her final pas de deux with Cooper.

The closing scene was the most gruelling mentally and physically for her. But fuelled by her crippling fear of failure, she powered through, and the moment the curtains slid in place for the last time, amidst the thunderous applause from the audience, she finally crumpled to the floor, wailing like a wounded animal as she clutched her knee while Cooper and the rest of the cast and crew fussed over her.

"You are such an idiot," said Cooper, rocking her in his arms. "Why didn't you say you were in so much pain?"

"So I can miss the chance to finish the show and let you hog the spotlight?" Holly teased, clenching her teeth when another wave of pain shot up her knee. "You know very well that I hate leaving stuff unfinished."

"Well, you are still an idiot," he replied, brushing her hair away from her face. "Hang in there, okay? The paramedics are on the way. You'll be alright."

"You are such a shitty liar, Coop," she smiled shakily. She wasn't going to be okay. And everyone knew it.

Before Cooper could pacify her with more comforting words she didn't want or need, the paramedics rushed in through the back exit door, and everything after that was a blur for Holly as they loaded her on the stretcher and rushed her to the Mediclinic in Glen Eagles.

What everyone had imagined would be a quick visit to the ER ended up being a week-long bed rest in the orthopaedic wing of the Mediclinic in Glen Eagles for Holly.

When she wasn't consulting with some specialist or other, she found herself entertaining an endless stream of visitors—from family to colleagues to the management team at the Royal Dance Institute.

Cooper was pretty much a permanent fixture in her private ward, and her only source of updates about work. When he casually announced the show was on a break following her injury and faced a possible cancellation, Holly naturally felt terrible for everyone, especially him. He'd wanted the show as much as she did, and had worked just as hard. To see all their hard work go to waste was gut-wrenching. So, she tried to steer their chats away from work. But somehow, they always circled back to the show and, of course, Lola.

Rumours had begun to swirl at the Institute. Half the corps was convinced she had maliciously stepped on Holly's dress and deliberately caused her injury. The other half, Lola's loyalists, were up in arms, defending her, chalking up Holly's fall to bad luck and horrible timing.

Most days, Holly found herself flip-flopping between the two groups. Some days, it was easy to convince herself that Lola would never do anything to harm her. After all, they were once inseparable. But on some days, when the pain in her knee was so unbearable she could hardly sleep without a shot or two of morphine, she resented her former best friend with every fibre of her being and secretly blamed her for her injury.

Three days into her hospital stay, Holly was almost going stir-crazy from being cooped up; there were only so many TV reruns she could watch. So when Sunday—exactly a week after she was admitted—rolled around, and the nurses informed her she was being discharged, Holly immediately called her parents, Lois and Clarke, and asked them to pick her up.

But by 4:00 PM, after a final round of scans and tests, she was still at the hospital, waiting anxiously in her private ward with her folks.

"What's taking him so long?" Holly asked for what must have been the hundredth time as her mom looked through the overnight bag for a change of clothing. "Something's wrong—"

"Honey, you need to calm down," said Clarke while flipping through the TV channels in search of something decent to watch.

"Yes, darling, your father's right," Lois jumped in, handing Holly a set of clothes.

The door squeaked open just as Holly was about to change out of her hospital gown. The three of them turned to the doctor as he strode into the room, a medical file and a large envelope in one hand, and a vending machine coffee cup in the other.

Dr Evans placed the cup on the bedside table and waited for Holly to finish dressing up before he pulled out the results of her latest MRI scan and launched into a lengthy explanation, all the while throwing around big, frightening words like 'osteoarthritis' and 'torn anterior cruciate ligament'.

Of course, Holly had heard them all before, and all she wanted to know was how soon she could return to the stage.

"What's the prognosis?" Holly asked when she grew tired of listening to the doctor's explanation. "How soon can I return to dancing?"

Dr Evans and her parents shared a look, setting off alarm bells in her head.

"What are you not telling me?" she asked shrilly. "My knee will get better, right? And I can return to work in a few weeks, right?"

