We are in Studio A, running one of the pas de deuxs while Morgan offers his opinion on how Sebastian could hold me differently in the lift for better lines. Sebastian agrees with this and tries again.
A few steps are changed, and we both like the tweaks to the choreography.
Other dancers are at the far end of the room practicing other parts, but I can feel their eyes on me. Do they notice the strange tension with me, Sebastian, and Morgan? Can they tell Sebastian and Morgan are related?
Both men keep a professional distance in rehearsal, neither of them touching me too long or with too much familiarity. But after lunch, Morgan pulls me into an alcove in the hallway, kissing and pawing at me. One of the dancers in the corps catches us, but Morgan doesn't pull away. The man has not an ounce of shame. I bury my head in his chest, wanting to disappear.
Great. Everyone in the company will hear about this. They think I'm dating Sebastian. They won't accept them both. In their minds, I'll be a cheater. A whore. The deeper truth that I'm the captive firebird of both men would be too far out of their experience to comprehend or accept. And maybe that's for the best because if my blackmailers go down, I go down with them.
I'm exhausted by the time I get home—physically and mentally. I just want to lie down and catch up on so much of the sleep I've lost over the past few nights. But when I go to my room, the sheets are stripped off my bed. All my personal belongings are gone.
I run to the closet to find nothing but empty hangers. There’s a crisp white envelope on the bed. I pull out the paper and unfold it to read the note in what I assume is either Sebastian or Morgan's handwriting.
My dearest firebird, your things have been moved to your newly appointed cage. Sleep on the bare mattress if you must, but Wednesday you are ours. Nine p.m. And this time, we won't be letting you go at midnight. You'll find your key on the kitchen counter.
Below the note is the address to their penthouse. There’s a challenge in these words. They want me to choose to come to them now—early. I don't know exactly how Sebastian got into my house. Maybe he took my key from my bag one night when I was blindfolded and gave it to Morgan to make a copy. It's the only possibility I can think of.
I should have activated the alarm, but I rarely bother during the day. I didn't think there was a need. I go to Conall's home office and pull up the security footage from earlier in the day. I watch video of the moving van pull up. Movers emerge with boxes and disappear inside the house which is pretty much what I expected to see. After all, Morgan and Sebastian were with me all day.
I sleep on the bare mattress, unwilling to run to them just because they took my things away.
During rehearsal on Tuesday, Sebastian whispers in my ear, “You will be at the penthouse on Wednesday.”
“Or you'll report me?” I hiss under my breath.
“Yes.” He practically growls the word. I don't know if I believe him. But I'm also not sure I don't. The crazed possessive look in his eyes tells me he'll do whatever it takes to gain my compliance. And if they lose me, I lose everything.
On Wednesday, I use the last of the warm vanilla bath oil to take a bath. The movers didn't take it when they were packing. I guess they were told just to focus on my bedroom.
I sprinkle in rose petals, light candles, and perversely listen to the Firebird music as I lean back against the tub, the steam rising off my skin. Somehow it was so much easier when everything was a mystery behind a blindfold. The truth is too big for me. The reality of the power imbalance remains the same, but before, shielded in the darkness of the blindfold, it was like an erotic dream. Now it feels so much more real. I don't know if I can do this.
Maybe they wouldn't report me to the police. Maybe they aren't that cruel. But they could put me back in the corps. These men have that kind of power. I don't want to believe they'd use their money in the same way Conall used it, to clip my wings. But if these were good men, they wouldn't have done the things they've done to me already.
Finally, I get out of the tub. I wash my hair in the shower. The only clothes I have left are a plum-colored leotard and tights the movers missed because they were in the dryer. I'm angry they've taken all my choices away, that my illusion of freedom is disappearing. But this house is so big and lonely, and there are so many bad memories. Is moving out of it the worst thing in the world?
I get ready exactly as I've gotten ready every Wednesday night, and put the jeans and T-shirt I was wearing back on over my dancewear. Then I take the key off the counter, get in my car, and drive to my new cage.
It's a few minutes past nine when I walk into the large lobby of the high-rise building.
A security guard nods in greeting when he sees me. “Good evening, Ms. Lane. They're expecting you.”
“H-hello,” I say, startled that he was given my name.
His gaze goes to my throat, and I swear he knows that it's not just some pretty piece of jewelry. From the lust in his eyes, he knows. And he said they're waiting for me. I swallow past the lump in my throat and hurry past him.
Inside the elevator, I use my key to unlock access to the penthouse floor. I take slow shuddering breaths as the elevator lurches upward to my doom. I fantasize about it reaching the top, then going into a free fall so I don't have to face these men again.
I'm not sure these few days of space have done anything to soothe my nerves or help me accept this new reality. It feels like the opposite. It's only given me space to run through the mazes in my mind, freaking myself out more and more about everything. Part of me wishes they'd simply demanded my obedience, that Morgan hadn't been soft with me, or that Sebastian had refused the suggestion to give me space.
When I open the door to the penthouse, I walk in to an empty room. “Hello?”
Sebastian and Morgan appear suddenly from opposite doors on either side of me, like wolves circling prey.
“Hello, little rabbit,” Morgan says, reinforcing this impression.
I drop my bag on the floor and my keys on the counter. My hands are shaking. My gaze drifts to the giant windows. A ballet barre has been set up there.
“Go to the barre,” Sebastian says.
