Substitute? I'm a Superstar

Chapter 2 The Protégé Returns

Herbert's car pulled into the driveway of the villa. Normally, Giselle would have already opened the door for him by the time he stepped out.

"Giselle?" he called, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. Then he remembered—they'd broken up.

The house was completely dark. Once, she'd always left a light on in the living room, waiting for him to come home. Now, the empty darkness left him with an inexplicable sense of hollowness.

A strange wave of unease prickled at him as he gripped the stair railing, forcing himself upstairs.

Even the bedroom felt cold without her.

Herbert didn't slip into his usual polished sleeping posture. Instead, he clutched at the edge of the blanket, curling into the vast bed.

*****

The next morning, Herbert came downstairs rubbing his temples, his head pounding from the previous night's drinking.

He spotted someone moving in the kitchen and smirked. Surely, that woman couldn't stay away. Giselle must have come crawling back to cook breakfast like nothing had happened.

Herbert quickened his pace, striding toward the kitchen, ready to bask in her inevitable surrender.

But it wasn't Giselle. It was his butler, Eddie.

"Good morning, Mr. Horne," Eddie greeted him with a polite smile.

Herbert's eyes scanned the kitchen. "Where's Giselle?"

"Ms. Gallardo packed her things and left late last night," Eddie replied.

Herbert sneered in disdain. 'Playing hard to get now, are we?' But he would never fall for these pitiful tricks.

Five years was a long time—longer than he'd ever stayed with any woman. But love? Herbert didn't believe in love. He had never felt heartbroken or uncomfortable when his woman left him, and he believed this time would be the same.

But Giselle was different. Herbert knew she would come back to him in three days at most.

"Breakfast," Herbert ordered curtly, sitting at the dining table.

"Yes, sir."

Eddie served him coffee, and Herbert took a sip, only to frown. "It tastes off."

"Yes, sir," Eddie admitted. "I'm afraid I can't match Ms. Gallardo's precision. She was meticulous, measuring the grounds, water, and temperature to perfection. I haven't mastered her recipe, so the proportions might be slightly off."

Herbert cut into his steak elegantly and took a bite, but even that failed to satisfy. "Your butler training didn't include flavor?" he sighed and asked.

"My apologies, sir. I did my best," Eddie said, his tone unflinching. "Ms. Gallardo developed her own secret recipe. She perfected it through trial and error. I can prepare a salad for you instead if you'd prefer."

Herbert's gaze lingered on the empty kitchen. Unbidden, an image of Giselle, tied into an apron, floated to the surface of his mind.

He leaned back against the high velvet chair, his golden eyes momentarily clouded before settling into indifference.

'I don't need her,' he told himself. 'She'll come crawling back once she's done with her little tricks. It's only a matter of time.'

"No need. Find a new chef within the day," he said.

"Understood." Eddie watched him leave, maintaining his professional smile.

*****

Meanwhile, across town, Giselle stood outside a well-lit rehearsal studio at Harrings University, clutching a bouquet of carnations.

Through the glass windows, she could see a dancer rehearsing inside. Behind him was a familiar, elegant figure. A lump rose in Giselle's throat.

It was her teacher, Clarice Bones.

Clarice was a world-renowned modern dance master, a visiting professor at Harrings University, and a mentor that every aspiring dancer dreamed of having.

She took on only two students at a time, and Giselle had been her pride and joy, the one destined to carry on her legacy.

Clarice and her colleagues had always praised Giselle's extraordinary talent.

As Giselle approached the studio, the music came to an abrupt stop.

"Ms. Bones, how was that?" asked the dancer while calming his rapid breathing.

Clarice's voice followed, as calm and discerning as ever. "Your movements lack fluidity, Roger. Your mind is elsewhere."

"But you said this was a duet. I've been waiting for a partner... and you still haven't assigned me one," Roger Benson said, his tone laced with quiet frustration.

Clarice wheeled herself toward the mirrored wall, her reflection catching Giselle's eye.

*****

A wheelchair? Giselle froze in shock.

How did she not know she'd been injured? For a dancer, a physical setback like that was a devastating blow.

Inside the studio, Clarice spoke, her voice tinged with resignation, "With your current level, no one could match you... except her."

Roger hesitated. "Do you mean Giselle? I miss her so much. Do you think she'll come back?"

Clarice sighed deeply. "If she returned, she could be the world's leading modern dancer. But she won't come back." Her tone was heavy, laced with bitterness and regret, as if every word cost her.

Giselle's chest tightened. Three years ago, she had withdrawn from school, abandoning her dance career to take care of Herbert. She had thrown away everything her teacher had invested in her.

Now, after enduring a humiliating, loveless relationship, she saw the truth. Love wasn't reliable. Sweet promises were fleeting, and in the end, all she had to show for it was heartbreak.

It was time to shift her focus back to herself, to the career she had once been destined for.

It was also an opportunity to make up for her mistakes and get along with the ones who truly loved her.

*****

Giselle stepped into the studio, the bouquet trembling slightly in her hands. "Ms. Bones," she said softly, "I'm back. I want to continue learning from you and return to the stage."

Clarice's head snapped toward her. The warmth and longing in her eyes vanished, replaced by a steely resolve.

"You're back, are you?" Clarice straightened up. Her voice was cold, but her constant nagging betrayed her excitement. "You're the one who decided to abandon dance. No matter what I said, you wouldn't listen. And now you've changed your mind? Dance isn't something you can drop and pick up on a whim. Three years of neglect—do you even have the foundation to be my student anymore?"

Giselle blinked rapidly as she stared at Clarice, her green eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

Roger, who had been standing off to the side, rushed forward. His face lit up with excitement. "This is wonderful, Giselle! You're finally back!" he exclaimed, looking eagerly at Clarice. "Ms. Bones, isn't this great? You've been missing her every day! And now she's back!"

*****

Clarice stiffened, clearly caught off guard. She turned away with a huff, trying to mask her true feelings.

Roger wasn't deterred. "Why don't we put her to the test? There's a performance at the opera house next month. Let Giselle and I perform together. That will prove whether she's worthy of being your student again."

Clarice hesitated but eventually nodded. "Fine. Show me what you can do."

Giselle and Roger exchanged numbers before Clarice drove her away.

*****

Outside the rehearsal hall, Giselle stood in the cool evening air, lost in thought.

Headlights flashed, and a sleek car pulled up.

The door opened, and a woman in a pale lavender gown stepped out, her gaze sharp and mocking.

"Giselle? What are you doing here?" she asked mockingly.