"Honey," Clarke gently threw his arms around her shoulders to calm her down. "The doctor says you'll need surgery to fix your knee, and your arthritis has progressed far beyond—"

"I heard that. But I can still dance, right?" Holly said again, hot tears welling up in her eyes.

She was only twenty-four, at the peak of a brilliant career as a world-renowned ballerina, and her star had only just begun to shine.

It couldn't be.

It couldn't dim so quickly.

There was no way it was over.

"I'm sorry, honey," Lois opened her arms, and Holly gladly welcomed the hug, unaware that the sounds of anguish filling the room were coming from her.

"I just want to dance."

"I know, sweetheart," Lois kissed her forehead and brushed away her tears.

"There's still so much I want to do, so much I want to learn," Holly sobbed harder as she rested her chin on her mom's shoulder and held on to her for dear life.

"It's alright, honey," Clarke gently patted her back, and slowly, Holly's tearful sobs subsided until silence surrounded them again.

Feeling calmer and ready to fight for her dreams with renewed vigour, Holly pulled away from her parents and looked at Dr Evans expectantly. "After the surgery, with the right physiotherapist and proper treatment, my knee will heal, right? What are my chances? I'm willing to do anything you say and push myself hard. Just tell me what it will take to fix me."

Dr Evans shook his head and spoke quietly, "Holly, I'm sorry. The swelling in your knee has gone down, but the damage is extensive. As for your hip, you'll need physiotherapy as part of your ongoing pain management. But you can't dance anymore. Not professionally, at least."

Those five words—'But you can't dance anymore'—were like a stake through her heart. The final nail in her coffin. Her death sentence.

What was she supposed to do if she couldn't dance?

Who was she if she couldn't dance?

Dancing and being the greatest ballerina of all time were the only two things she'd ever wanted. So, starting at the age of four, she'd worked exceptionally hard and poured all her heart and soul into her craft. All her hard work had begun to pay off at the tender age of ten when she was accepted into Rock Castle's Dance Academy, one of the country's elite ballet schools. She'd had the pleasure of gracing several international stages in her short career, and planned to perform on several more over the next few years.

But now…her star had burnt out, and her light would shine no more.

What was she supposed to do now with herself?

Was Romeo and Juliet truly her last dance? Her final bow? Her last plié? The last time her toes would ever bruise and bleed like that?

It couldn't be.

There had to be another way to reverse the damage.

Devastated, Holly turned to her parents, silently pleading with them to pull her out of her never-ending nightmare. But, like her, they had no idea how to fix her. So she grabbed her mini crossbody bag, dazedly left the room, and wandered down the sterile corridors and out of the building, leaving her parents to discuss her upcoming surgery, physiotherapy, and all the other treatment plans Dr Evans thought were necessary but would never help her return to the stage.

The crisp winter breeze was a shock to her system as she hobbled to one of the benches facing the hospital's entrance. She pulled her long cashmere cardigan closer and wound the heavy woollen scarf around her neck. She was so grateful that despite the short notice, her mom still had the foresight to stop at her townhouse in Morningside Mews and get her some warm clothing.

Holly dug out her phone from her bag and fiddled with her knee brace as she scrolled through the less than thirty contacts. Half were family, including her cousins Matthew and Julian; the rest were colleagues and the management team at the Royal Dance Institute. No friends. Just acquaintances and one guy she occasionally fucked.

With her world falling apart and her dreams shattering all around her, Holly had an epiphany. She'd done everything wrong. She should have focused more on making connections and building relationships. Looking back now, she was ashamed to admit it, but her whole life was a constant cycle of competition. Sometimes with others. But more often than not, with herself. When she wasn't competing, she'd flown to almost every continent and partied hard with people who didn't like nor care about her.

Terrified of her suddenly shaky future, she dialled her big brother's number, determined to keep at least one thing within her control.

Aiden, her nephew, picked up. "Hallo?"

Just for that moment, hearing his baby voice, everything was perfect, and Holly almost forgot the nightmarish hell her life had become.

