It had always amazed Ophelia how quickly the thrill and the newness of opening night makes way to the routine of performing. Once they’d proved to themselves that they could pull it off, the rest of the performances become easier. The five New York shows had all been met with packed houses and praise more unanimous than Ophelia had seen in all her years ravenously devouring all the trade publications and ballet reviews she could get her hands on.

And now, sitting on the stage with a few of the dancers that she felt closest to, about to depart on the adventure of her life, Ophelia felt as light as the bubbles in the flute of champagne in her hand.

“I’m going to miss New York,” said Katie, one of the youngest dancers in the company. “I’d never been much of anywhere but Michigan before I came here.”

Ophelia put her hand on the younger girl’s arm.

“Then I bet you’re just going to love London. And London is going to love you. And all the rest of the cities, too. But first, London.”

Ophelia raised her flute, and the rest of the little group joined her in an impromptu toast.

“Especially the men,” another of the girls said. “Just please don’t show them where you’re from in Michigan on your hand, the way you did when you met us.”

The group laughed, and Ophelia smiled, the champagne flushing her cheeks.

“What?” Katie asked. “It’s a good way of describing—”

More lighthearted, kind laughter.

“Honey, no one cares where you come from, out there. They only care where you’re going, and what they can get from you,” the other girl continued. “But don’t worry. Just stick with us. We’ll show you the kind of men you want to avoid. Especially Ophelia, here. Careful girl like her—I’ll bet she’s never had a night she regretted later. Have you, Ophelia?”

Well, that question at least she could answer with a completely truthful “no.” But something about the way they all felt like family, drinking champagne, and talking about the future together, made Ophelia hesitate. A part of her wanted to tell the truth. The whole truth. The whole lack of nights to regret at all.

But the look in the younger girl’s eyes, with all the admiration for the life she didn’t know Ophelia hadn’t really ever gotten the chance to live…

Somewhere in the background, she could hear Eliza’s cruel laugh. And she knew it was better, as it always was, to keep it to herself.

“It’s important to make good decisions. Especially on tour,” she said instead, and Katie nodded her head like she’d given some great piece of wisdom. “With the new places and the unfamiliar surroundings, a lot of dancers let themselves get distracted, and that can be a disaster. Remember, we’re going to have fun. But this trip is about your career, first and foremost.”

A fraud, Ophelia thought. That was what she was.

“Everyone! Everyone! Gather ‘round!”

How many times had she heard Tomas say those words over the last three years? And yet, she still liked the way it effortlessly brought the whole company together, moving as gracefully as only a group of world-class dancers could.

“Now, I know you’re all enjoying yourselves drinking my champagne,” he began when they had all gathered, to a chorus of giggles that sounded like they should have come from a much younger group. “And you should! You’ve had a great run in New York, and you’re going to have an amazing world tour.”

This was met with a cheer from the gathered crowd, but Ophelia stayed quiet. You, he’d said. Why not we? Ophelia swallowed hard. She’d known enough rejection and hardship—even as short as her career had been so far—that she could sense it coming.

“You should be proud of yourselves!” Tomas continued, his smile lines forming deep trenches as he grinned. “I know that I’m very proud of all of you. And it’s because I’m so proud of each and every one of you that I have complete confidence that you’re going to do a fantastic job out there without me.”

This time, the only cheer was from a girl who had drunk a little too much of the champagne, who was quickly shushed by her friends. For the first time since the audience had started seating hours earlier, the theater was perfectly quiet.

“What are you saying?” Katie asked, with the look on her face matching the feeling in Ophelia’s chest.

“Well, I’m trying, very badly, to say goodbye.”

The admission cued disbelief and expressions of shock, with the dancers looking to each other as though they hadn’t all been equally blindsided.

“Why?” Ophelia heard someone ask, though she wasn’t sure who.

“Well, the short answer is that I’ve been bought out. Which is good news! The face that such a high-profile investor is interested in coming in and taking over just shows what great work you’ve all—”

He might have still been talking, but the dancers and their newly-found axes to grind drowned him out. Ophelia, for her part, sat silently. She was in shock. As much as Tomas had done for everyone—as much as it was his talent as a company director and owner to encourage and bring out the best in each and every performer—Ophelia couldn’t help but think that she owed him more.

He’d been her mentor. He’d taken her in when she was 21, technically trained and passionate, but an undirected mess of talent and ambition. He’d formed her into the dancer she was today. He’d made Ophelia the dancer she’d been proud to be over the performances of the last few days. Every success, every joy she was feeling, was due to him.

“Quiet!” Tomas yelled, and it was as startling to hear as it was rare. He never raised his voice, and it felt like a betrayal that he should have to now, at the end.

Ophelia felt as though, on top of everything, they’d let him down.

“I know this is all very sudden, and I know you have a lot of questions for me. When you get back from your smash-hit world tour, then I will be happy to hear about it from each of you, and you can ask me all the questions you want. But, for now, I need you all focused on the tour in front of you, and nothing else. Do you understand?”

When he took on this tone of voice, like a stern father, everyone in the company felt like shamed brothers and sisters.

“Now, as I always say—and you’ve all heard me say this—every time there’s a goodbye, there should be a hello. And tonight, I’m pleased to introduce you to the new owner of the Williamsburg Ballet! Please give a warm welcome to his Royal Highness, Sheikh Salim Bin Tahir!”

There was a smattering of half-hearted applause, and in walked a man who was anything but what Ophelia had expected when she’d heard his name.

He was wearing a sharp, expensive suit, and had a sharp way about him to match. Ophelia’s mind couldn’t help returning to Nikolai Ansaroff, as the last sharp, suited man who had wormed his way into the only part of her life that truly mattered. But for the initial similarities, there was also a difference between them in the way they carried themselves, though Ophelia couldn’t say exactly what it was.

What she could say was that she didn’t quite realize when Tomas left, which felt wrong to her. Somehow, when the man—the new owner—was talking, he had slipped out. All her focus, all her attention had been on her mentor who was abandoning not only her, but the whole theater. And somehow, so easily, Salim had taken her attention from him.

And it wasn’t even as though he was saying anything all that interesting. His introduction to them all was generic; some polite words about how talented everyone was and how awed he was by the production. He was capable of reading the room, at least, and saw that no one in the company was going to be falling over themselves to welcome him—at least not so quickly in the wake of finding out that they had lost Tomas.

But he was charming, nonetheless. And Ophelia couldn’t help but resent him for it. It would be so much easier if she could just hate this newcomer who’d decided to upend such an important part of her life, right as it was all coming together so perfectly.

For one brief, shining moment, everything had been exactly as it should have been, and then this man had ruined it. She hoped the iciness in her stare was enough to make that clear.