I Became The Don's Prima Donna

Seraphina’s POV

The stage lights warmed my face as I moved through the final sequence of my ballet routine. 

A sea of faces watched from the darkness, but my focus was inward, on the music and the movement. 

A genuine smile touched my lips; this was my dream, to be on a stage where so many people could see the passion I felt. I danced with every piece of my heart until the final note faded. Holding my last pose for a perfect, breathless moment, I then sank into a deep bow. 

As the sound of applause began to swell, my eyes sparkled toward the judges' table. They weren't clapping; they were already taking notes.

We stood in a line on the stage, all of us breathless, our chests rising and falling under the intense heat of the lights. The host, a man with a smile as bright as his sequined jacket, held a small, pristine white card in his palm. The theater was so quiet I could hear the frantic beat of my own heart.

"Ladies and gentlemen," his voice boomed, echoing through the vast hall. "Our judges were faced with an extraordinary display of talent tonight. The dedication, the grace, the pure artistry... it was simply magnificent."

He paused for effect, his eyes scanning the line of hopeful dancers. My hands were clammy, and I held my breath.

"But a decision has been made. The winner of this year's Milan Grand Prix for Ballet, receiving the grand prize and scholarship, is..." He leaned into the microphone, his voice dropping to a dramatic whisper before rising to a roar. "Miss Seraphina Smith!"

For a second, the name didn't register. The world seemed to move in slow motion as golden confetti erupted from the ceiling, showering the stage in a glittering cascade. 

The crowd was on its feet, the sound of their applause a physical force that washed over me. I had done it. A teary, disbelieving laugh escaped my lips as I brought my hands to my mouth. 

I turned to my left to share the moment with Kiara, my best friend, the girl I had shared every dream and secret with since we were children.

But the face that met mine was not one of joy. Everyone else was happy, but Kiara's expression was a mask of cold disappointment. Her lips were pressed into a thin, bitter line. 

As our eyes met, she gave me a slow, deliberate roll of her eyes, a gesture so full of contempt it stole my breath. Then, without a word, she turned her back on me and walked off the stage.

Just like that, my perfect, brilliant smile faded. A shard of ice pierced the warmth of my victory.

The roar of the crowd seemed to dim as other dancers rushed to embrace me.

"Seraphina, that was breathtaking! You deserved it!" Elena, another dancer, squealed, hugging me tightly.

"Thank you, Elena," I managed to say, my voice hollow.

My coach, Maestro Petrenko, kissed both my cheeks, his own eyes shining with pride. "All the years of hard work, my dear. It has all paid off. I am immensely proud."

I tried to absorb their kindness, to let their joy lift me back up, but my gaze kept straying to the empty space where Kiara had stood.

A moment later, a woman in a sleek black suit approached me, skillfully navigating through the well-wishers. "Excuse me, Miss Smith?" she said, her voice polite but firm. "My name is Janice. I work for Signor Volkov, the primary sponsor of the competition."

I nodded, still dazed. "Yes?"

"Signor Volkov was incredibly moved by your performance," she continued, a practiced smile on her face. "He would be honored if you would join him in his VIP room. He wishes to congratulate you in person."

***

But now, I wasn't dancing anymore. I was running to escape… to escape a hell disguised as a dream.

Run, Seraphina, Run. Never look back! 

The graceful ballerina was gone, replaced by a desperate creature fleeing through the night. I ran and ran, my bare feet screaming in protest as they slapped against the grimy streets of Milan. 

Each step sent a jarring shock through my fragile, limping body. A raw, animalistic panic was my only fuel, pushing me onward even as my lungs burned and my vision blurred with tears and exhaustion.

I kept running, a mindless flight with no destination, until I burst through an open doorway and into a sudden wall of sound. I had stumbled into a basement or a ground-floor room, thick with the smell of sweat and stale beer. 

Everyone was yelling and shouting, their faces illuminated by a single low-hanging light. 

They were a roaring, chaotic mass, cheering and waving money as if betting on a life-or-death struggle.

Before I could even comprehend the scene, I slammed into a solid wall of muscle.

I crashed into someone's hard chest, the impact stealing the last of my breath. Strong hands instantly clamped onto my upper arms, steadying me. My gaze shot upward. 

"Miss... are you alright?" 

He was a fighter, his skin glistening with sweat and his dark hair plastered to his forehead. A fresh cut trickled a line of blood beside his eye. But beneath the raw, powerful exterior of a boxer, his eyes held nothing but sheer confusion. They were a deep, startling brown, and they widened as they took in my torn dress, my bare, bleeding feet, and the terror carved onto my face.

“Miss?” he repeated, his voice laced with concern.

I opened my mouth to plead, to explain, to say something, but only a choked sob escaped before I managed to stammer out the words. “H-Help… me…”

“What happened to you?” he asked, his grip on my arms tightening slightly to keep me from swaying.

But my body gave up. The last of my strength vanished, and I collapsed into the stranger’s arms, surrendering to the darkness.

"Miss!" His alarmed shout was the last thing I heard.