I match her intensity, refusing to be overshadowed in my own studio. Sweat slides along my spine, heat licking down my neck, and my ankle—God, my ankle—is screaming. Every pivot feels like it might snap something, but I press forward because I refuse to stop. Not with her watching me like that. Not with whatever unspoken battle she’s waging.
Did Mateo tell her about what happened between us?
That’s the question burning in my mind. Did he confess? Did he explain what we were, or what we became in between the moments and the lies we never meant to tell?
Her movements are like weapons, filled with a feral energy. She’s not dancing beside me, she’s honing her blade andplanning the next strike. Only she doesn’t realize I won’t lose the damn war. Her hair clings to her temple, breath ragged as she lunges into the final paso line, our bodies angling toward the mirror in dramatic stillness.
We hold it. One breath. Two.
I try to soften my stance without letting the pain show, and that’s when I notice Mateo standing in the doorway, frozen. His gaze is locked not on Yvonne, but on me, and beside him, stiff-backed and keen-eyed, is a man who looks like time carved him from the same stone. He’s older, broader, and gray at the temples. This must be his father.
My breath stutters and the pain in my ankle flares again, this time cutting deep enough to steal my balance. I break formation, stepping back slightly and lowering my arms. Yvonne doesn’t budge, her chin lifting a notch higher as she catches the same view in the mirror I just did.
I wipe my brows with the back of my hand and straighten, heat rising from my chest all the way to my hairline. Greyson, who’d been off to the side adjusting the speaker levels, turns and follows my line of sight.
“Ah,” he mutters under his breath. “Guess the cavalry’s arrived.”
Mateo still hasn’t moved. His expression is unreadable, but his presence burns like wildfire under my skin. I tear my eyes away, lifting a brow to Greyson, who immediately walks over to greet the man beside Mateo.
Yvonne finally lowers her arms, but not before leaning in just enough to whisper, “Didn’t he tell you his father was coming today?”
I blink at her, stunned, and then I realize what she’s trying to do. She saw the look on my face and knew Mateo didn’t tell me shit, which means he and I aren’t speaking. She has him now. Mysilence is enough of an answer as Yvonne smiles arrogantly, like a cat who’s been lapping up the cream.
I turn away from her, bracing myself to meet the man who now holds the power to unravel everything we’ve been working hard for. Wiping my palms on the sides of my leggings, I cross the studio floor as my heart beats steadily but too loudly in my ears. Mateo stands beside his father like he’s waiting for a verdict he already expects to go badly, his expression stoic but his eyes flickering with worry.
I stop in front of them and extend my hand. “Mr. Sanchez,” I say evenly, “I’m Vaeda Lewis. Co-owner and lead instructor here at Fusion Core.”
He takes my hand in his own, the grip firm but not overly so. “Emilio Sanchez. Thank you for taking the time.”
“Of course,” I reply. “Would you like to speak in my office?”
He nods, releasing my hand, and I gesture toward the side hallway. I glance at Mateo briefly. His eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second before dropping to the floor. He doesn’t follow as Emilio steps ahead and I walk beside him, painfully aware of every echoing footfall as we move down the corridor. Once we reach the door, I push it open and allow him to step in first.
He does a quick survey of the space, and I internally thank Greyson for his cleanliness. It’s neat, the walls lined with competition photos and event posters. The desk between us feels too big, too official for what’s coming, but I motion for him to sit. He does, and I follow.
There’s a pause, heavy and awkward, then he begins, “My son nearly died over a year ago.”
I blink but remain composed. “I know,” I say gently. “Mateo mentioned it to us. He’s been very open about the fact he’s in recovery.”
Emilio’s brows lift slightly. “Has he also told you that the lifestyle he lived, the one that almost killed him, was enabled by people in your world?” I still, the words hitting like cold water. “He was young and extremely gifted. There were people who saw potential and used it. Coaches, competitors, older dancers, and so-called friends.” His jaw clenches. “They fed him pills to calm his nerves, gave him drinks to ‘loosen up.’ When his performance slipped, they blamed him. When he overdosed, they vanished.”
I nod slowly, heart sinking as I picture Mateo in that world alone, spinning and needing approval so badly he drowned in it. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “Truly. That should never happen to anyone, especially not someone so young.”
“I didn’t come here to make you feel guilty, Ms. Lewis,” he continues, his voice slightly softer now. “But I needed to know where he was. I need to know if this place is part of his healing or if it’s one more place full of people who’ll look the other way.”
My spine straightens. “Fusion Core doesn’t look the other way.” He watches me carefully. “I’m not naïve,” I go on. “The industry has dark corners, but Greyson and I built this studio to be different. We don’t tolerate substances. We don’t tolerate abuse, pressure, or favoritism. If Mateo is here, it’s because he chooses to be, and while he’s here, he’s safe.”
Emilio’s fingers drum once against his knee. “Is he happy?”
The question catches me off guard, but my answer comes without thought. “Yes.”
Emilio’s expression softens just slightly at that, like he’s been holding his breath and doesn’t quite know how to let it out. “He doesn’t smile much anymore. He was a bright kid, always dancing, always in motion. After what happened… it’s like the light got knocked out of him.”
I nod, unsure if I can speak around the tightness in my throat. “He’s worked hard,” I reveal finally. “Mateo has earned his placehere. He’s talented, yes, but more than that, he’s resilient. I think… I think dancing makes him feel whole again.”
Emilio leans back in the chair, taking a slow breath. “I appreciate your honesty. I needed to look the people responsible for him in the eyes. I’m not trying to control him, Ms. Lewis. I’m just trying to keep him alive.”
I meet his gaze, steady and calm. “We want the same thing.”