"Hallo?" Aiden said again. "Hallo! Hallo! Hallo!"

"Hi Aid, it's Aunty Holly," she smiled, forcing herself to breathe through her nose and swallow the flood of tears clogging up her throat. "Is your daddy around?"

"Daddy?"

"Yes, your daddy? Is he home?"

"Mommy?"

"No, Aiden, your daddy," Holly sighed, wondering how her brother and Eden managed to have decent conversations with their toddler son. She wasn't cut out for this. "Where is he? Is he home?"

"Riley?"

"Aiden!" Holly breathed in sharply, her frustration creeping up at their game of broken telephone. "I want to speak to Liam. Your Daddy. Is he home?"

Chuckling his head off, Aiden replied, "Daddy not home."

"Kool-Aid, stop messing around. I'm right here," Liam said in the background, and a moment later, he came on the phone.

"Holly, sorry about that. He's just messing with you. What's going on? You caught me at a bad time. I'm about to head to the airport. You know that UAE deal, the furniture company we signed two years ago? They're threatening to pull out."

Holly had no clue what he was talking about. She never took an interest in the family business because she was too busy with her eight, sometimes nine-hour daily practice sessions, whipping her body into shape, and all for what? Just so Dr Evans could tell her she couldn't dance anymore?

"If it's not urgent, can we chat when I'm back? I have to take the kids to Fugue. Eden's preparing for an exhibition—"

It was urgent, so Holly got straight to the point, "Remember my penthouse? The one you threatened to sell when Dad was sick?"

"What's wrong?" Liam asked, his voice now heavy with concern. "Wait, is this about last Sunday?"

"Yeah," she nodded as if her big brother could see her. She would have given anything to have him beside her, propping her up because she was so close to unravelling. "It's not looking good. Dr Evans says I'm screwed."

"Oh, Holly, I'm so sorry."

"I don't know what to do. It hurts so much, Liam. I think I now understand how you felt when you had to quit racing. It feels like my heart is being ripped in two, and I don't know what to do."

"I'm coming to get you," Liam said.

"What about your trip?"

"Matt and Jules can handle—"

"No, I'm okay. No need to change your plans," Holly politely declined his offer. She may not know much about the family business, but she knew her brother had a tremendous responsibility on his shoulders. The end of her dream shouldn't affect him.

"No need to worry about me. Mom and Dad are here," she said, forcing herself to sound cheerful and firm. "I just wanted to know if you have my keycard. I can't find it anywhere. Willow doesn't have it, either. I have a feeling I'll be in the country a lot more now, and I'll need my own space. Something a little more permanent."

"Holly, I'm sorry, but your penthouse was sold. We put it on the market, and the sale was finalised last year."

Liam's response was the last thing Holly had expected to hear. His words hit her with the brute force of a gut punch, and for a startling moment, she was rendered speechless.

As she sat there in the blistering cold, watching people rush in and out of the hospital, she finally understood what everyone meant when they said when it rains, it pours—

"Holly? Are you still there?" Liam pressed on his end.

"I'm here," she responded, her anger slowly bubbling to life. "But I don't understand, Liam. Why would you do that? Why would you sell my place without talking to me first?"

"It was vacant for years, Holly. Someone wanted to pay good money for it, and Dad was happy to sell it."

"Who bought it?"

"I don't think you need to know that."

"Tell me!"

"Andrei."

"Oh wow, and I thought you all hated him."

"It's business, Holly, don't overthink this."

Knowing her career was over and she'd soon be homeless was a lot for Holly to take in. The last thing she needed was for Liam to be so casual, so blasé, about something so life-altering for her. It was all too much, too soon. The last shred of self-composure she still had finally left the building, and she imploded, ranting and raving about all the unfairness she'd been subjected to since her accident.

"That was my penthouse! What the hell am I supposed to do now? Where will I live? I can't go back home. I'm too old to live with Mom and Dad. I need my own space!"

"But you have your own space in Morningside Mews!"

