Her Night Dance

A mask landed in my lap. "Cover her mouth. Don't let her scream."

A hand clamped my wrist in a vice grip. Pain shot through my legs, locking them in place. Then, a mask smothered my mouth. All I could do was cry.

Helpless, I could only watch as Keith took my phone, logged into my account, and posted an apology and clarification in my name.

"I've changed your password and switched the verification number to mine," he said. "Behave yourself. Don't cause any more trouble for a while."

Noticing my state, Keith looked up, startled. He stepped forward, pushed the bodyguard restraining me aside, and shot the man a reproachful look. "What's with the rough handling?"

Gently, he rubbed my wrist. "Does it hurt? It would've been easier if you'd just listened sooner."

In a daze, I snatched my phone back and opened Twitter.

**[Dancer Anna: I'm sorry. I apologize for my comments on @Crimson Plains Dance Troupe's post. I am not married to Mr. Keith. I was merely a fan harboring some personal feelings. I also apologize to @Ms. Dorothy and @Mr. Keith for the trouble caused.]**

My fingers trembled so badly I could barely open the comments.

**[@Dancer Anna, have you no shame?]**

**[@Dancer Anna, my god, your thirst to be the other woman is practically dripping off the screen.]**

**[@Dancer Anna, you trash. Stop tarnishing dancers' reputations. Get out of the dance world!]**

...

Keith took my phone again. "Don't look."

My lips moved numbly. "Keith, is this what you wanted?"

He turned his face away. "People online have short memories. I'll have someone steer the narrative later. Just stay off your phone for a few days."

Slowly, I shook my head, my vision blurring, my focus dissolving. "Keith, you've ruined me."

I couldn't see his expression, only heard the edge of irritation in his voice. "I *said* I'll handle it. What are you making a scene for? If you hadn't acted out on your own, would we be in this mess?" His tone hardened. "Anna, get this straight. Even if I deliberately threw you to the wolves, you brought it on yourself!"

A ringing filled my ears. All I could manage was a bitter, hollow laugh. "Keith, let's get a divorce."

He probably smiled. His voice was indulgent, resigned. "You're upset. Vent if you need to."

He was convinced I wouldn't leave him. This was his magnanimous tolerance.

Amid his laughter, a strange calm settled over me.

Just then, a doctor called from down the hall. "Anna? Here for your test results."

Keith froze. "What test results?" he asked, starting to follow me.

"Keith," a soft, sweet voice called from behind. "You've been gone so long."

He turned immediately, heading toward Dorothy, who stood at her hospital room door. "Why are you out of bed, sweetheart? Go back and rest."

I dragged my numb, aching legs in the opposite direction.

Every step felt like walking on blades. Every step carved out bone and flesh with pure, agonizing precision.

The doctor told me I needed complete rest for the next month. Otherwise, I could kiss my dancing career goodbye.

Alone, I took a cab home to a cold, silent apartment.

Because of our secret marriage, Keith and I kept separate places. He'd deliberately chosen the apartment directly above mine.

The first night I moved in, he pinned me against the wall and kissed me. "This way, I can sneak into your bed every night."

He seemed especially fond of this illicit, sneaking-around game.

I'd thought it was just a quirky preference beneath his serious exterior. I never imagined that sneaking around wasn't the game—it was his nature.

He'd grown tired of me. So he went looking for someone fresher. Someone like Dorothy.