Dancing with a stranger

Chapter |8✨

Knock knock

I woke to Kian's dad calling through the door, his voice gruff and commanding. "Kian, get up! Training in an hour!"

Kian barely stirred, sprawled across the bed as if the world could scream at him and he'd still ignore it. I nudged him gently. "Hey... your dad said something about training."

He groaned and buried his face deeper in the pillow. Not happening today, I thought.

Sighing, I got up and went to the bathroom, trying to clear my head. The chaos of last night—the fight, Kian showing up, the adrenaline—was still thick in my veins. After slipping into one of his oversized shirts, I returned to the bedroom, standing over him awkwardly.

"Um... could you drive me home? I kinda... forgot about everything last night."

Kian finally sat up, groggy, giving me a half-hearted smile. "Alright, alright. Let's get this over with," he mumbled.

He guided me downstairs, eyes darting around to make sure his dad wasn't nearby. "Hey, dad, I'll be back real quick," he called, loud enough to grab attention but too fast for anyone to respond. He muttered under his breath as he nudged me outside.

The cool morning air hit me, and for a second, I forgot everything—the danger, my father's iron grip on my life, the spiraling chaos. But then reality hit: I'd lost my phone, and my dad was probably already wondering where I was. Even out of reach, he controlled everything.

Kian didn't say much on the drive, his focus sharp, alert. I couldn't help noticing the way he scanned the streets, every corner, every shadow—a life lived on constant watch. I wanted to speak, to unload everything, but the words felt trapped inside me, heavy and impossible.

⸻

Home was no refuge. Less than an hour after I arrived, a woman arrived with a parade of dresses—none of them me. I didn't argue. I couldn't. Grace hovered nearby, her calm presence helping me pick something that would appease my father and draw the least attention.

Dress after dress, I stared at the mirror. Colors, cuts, fabrics—I didn't see any of it. Eventually, I picked an emerald green strapless dress with a heart-shaped neckline and paired it with black heels. Simple. Least effort. Least resistance.

"I think this one looks good," Grace said, offering a faint smile as she zipped up the back.

I nodded, emotionless. Steele—the guy I was supposed to marry—was a ghost in my mind. I could barely comprehend what it meant, let alone care.

I hung the dress on my door and collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. My life was shifting under my feet, and I had no say in it. Who I would marry, what I would wear, where I would go—all decided for me.

I needed answers. I needed to know what had happened to my mother, to Sean. Every time I asked, my father shut me down. Last time, his voice had been low and dangerous: drop it, or else.

I refused to sit back and accept it. Hours passed as I sifted through old documents, records, scraps of paper—anything that might shed light on the shadows of my family's past. Each lead ended in a dead end.

Maybe I wasn't supposed to know. Maybe the truth was something he feared, something dark.

But I couldn't stop. I wouldn't. Even if chasing it meant walking straight into a nightmare I wasn't ready for.