"Only if I remain a principal dancer, Liam, and if Dr Evans has his way, it's never gonna happen now, is it?" Holly snapped, gripping the phone tightly in her hand. "The townhouse was one of the perks of being a prima. If I'm out of the game, I'll have to vacate it!"

"We'll find you a new place, something bigger and more modern than that old penthouse."

"Liam Clarke Anderson!" Holly shrieked, using his full name, a clear sign she was highly agitated and pissed off. "I don't want 'something bigger and more modern'. I want my old penthouse back!"

"Listen here, you spoilt brat," her brother shot back, anger punctuating each word he uttered. The concern and compassion he'd shown her moments ago was gone. "Get over your shit and quit acting like the Queen of Sheba. We'll find you a new place!"

He promptly hung up on her before she could get in a word edgewise.

Holly stared at the phone in her hand, seething and sorely tempted to hurl it at the trimmed hedges lining the emergency parking bay.

As quickly as her meltdown had begun, it died down, leaving her reeling with grief and sadness. Two emotions she wasn't used to because up until last weekend, her life was perfect, and the sky was her limit. She'd truly lived an enchanted life—

"Everything okay?" Her father's voice pulled her away from the phone in her hand.

"No, Daddy, everything's gone to the dogs!" she said, pointing at the crutches and stack of pamphlets in her mom's hands. "And those? What are they for?"

"There's tons of info on physiotherapy, support groups and counselling," said Clarke as he placed her overnight bag on the bench beside her.

Holly checked the time on her phone, her shoulders slumping when she saw it wasn't even an hour since Dr Evans delivered his devastating news, but she was already expected to join support groups and go for counselling.

"Dr Evans said you can't be on your feet for too long until the swelling on your knee is completely gone. If you need to get around, you have to use these for support," Lois said as she handed her the crutches.

"I'm not an invalid. I don't need stupid crutches!" Holly shoved them away petulantly, knocking them out of her mom's hands. It was bad enough that she had to wear a clunky brace to stabilise her knee; there was no chance in hell she'd be caught dead in crutches.

"I'm not picking them up for you!" Lois said sharply, anger smouldering in her eyes. "I understand you're upset, but the sooner you accept your new reality, the easier things will be for you."

"I'm not ready for this!" Holly screamed in her hands.

"No one ever is," Lois said. "Look at your brother. Do you think he wanted to quit racing? Of course, he didn't. But look at how he's thriving now. You, my darling, just have to pick yourself up and dust yourself off. You are an Anderson. We are resilient. We don't break—"

She would have continued her pep talk if Clarke hadn't stepped in quickly. He picked up the crutches and gently placed them in Holly's hands, saying in his soothing voice, "Honey, I know you don't need the crutches, but for now, while your knee recovers, you have to use them to get around."

Before Holly could argue back, their driver pulled up beside them. He exited the car, placed her overnight bag in the boot, and helped her settle in the back seat with her mom while her father jumped in the front passenger seat.

"Can we stop in Forrest Creek?" Holly asked as they left the hospital grounds.

"Why?" Lois gave her a sidelong glance.

"I just want to see my old place."

"Holly, your place was sold," Lois informed her.

"I know, Liam told me. But I still want to see it."

Clarke turned around in his seat, his eyes soft with sympathy when he spoke, "That's not a good idea, sweetheart. The new owner has already moved in. We have to give him his space."

"Yes, darling, let's not make a nuisance of ourselves," Lois quickly agreed. "And you're moving back home until you've recovered."

"No, I'll be fine at the townhouse," Holly informed her.

But Lois wasn't having any of her bullshit. "You are coming home with us. You need to be with family right now."

Holly wasn't thrilled with the arrangement but nodded anyway. Arguing with her mom was pointless. Besides, they'd butted heads enough for one day. So she eased back in her seat and began planning her bleak future.

She knew Andrei had that massive compound in Linksfield. He clearly didn't need the penthouse. She just had to make him an offer he couldn't refuse. But come hell or high waters, she'd get her penthouse back.