Chapter 12

That evening, Ariana lay in bed aggressively refreshing job boards and submitting applications to dance companies, her laptop casting a blue glow across her determined face in the darkened London bedroom.

The application process for elite European ballet companies was far more demanding than American ones. Applications required submission at least three months in advance, followed by a grueling series of auditions and technical assessments spanning weeks.

Only after clearing every hurdle could one secure even the most junior position.

Despite her legs not being fully rehabilitated, Arlana began what her mother called her “application blitz.” simultaneously developing a punishing practice regimen in the small dance studio they’d installed in the townhouse basement.

Though Luigi’s systematic revenge had prevented her from joining any professional companies during those three years, dance had remained her secret sanctuary. During those years, whenever he would disappear for “business meetings” (which she now understood were rendezvous with Leila), she would retreat to a small studio she’d rented off–campus. There, alone with just mirrors and music, she’d maintained her technique through endless repetition of fundamentals.

Dance had been her first love–before Luigi, before everything. She had allowed that passion to be overshadowed, but never extinguished.

Three months later, during her final audition for the National Ballet of England, Ariana pormed with a

technical precision and emotional depth that left the judging panel visibly moved.

As she completed her variation with a flawless grand jeté into a controlled arabesque, the artistic director exchanged glances with her colleagues–they had found their new soloist.

When the scores were revealed, she had received straight A’s across every category–a feat accomplished perhaps once or twice a decade.

During the feedback session, the senior artistic director studied her with professional curiosity. “Ms. Collins, your technical abilities are extraordinary, but there’s something puzzling in your performance

history.”

of competition or

face remained composed. When she spoke, her voice carried neither bitterness nor regret,

17:22

Final Revenge Pirouette: The 99th Gijk

up in a toxic relationship that consumed those years,” she said. “Classic story–wrong guy, wrong time.”

sympathetic expressions, she offered a serene smile. “But that chapter’s closed now.

partnership. Dance doesn’t lie, manipulate, or betray–it just demands everything, which I’m more

as her technical prowess. She wasn’t running

became the talk of the dance world. As the only auditionee in five years to receive unanimous top marks, she bypassed the corps

principal dancer, then delivered a debut performance of “Giselle” that prompted the London Times to declare: “Collins doesn’t merely dance roles–she inhabits them with a vulnerability and authenticity rarely

invitations flooded in

office, the director regarded Ariana

“death” and rebirth, she had nearly decided Ariana

London during the

“I see that look, Margaret. I’m going. The company needs its principal dancer for the American debut.”

the itinerary. Your former life–the people who

for our

her dancing. “I’ll perform wearing the Odette mask for each production. It’s thematically

represent as first soloist. I’ll be temporarily mute–doctor’s

vocal rest.”

against the polished desk, weighing the proposal against potential complications. Finally, she nodded. “You’ve thought this

first stop on the National Ballet of

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