The Ice King Ballerina

NEW YORK BALLET STUDIO "One, two, three, and one, two, three!" Madame Estelle chanted continuously, her sharp voice cutting through the studio as she circled the room, inspecting her girls while they executed their *fouetté* turns. It was a brutal movement whipping turns performed continuously on a single leg. Ballerinas often had to endure thirty-two of them in a row, a feat that demanded massive ankle strength and left their toes burning like wildfire. "Ahhhh!" A sharp cry of pain shattered the rhythm. One of the girls groaned loudly as she collapsed heavily to the floor, instantly drawing everyone's attention. "Too weak, Reina! Get up and give us forty rows right now!" Madame Estelle yelled strictly. She was a ballet teacher known for her harsh punishments and intense discipline. The girls never dared to fail her in any show or competition, terrified of the raging outbursts and punishing, grueling poses she would force upon them. Reina pushed herself up, struggling to maintain her balance. Her ankle throbbed from the massive strain she had just imposed on it during the turns. The other girls watched quietly. They didn't dare utter a word to plead on Reina's behalf because they knew the consequences. They felt her pain, but they could only watch as she tried to force herself back into the pose. They all watched with no intention of intervening—except for one. She couldn't stand the fact that Reina was being forced to push through a struggling, injured foot. "I will take her place!" Her voice echoed from the back of the room, loud and clear. Every head turned, including Madame Estelle's. They all knew her well, but none of them expected her to do what she was about to do. "What did you say?" Madame Estelle asked, her focus locking onto her. "I will take her place. I'm fit to do it," Elena responded with immense confidence, completely unafraid of the consequences. "Fine. Do it then!" Madame Estelle gave her permission, and Reina quickly stepped out of the pose. Elena stood firmly on one leg, her core perfectly straight. With a pointed foot, she raised her other leg to waist level and began the whipping turns, spinning continuously. Reina watched with deep gratitude, while the others whispered among themselves. Madame Estelle remained unimpressed; her expression didn't change. All she saw was a student going against her direct order. After forty flawless turns in a row, Elena stopped and stood at attention, waiting for her teacher's feedback. But instead, the critique came from the opposite side of the room. "So, now you think you're a hero? You've saved the day, dancing to impress. How pathetic!" The voice belonged to Shelby O'Brien—Elena's rival, the most hardworking dancer, and the girl everyone feared to speak back to. She was the self-proclaimed Queen Bee of the studio. Elena turned to her. "Let Madame speak. And I never dance to impress." It was a reaction the other girls could never muster. While everyone else stayed quiet and let Shelby rule over them, Elena always questioned her judgment and made sure Shelby had absolutely no say in her life. "Be quiet, you two! Class is dismissed. Everyone leave immediately!" Madame Estelle ordered. With no further explanation, she dismissed the room, and the girls rushed to exit. Elena took her time preparing to leave. As she was packing, Reina approached her gently. "Elena!" "Yes, Reina?" Elena answered calmly. "Thanks. Thank you for helping me." "It's okay," Elena said. "If you had done those forty turns... you would be limping for weeks and wouldn't be able to dance." "I know. Thank you," Reina said once more before turning to leave. Elena felt a pang of sympathy as she watched the poor girl limp slowly out of the room. She went back to packing her things, but the peace didn't last long. Shelby stepped up to her, her two minions trailing right behind her. "Look who it is. The heroine of the day," Shelby said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Elena ignored her, continuing to zip her bag. "I know people like you, Elena," Shelby sneered. "Trying to prove you're better than everyone when you're really not. You're just a lowlife loser trying to get everyone to like you." Elena tightened the strap of her training bag across her shoulder and finally looked up, meeting Shelby's gaze. "You don't know me, Shelby. And I never dance to impress. Maybe it is you who's dancing to impress, but you're too guilty to admit it," Elena said smoothly, before walking right past her. "Did you hear that, Shelby? She just used your own words against you," Zara, one of the minions, whispered from behind. "Don't you think I know that!" Shelby snapped angrily. "So, what are you gonna do about it?" Ava, the other friend, asked. "You two just shut up. I'll deal with her later," Shelby growled. "No one dares to speak to me like that. Right now, we have a game to catch tonight!" With that, she stormed out of the studio. LIN'S THERAPIST SESSION "So, what do you normally think about when you're on the pitch?" Mr. Lin asked his client during their one-hour session. The man sitting across from him in his office was one of the biggest clients he had ever taken on. This wasn't just any wealthy client; he was an NHL hockey superstar. "To score, of course. What else?" the athlete answered abruptly, not bothering to pay full attention to his therapist. "Any late-night dizziness? Any moments where you start talking about *that day* and feel panicked or scared?" Mr. Lin pressed further. The client looked at Mr. Lin with cold, lethal eyes. A chill ran straight down Mr. Lin's spine; he knew exactly what that look meant. "What do you take me for, huh?" the player yelled, slamming his hand down. "Some kind of traumatized freak? Who is feeding you this bullshit!" "Calm down, Master Carter. We are just going through the session," Mr. Lin tried to soothe him, but the young man was notoriously hot-headed and not easily pacified. "A month ago, I had the worst game of my entire career!" Carter snarled. "My father won't look at me, my fans think I'm a loser, my teammates are losing faith in me, I broke up with my ex-girlfriend, and my coach won't even have a real conversation with me anymore!" He stood up, towering over the desk, ready to walk out. "And you're sitting here trying to make me feel like I'm some freak losing his s**t! Why on earth am I even in your office? I'm leaving." "Master Carter, please wait! We aren't finished with the session yet. I understand how you feel, just let me—" "Let you do what? Make me feel insane? I am done with this session. And if my dad sent you, tell him I'm done with him, too." With that, he stormed out of the office, slamming the heavy door so hard it shook the walls, leaving Mr. Lin trembling inside. "Oh God... Mr. Carter is not going to like this," Mr. Lin breathed, rubbing his temples. THE ARENA HALLWAY Outside, Elena walked through the secluded backstage hallway of the massive arena. The adrenaline from earlier was wearing off, and the physical toll of the forty turns was setting in. Her left ankle was beginning to give out. "Hold on," she muttered to herself, grimacing. "I'll get home soon and put some ice on you." Trying to breathe through the throbbing pain, she began to limp slowly. The hallway back here was dead silent, a sharp contrast to the roaring crowd echoing from the main arena outside where the hockey game was taking place. With her heavy dance bag slung over her shoulder, she took one more agonizing step. Suddenly, her left ankle completely collapsed beneath her weight. She braced herself for the hard concrete floor, but instead of hitting the ground, she collided with a wall of solid muscle. Strong, warm hands locked firmly around her waist, catching her effortlessly mid-air. Elena blinked, her breath catching in her throat as she found herself staring directly into the face of Ace Carter. Up close, the NHL team captain was entirely overwhelming. He towered over her, his broad shoulders completely blocking out the dim hallway lights. He had a sharp, rugged jawline that looked chiseled from stone, made even more dangerous by a faint, roguish scar cutting through one of his dark eyebrows. But it was his eyes that trapped her. They were a piercing, icy blue, flaring with a sudden, intense heat as he held her flushed against his chest. Her heart did a frantic pirouette against her ribs. But Elena instantly forced her features into a mask of cold indifference. She absolutely refused to let this arrogant athlete see just how much he affected her.