Lachlan's Protégé

by V. F. Mason

  And then with me still burning from our encounter, he leaves me there alone as he steps out and allows the cold air to enter the space, bringing me back to the present and to all the reasons why it’s wrong.

  Lachlan

  Pressing the remote, I watch the wide metal gate open for me. My sports car’s engine roars to life as I drive toward the house, enjoying the wind blowing across my skin as music blasts from the radio.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket, so I take it out, pressing the Answer button. “Is it done?” I ask.

  The voice on the other end of the line immediately replies, “Yes. It’s already all over the internet with photos and shit, and we sold the story—anonymously, of course—to several newspapers. By eight this morning, everyone will know about the rejected proposal.”

  I hang up, not interested in the rest as a smile pulls at my lips.

  People complain all the time that nothing in their life goes according to plan and blame it on whoever and whatever, everyone but themselves.

  The secret to a success is really simple though.

  Plan everything.

  Pulling the car up to the main door, I get out and throw the keys to Levi, who catches them quickly, and then I enter the grand hall, moving toward the secluded area that no one has permission to enter but me.

  The glorious space has a stage-like feel with a rounded ceiling that, instead of being solid, has see-through colored glass that distorts the light and cascades it down on the person below, creating an aura of mystery and stilled art. Assorted statues are placed around the chair in the middle, making it almost like a throne room where one king can gaze at his subjects who do their best to impress him with their art.

  Although they aren’t visible, ten speakers surround the place, making sure that whenever music plays, it can be heard from any corner clearly without interruption.

  I’ve planned and sketched this place for months, making sure every detail is exactly the way I want it. The designer has created one of the most beautiful interiors in the world, but at the same time, the feeling of doom and desperation coats the place.

  I light up a cigarette and drop onto the throne, while snapping my fingers, and instantly music echoes through the space. I rest my head against the chair back and allow the sensations to rush through me, bringing clarity to my mind that for a second disappeared with her.

  While teaching my protégés, I always inform them of one, single golden rule that guarantees the victory in most cases.

  Study your prey.

  Without research, without thoughtful preparation, you can get caught. A lion doesn’t just get up in the morning hoping to get his prey; no, he knows exactly where to hunt for it, what speed to use, and how to make sure no one knows he’s there.

  There are certain things humans should learn from wild creatures, that’s for sure.

  Valencia Moore.

  I exhale the smoke and drink in the smells while the idea of making her mine sends electricity through my entire system.

  Yeah, I do want to own her.

  But that’s not the reason why her wings will be broken.

  There are secrets only she is able to crack, secrets that haunt me to this day and won’t let me rest.

  The brown-eyed angel has to become mine.

  But for that, an angel needs to soak in darkness and own it like her second skin, and who better to introduce her to this world than me?

  Chapter Five

  New York, New York

  October 2003

  Valencia, 10 years old

  “Mommy!” I call out, rushing inside the house and dropping my ballet bag on the floor while wincing in pain as my legs throb from the exhausting rehearsal.

  My brows furrow when there is no reply. I step in the direction of the kitchen when a loud sound of shattering glass coming from the living room reverberates through the wall and stops me in my tracks.

  I quickly run to the room and gasp in shock as I see Mom sitting on the couch, sobbing into her hands while her body trembles. Different objects, or what’s left of them anyway, lie scattered all over the floor next to her feet.

  Our usually tidy living room looks as if a tornado went through it: pictures ripped into pieces, vases broken, Dad’s expensive wine creating a wet, red pool on the floor.

  Even our white-as-snow expensive silk curtains that reflect the sun are shredded into pieces, and I see the scissors on the table while Mom continues to cry.

  What happened here?

  “Mom?” I ask, and as I come closer, she jumps in her seat, turning to me and bursting into tears again. “Mommy, what happened?” Instead of answering, she hugs me tightly to her chest, rocking me from side to side, as she rests her cheek on the top of my head.

  “I will save us from this. I will, honey.” Her whispers make no sense to me, and fear spreads through me rapidly. “We will leave as soon as possible.” My stomach flips at her words, and I lean back to search her face, but she has a completely blank expression, looking above my shoulders as if in a trance.

  “Mommy, I’m scared.”

  She blinks back and then finally focuses her attention on me. She palms my face, and only then do I notice how cold her hands are and how she has blood smeared on them, probably from digging her long nails into her palms.

  “I will protect us. I will—” Whatever else she has to say is lost as the main door shuts, the sound startling us, and a second later, Dad enters the room, his assessing eyes not missing anything.

  I expect him to question Mom just like I did, but he doesn’t. I haven’t seen him for a few days, because he’s been out of town traveling.

  Instead, he tells me, “Valencia, go to your room. Mommy and I need to have a few words.”

  Her arms tighten around me as she shakes her head, murmuring, “No.” At this point, I return the embrace, my heart beating rapidly in my chest from fear of the unknown.

  Mommy’s never loses herself like this; she’s always smiley and happy about everything. And there hasn’t been a day where she wouldn’t give all her love to Daddy.

