Chapter 1

“Serena, point. Point! Your toes aren’t pointed enough.”

Madame Rousseau’s voice slices through the rehearsal hall like a thin blade, sharp and fucking impatient.

I wobble on my toes, with my shredded satin, aching muscles and try to spin again—the floor blurs. My stomach lurches. Bile creeps up my throat.

I spin faster.

Point harder.

It doesn’t matter that every part of me is shaking. Tonight is the last night I will ever dance inside these walls. The last night ...