I swallowed, but I didn't take it back. "What do you actually want me to do?" "Think about a respectable future. Stability. A family." I stared at her. "And marriage," Something inside me sank. "Adrien is a good boy." I blinked. "What?" "He's from a respectable family. He has a good future, and he clearly cares about you." "You think I should marry Adrien?" "I'm telling you to consider your options." "My options?" "You don't have to spend your life chasing Grand Stage." I laughed quietly, though there was no amusement in it. "So you'd rather I marry someone you approve of?" "I'd rather you think practically." "And if I don't want that?" "You may not understand what you want yet." "Camille—" Solara was a dance built on trust, rhythm, and two souls moving so perfectly together that, for a few unforgettable moments, it becomes impossible to tell where one dancer ends and the other begins. For as long as I can remember, dancing Solara on the Grand Stage has been my dream, but dreams are easier to hold onto than the people required to make them come true. At home, I have spent years living with a mother whose love has always felt conditional, while at school. A competition, an unexpected friendship, and a secret buried long before I was old enough to understand begin pulling apart everything I thought I knew, leaving me with questions about where I belong and who I can truly trust. Perhaps that is the cruelest part of Solara. To dance it, I will have to place my life in someone else's hands. And before the music ends, I may discover that the person standing beside me has been connected to my story long before either of us ever stepped onto the stage.