The Ruined Bride of Velvet Nights by Brick Moving Ant

Chapter 7

“You’ll walk normally with proper physical therapy,” the Swiss surgeon explained. “But professional

ballet is unfortunately no longer possible.”

With those words, my dream of returning to the stage evaporated completely.

Over espresso on the clinic’s terrace, Grand–père revealed a stunning truth: he had quietly bankrolled Dad’s startup years ago, channeling millions through shell companies.

“I thought I was helping Élise,” he said, his accent thickening with emotion. “Instead, I financed the lifestyle that allowed Maxwell to pursue Camilla while my daughter withered away.”

His weathered hands trembled slightly as he set down his cup. “Not only am I liquidating every Rousseau investment in Dagonet Industries, but I’ve instructed our board to systematically acquire their competitors. Your father’s company won’t survive the quarter.”

For three months, I underwent intensive rehabilitation in the private Alpine clinic.

Those first nights were torture–even with pharmaceutical–grade sedatives, I’d wake up screaming, feeling phantom hands breaking my bones all over again.

Grand–père would appear within moments, taking the chair beside my bed to share what little he knew of my mother’s brief time with the Rousseaus.

His stories felt maddeningly incomplete–he could only describe how she color–coded her notes at university, how she would practice her ballet positions while waiting for elevators, how she never abandoned a goal once she’d set her mind to it.

Our roles gradually reversed. I found myself filling in the twenty years he’d missed–her silent 3 a.m. crying sessions in the kitchen when she thought everyone was asleep, the way she’d flinch whenever Dad raised his voice, how she’d spend hours perfecting my ballet buns because it reminded her of her own shattered dreams.

his eyes growing heavier with each story. “I will never forgive myself for failing Élise,” he finally said. “That

silent, wondering if perhaps Mom had simply exchanged one toxic family dynamic for another. Had

95.79

Chapter 7

why Mom had cut all

died with

I studied my reflection in the mirror. The scars

surgeons had done something else–something I’d

unmistakably Maxwell Dagonet’s daughter. “Carbon copy” was the phrase

used.

trace of that resemblance had been methodically

I look like my mother

the eye shape–yes, you favor Madame Élise considerably more,” he confirmed.

physical connection to the Dagonet name.

powered on my phone after three

the device.

number. During my silence, he and Caspian had bombarded me with increasingly frantic messages:

haven’t slept in days. The

let those men hurt you. I can never undo what I’ve done, but please don’t punish yourself for my sins.]

sit there every night. Those Misty Copeland posters you wanted that I said were too expensive? I covered your ceiling with them. Please