Chapter 2
They don’t give me time to process.
They never do.
A young blonde producer grabs my elbow like I’m luggage. Not asking. Telling.
“Wardrobe change,” she says. “Now.”
I’m led down the hallway. Everything is moving fast except me. Crew rushing. Dancers stretching. Screens replaying my almost-fall on a loop.
I catch Janet at the end of the hall. My agent. Lips tight. Eyes sharp. Gucci suit.
She gives me a single nod.
Do not mess this up.
She doesn’t come with me.
The dressing room door closes too loud.
I’m alone with mirrors. Too many angles. Too much of me.
My phone lights up.
JANET:
You’re trending. Hard.
I swallow.
SARAH:
Because I messed up.
Three dots. Then—
JANET:
Because America loves a girl they can fix.
My stomach twists.
Another notification hits.
Unknown Number.
You okay?
I stare at it.
I know it’s him.
I don’t answer.
They announce the change live.
No warning. No rehearsal.
The host’s voice is syrupy. Excited.
“Due to an unfortunate injury, Damien will be stepping out of the competition. But don’t worry—we have a solution.”
The audience gasps on cue.
The camera cuts to me. My face. My nerves. My mistake immortalized in HD.
The applause hesitates. People don’t clap for uncertainty.
Then—
“And stepping in as Sarah Shar’s new partner—fresh off a shocking elimination—”
The lights swing.
Enrique walks out.
Black jacket. Calm stride. Expression unreadable.
The crowd loses their minds.
I detonate when his eyes find mine across the stage.
He doesn’t smile.
He locks on.
I feel it in the pit of my stomach.
Because this wasn’t an accident.
Backstage again. Faster now. Louder.
A stylist whispers, “You’re so lucky,” like luck is something you earn by panicking well.
Enrique’s tall muscular body stands beside me and everyone else suddenly pretends we’re not there.
Too important to interrupt.
“You didn’t answer,” he says quietly.
I cross my arms. Defensive.
“You didn’t explain.”
His presence does something to the air. Makes it tighter. Warmer.
“I didn’t want drama,” he says. “So I switched partners before the season started.”
My heart thumps.
“What?”
I’m confused. His dark eyes stare into me and I see softness.
Why am I on this stupid show.
What am I doing here.
Why am I so weird and awkward.
I’m not even a celebrity. Not really anyway.
I made some viral cooking videos.
This all has blown out of control.
But now I’m here.
And the most handsome man in America who I’ve watch on TV for 3 years is staring at me.
And it’s just us.
“I picked someone else on paper,” he continues. “Behind the scenes. So I wouldn’t be paired with you.”
I stare at him.
“Why?” I ask.
He finally looks… human.
“Because if I danced with you from week one,” he says, “this show would eat you alive.”
Silence.
Then the worst part.
“And because I was already attracted to you.”
My breath stutters.
It feels dangerous and sharp.
“And now?” I ask.
He steps closer. Too close.
“Now it’s worse,” he says. “Because they’re watching.”
A producer clears her throat.
“Five minutes,” she snaps. “We need chemistry shots.”
I suddenly understand.
This isn’t about dance.
It’s about narrative.
And I’m already in it.
The rehearsal studio is all mirrors and tension.
Embarrassment flares when I miss a step. Again. New partner. New pressure.
Enrique doesn’t correct me right away.
He waits.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do. He pulls me close.
I feel his chest. It’s hard and muscular.
His smell is like earth. Intoxicating. Real.
A connection locks in. He guides my waist. Firm. Intentional. No pretending this is accidental.
“Trust me,” he murmurs. “Or they win.”
My skin hums.
The door swings open.
A camera crew.
Already filming.
Already smiling.
“Hold that,” the producer says brightly.
Enrique doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
Our faces are inches apart.
And somewhere in America, millions of people are about to decide who I am.
Before I ever get to choose.
