She carefully played the part of a shadow, all to tear apart the light that shone on someone else.
When Yun Wan approached Gu Huaijin, every glance was calculated: the curve of her smile, the slight tremble of her fingertips at the end of a performance, even the stray lock of hair that always slipped loose. She perfectly imitated the woman whose name was etched in his heart. Everyone said she was nothing but a stand-in, and even Gu Huaijin’s kisses carried a note of scrutiny.
“You look just like her when you dance Giselle.” He gripped her chin. “But on the thirty-second fouetté, you turned half a beat too far.”
Her smile grew even gentler.
No one knew why she was the one who survived the stage accident that shocked the ballet world. Even fewer knew that the anti-anxiety medication Yun Wan always carried in her bag was to suppress the nausea that surged whenever she saw stage lights.
When a long-lost modern dance manuscript appeared
this revenge story, waged in the name of love, finally reached its most thrilling chapter.
“Darling,” she whispered in her ear, fingers stroking her trembling back. “Do you know why audiences love tragedies?”
“Because an actor’s tears at the curtain call are more moving than applause.”
