I Love A Guy, But He's 15 Years Older

Maybe this is the price I have to pay—losing the family that adopted me, losing the man I still secretly love, and now, losing the chance to chase my dreams.

It was late at night when I heard piano music coming from downstairs. Ginger was playing Moonlight Sonata, the piece she’s best known for. As the elegant notes filled the air, I heard Ulysses’s voice, filled with admiration.

This must be what a perfect match looks like.

They both came from prominent families, had the best education, and knew all the high society rules—things I could never learn.

And me? I’m just an orphan raised on charity, foolishly falling for someone I should never have loved.

I opened my closet and stared at the dress I’d bought for the competition. It took me forever to save up for it, but now it felt like it was all for nothing.

At least I still had Royal Ballet School. At least I still had a shot at starting over.

I grabbed my phone and typed a message to the number: [Alright, I’ll withdraw. But you need to delete the video and promise never to use this choreography.]

The reply came almost instantly. [Deal.]

I set my phone down and walked to the window.

The moonlight poured down like water, lighting up the roses in the yard. Ginger had planted them after she moved in, saying they were her favorite.

Once upon a time, this yard had my favorite Carolina jasmine flowers. When they bloomed, the whole garden smelled sweet. But now, like me, those Carolina jasmine flowers didn’t belong here anymore.

The piano music downstairs faded away. I could hear their laughter, her playful voice, and his sweet replies.

Everything was so perfect—so perfect that it made me feel like an outsider.

Or maybe I was always an outsider. From the beginning, it was just me forcing myself into this family’s picture. Now, it was time to walk away.

I picked up a pen and started writing my withdrawal letter. My hand shook slightly as I wrote.

Before I left, I had to protect what was mine. Even if I couldn’t dance this piece in public, I would never let anyone steal it.

This was my pride—my final act of defiance in this villa.

But I never expected the world to take even that last bit of pride away.

I stood backstage, listening to the applause echoing outside.

I had already submitted my withdrawal letter, but at the last minute, I was told the judges had rejected it.

“The competition’s about to start. Withdrawing now would mess up the whole schedule,” they said.

What shocked me even more was that Ginger, as the Vice President of the YAGP, was one of the judges.

This news shook the other contestants—after all, everyone knew she was Ulysses’s fiancée.

“Next, Darcey Lynn,” the staff member called, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I took a deep breath and adjusted my dress. It was one I’d designed myself meticulously, incorporating classic water-sleeve elements. Each spin would create a graceful arc.

The moment I stepped onto the stage, I felt strangely calm. The spotlight illuminated me as I assumed my starting pose, waiting for the music to play.

But as soon as the first note rang out, I knew something was wrong. This wasn’t the music I had prepared.

I glanced up at the judges’ table and locked eyes with Ginger. She gave me a faint, mocking smile, casually flipping through her scoring sheet like none of this had something to do with her.

Before I could react, the big screen on stage suddenly lit up.

It was a video—footage of me practicing the stolen choreography.

Then, the lights in the venue came on, abrupt and blinding.