  But now she acts as if he is a bad person who can hurt us. “I want a divorce,” she proclaims, and I whine, shocked to my core that she even voiced it.

  Daddy and she were married in a church. How can she even think about this?

  I glance at Dad and my eyes widen as his lips thin and an expression crosses his face, but I don’t know how to name it. In a beat, it passes as he shifts his attention to me, giving me the soft look I’m familiar with. “Valencia go to your room.”

  “No,” I reply, scooting closer to Mom, who exhales in relief. I don’t know what’s going on, but I can’t leave her alone in this state, especially since she doesn’t let go of me.

  “Marina, you don’t want Valencia to get upset, do you?” This question freezes Mom and she stops breathing, and for the first time, I notice fear in her eyes and her hold on me loosens.

  She wipes away the tears and then smiles, although it does little to reassure me. “Honey, Dad is right. Go upstairs. I will come to you shortly.”

  “But—”

  She kisses me on the cheek, patting me gently on the back, and then ushers me to the door. “Go.” I listen to the command, still not quite convinced, but the tension in the air is thick, and I don’t want to prolong the inevitable.

  On the way, Daddy softly runs his hand over my head and winks at me. “Don’t worry, munchkin. Everything is going to be okay.”

  With that, I go to my room and drop onto the bed, wondering what could possibly shock Mommy so much that she asked for a divorce?

  New York, New York

  January 2018

  Valencia

  The high note at the end of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake fades, and I fall down as the swan dies because of the bad dark lord. Originally, she does it with her lover, but Duke had an emergency at home, so he couldn’t practice with us.

  Silence falls over the studio as I breathe heavily, still looking down at the flo
or and smiling, because I’ve finally managed the entire dance without screwing up the final steps that for some reason couldn’t register in my mind properly before now.

  I glance up to Mistress Olga, who stands by the mirror while resting her elbow on the barre, tapping her chin with her finger, her face wincing on one side.

  I clear my throat. “You didn’t like it?”

  She exhales heavily, motioning for me to get up, and I do while nervously biting my lip.

  She is the best ballet mistress in the States. If she doesn’t like something, it means it truly sucks. I should have rehearsed more last night instead of going to that stupid dinner, which in a way ruined my life.

  I wince at the thought of my phone constantly blowing up with messages from everyone and their mother about various magazines and Twitter and IG posts that showcase me looking cold-hearted and Max looking like a loser who got his soul crushed. I read a few of them but gave up by the tenth, since the comments were all the same.

  Spoiled bitch.

  Poor guy.

  He’ll find someone else.

  What’s with today’s society so quickly jumping to judge one person without actually wondering what could have happened? You are crucified without the facts.

  Mistress Olga finally speaks up, and my stomach flips at her stern voice. “Your technique is perfect.” I grit my teeth in anticipation of what she will say next, although it’s not hard to guess. “But your emotions… you are like a beautiful statue, Valencia. The dance evokes so many emotions, and you have none.” She clicks with her fingers. “And just like that, the beauty of dance vanishes, leaving us with, well, you.” She’ll never sugarcoat anything for you, aiming straight at the heart, that’s for sure.

  Emotions.

  What are those anyway? It’s not as if I’ve had much opportunity in life to display them. “She is held hostage. What is she supposed to do?” I grab the bottle of water and gulp it greedily. I’m not thirsty, but I’m afraid I’ll say something I’ll regret.

  Arguing with Mistress Olga doesn’t end well for most students.

  Her jaw drops, almost hitting the floor. “Exactly! There is a palate of emotions. Her lover played into an evil spirit’s trap, she has no hope left, and she is alone with her captor.” With each reason, she flips her fingers up and then points one at me. “Yet all she can do is be beautiful.”

  “She shouldn’t show him her weakness.” Why does no one understand my point? Quite frankly, I don’t even know how to portray a woman who is in such a situation, but I imagine she would prefer to keep her dignity intact and not show him how much he hurt her with what he’s done.

  Not to mention her lover, who apparently didn’t even bother to recognize her. While I love everything about the Swan Lake dance and story, I never understood what’s so epic about their love story itself. To me, it ended when he didn’t understand the dark lord provided a decoy.

  Mistress Olga huffs in exasperation, hitting the wall with her notepad. “I can’t reason with you!” She exhales a heavy breath and places her hands on her hips, annoyance crossing her face. “Look, Valencia, you are the star of the show. I’ll be honest; I wasn’t sure you were talented enough for this… but you are. The show is in two months, but I can’t have my prima ballerina displaying this.” She waves her hand at me and then sighs. “You need to understand her.” My brows furrow as I move strands of my hair behind my ear.

  Since she doesn’t say anything, I probe. “Understand what?”

  “Understand why she made certain choices.” She takes my hand in hers and smiles softly, although on her wrinkled face it looks more like a grimace. “You don’t know what love is, so you can never see why she did what she did. Until you feel her, truly feel her… you won’t ever be able to be her. And on stage, you have to.” She pats me on the cheek, grabs her bag, and moves in the direction of the door, her heels clicking loudly on the wooden floor, and with each step, fear rises higher and higher in me.

