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

Ginger stood up, wearing a long, flowing white dress, and walked gracefully onto the stage. The music started again—it was the piece for my dance.

“Judges, audience, before we begin, I have something to reveal.” Her voice carried through the entire hall, amplified by the mic. “This contestant’s performance? It’s actually plagiarized from my original work.”

The crowd erupted. I stood there, frozen, watching the scene in disbelief.

“This dance,” she continued, “is something I created last year during my study trip in Paris. And to prove it, I’ll perform the original version right now.”

The music began again, and she started to move. Every step and every expression… matched mine perfectly. Because it was mine—my dance, my hard work, my creation.

I looked toward the other judges, desperate for someone to see through this. But all I saw on their faces was doubt and disgust.

The worst part? Ulysses was sitting in the front row, head down, not even glancing in my direction.

“This isn’t true…” My voice shook. “This is my work. I can prove it…”

“Oh?” Ginger stopped mid-dance, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “And how will you prove it? With your rehearsal videos? Those videos were all recorded after I publicly released my piece.”

She wasn’t wrong. Every shred of evidence I had was useless, thanks to the trap she’d set. Whoever threatened me to drop out of the competition? It had to be her accomplice!

My vision blurred, and I staggered back a few steps. The whispers in the audience became louder and louder, and I heard what some of them said.

“So it’s true—she really plagiarized.”

“No wonder she’s been freeloading off the d'Amboises! What kind of person does that?”

“Poor Mr. d'Amboise, taking in someone so ungrateful!”

Each word cut deeper than the last. I looked at Ulysses, silently begging him to step in and say something. But he just sat there, unmoving.

Then, out of nowhere, a voice rang out. “Hold on!”

I turned and saw my coach Debra Jasinski rushing onto the stage.

“This dance is Darcey’s original work,” she said firmly. “I can vouch for her. I’ve witnessed every step, from her initial concept to the choreography!”

Ginger didn’t even flinch, just smiled faintly. “Miss Jasinski, are you sure about that? You do realize giving false testimony is a serious legal offense, right?”

Miss Jasinski hesitated for a moment but quickly firmed up her stance. “I’m only telling the truth.”

“Well then,” Ginger said, pulling out a document from her assistant’s hand. “This is the creative registration from the Paris Opera Ballet School, dated October of last year. Miss Jasinski, can you prove Darcey Lynn was working on her piece before that?”

Miss Jasinski went silent. She couldn’t. I had only started creating this dance earlier this year.

“That’s enough,” I blurt out, my voice strangely coming out steady. “I’m withdrawing from the competition.”

With that, I turned to leave the stage.

But Ginger wasn’t done. “Can withdrawing erase the fact that you plagiarized?” she said coldly. “I suggest the judges take this matter seriously as a warning to the other contestants.”

I stopped and stared back at her. This woman wasn’t satisfied with just taking my love—she wanted to destroy my dreams too.

But what was the point of arguing? No matter how many explanations I’d make, they would appear powerless against her carefully made-up story.

One last time, I looked at Ulysses. Finally, he raised his head, and our eyes met.

For a brief moment, I saw hesitation and pain in his gaze.

But in the end… he chose to stay silent.