Dancing On My Own

Chapter 11: Old Ghosts!

The rain had lifted, leaving Melbourne drenched in silver light. Ismene sat at the back of the café where she and Amina often met, nursing a coffee gone cold. She was exhausted, not from lack of sleep but from the relentlessness of her thoughts. Jared’s words from their confrontation echoed in her head: You’ll do it to yourself.

That was what terrified her—not his arrogance, not his lawyers, but the grain of truth.

A shadow passed her table. Amina slid into the chair opposite her, shaking droplets from her umbrella. “You called. That usually means trouble.”

Ismene gave a humorless smile. “I need more than your counsel today. I need your presence.”

“You’ve got it. But your eyes say you’re carrying more than Jared on your shoulders.”

For a moment, Ismene said nothing. She hated digging into the past. But the old ghosts had returned, whether she wanted them to or not.

“My mother,” she said at last. “She stayed with my father long after he stopped deserving her. He had his affairs, his secrets. But she believed loyalty was survival. That enduring betrayal was strength. I swore I’d never be her. And here I am, fighting a man who thinks I’ll bend.”

Amina’s expression softened. “You’re not your mother. You’re not bending—you’re breaking chains she couldn’t.”

Ismene exhaled slowly, steadying herself. “Then I’ll need more than pride. I’ll need a team.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone, opening a video call. After a moment, the face of Rhiannon Williams filled the screen. Blonde hair tied back, sharp features lit by the glow of a Minneapolis office, Rhiannon exuded the confidence of a woman who knew American courts as well as Ismene knew Australian ones.

“Ismene,” she said warmly. “It’s been too long.”

“Too long,” Ismene agreed. “But I need your help now more than ever. Jared’s filed in Minnesota. I can’t fight him there without someone I trust.”

Rhiannon leaned closer. “I heard whispers already. He’s trying to paint you as cold. Classic Morgan. Don’t worry—I know his style. He’s not as untouchable here as he thinks.”

Amina interjected, “I’ve been telling her she can’t do this alone. She’s stubborn.”

“I know,” Rhiannon said with a grin. “That’s why she wins. But this time? She’s right. She needs us.”

For the first time in weeks, Ismene felt the faintest lift of hope. Two women at her side—one who knew her better than anyone, one who knew the battleground Jared had chosen.

“Then we plot,” Ismene said.

And so they did. For hours, the three of them traded notes, weaving strategy like a net around Jared. Financial records to subpoena. Witnesses to question. Angles to exploit. By the end, Ismene’s legal pad was filled with names and arrows, each line a path toward dismantling Jared piece by piece.

When the call ended and Amina gathered her things, she touched Ismene’s hand. “This fight is no longer yours alone. Remember that.”

Ismene nodded, though deep inside the old ghosts still stirred. She wasn’t just fighting Jared. She was fighting every shadow of betrayal she’d inherited.

And this time, she swore, the ending would be different.