  What does she mean by that? Mistress Olga is never straightforward with her students; she always speaks in metaphors or between the lines. “So if I don’t do that, you won’t let me perform?”

  She pauses at the door and then looks over her shoulder at me, indifference reflected on her face. “Not at all.” Relief washes over me, but it’s quickly gone, as she says, “You can still be part of the show. But you won’t be a prima.” With those last words, she leaves, while I stand there numbly as desperation slowly fills me.

  Ballet is my everything. Being a prima is my dream, our dream.

  Failing it will mean failing my father, and I can never do that. I’ve already failed a lot of opportunities on purpose just to keep everyone happy around me. Dancing in my hometown though is everything.

  But how do I do that if they require emotions from me, emotions that can lead to my destruction.

  I sit down on the floor, resting my forehead against my knees, holding back tears, because life is nothing but a mess.

  This is not what I envisioned for myself, not what I’ve planned.

  I wonder, Valencia, have you ever done what you want instead of what is right?

  Lachlan’s voice washes over me and I can’t help but answer that, even if it’s inwardly.

  No, I’ve never done what I want except dance. But even at this, I’ve failed.

  “Knock, knock, knock.” Bella’s voice snaps me out of my stupor, and I raise my head to meet my friend’s worried gaze as she rests her shoulder against the doorjamb. She clucks with her tongue. “I was gone for a year and this is what I find?” She waves a bottle of wine in the air and holds up a box of lemon macaroons. “Good thing I brought these from France, huh?” she asks, and laughter slips past my lips as I get up. With a loud squeal, I practically jump on her, rocking her from side to side, while she hugs me with all her might.

  “I can’t believe you’re here!” I say and lean back, drinking in her features and noticing a new beauty shining within her. My six-foot tall, long-legged, blonde, blue-eyed friend was always a thing of beauty, but now she has an added glow. I hug her again, while murmuring into her ear. “I’m so glad you came!” I exhale heavily as tears threaten to spill, but I hold them back.

  She doesn’t need to see me like this.

  Bella pats my back, while murmuring, “How could I not?” She finally lets go and palms my face, pressing the cold bottle against my cheek. “I booked the flight the minute the news reached Paris.” She crosses her arms, tipping her head to the side. “What do you want to do?”

  Of course.

  I should have expected that once my best friend knew about my trouble, she’d be by my side. No matter what happens, she is the only person in the whole wide world who will always be on my side.

  “Well—” I start, but she interrupts me.

  “And while you are at it, answer this too. If you don’t want to marry Max, then why did you refuse to take the part in the show and they picked me instead? You could have had Paris and all the fame.” My stomach drops, because it’s the last question I expect, and I shift uncomfortably, not really knowing how to proceed.

  We stay silent for a long while, and she finally exhales heavily, and orders, “Go change and we can go to your place and talk. But this time, I want the truth. Okay?”

  I nod, even though I’m not sure.

  Truth might cost me her, and I don’t think in my current situation I can survive without Bella.

  God, how did my life turn into such a mess?

  Lachlan

  Locking my hands behind my head, I rest on the chair while watching the live transmission from Valencia’s studio streaming to my huge TV in the media room, while other small screens show me her performances in different stages of rehearsal.

  She gracefully maneuvers through the studio, completing pirouettes and techniques that rival those of legends. She is completely lost in the music, desperation filling her every expression as her body shakes in pain that feels so real I can practically touch it t
hrough the screen.

  My angel is almost ghostlike in her black attire that emphasizes her delicate figure with a graceful neck, legs that go on for miles, and her fit body that can withstand hours and hours of training.

  And she would have been one of the best if it weren’t for the stubbornness crossing her expression any time she performs act three, showing with her entire being disapproval for the action of the female she portrays.

  Ah, what a magnificent subject to break.

  I pick up the phone from the table and dial a number. She answers on the second ring. “Mister—”

  I’m not much interested in what she has to say, so I don’t even bother to listen. “Is everything ready?”

  A pause and then “Yes.”

  Hanging up, I allow the sinister smile to spread across my mouth while I turn on the classical music that always soothes my soul.

  This charade has lasted long enough; the time has come for action.

  I just left her without another pawn.

  My angel is losing a game she has no idea we’re playing.

  Time for her to catch up.

  Chapter Six

  New York, New York

  September 2007

  Valencia, 14 years old

  With one last swirl, the music ends on the high, violoncello note and I freeze in the pointe pose as the audience gets up and cheers loudly, most of them clapping while I bow to them, thanking them for watching my performance.

  My feet ache, my throat is sore as I desperately need a drink, and I can barely catch a breath, because I still have to keep my smile intact, but I’ve never been happier in my life.

  My first solo performance as the prima ballerina of my ballet school! Although Mistress Megan didn’t say it out loud, she did mention a few sponsors attending today’s performance and they might take notes for the future. Any recommendations will be a great addition to my resume.