Dance Floor

The balloons swayed gently in the night breeze, silver and deep blue ribbons brushing against my shoulders. The scent of white roses and the soft notes of the string quartet wrapped around us like a private world. Guests had stopped talking. Some were smiling. Others whispered behind jeweled hands. And in the center of it all stood Richard Hale, hand still outstretched, eyes fixed on me as if the rest of the gala had ceased to exist.

My heart hammered so hard I was certain he could hear it.

Refuse him. Walk away. This is how it begins.

Yet my feet refused to move. The seventeen-year-old body I now lived in was traitorous. It remembered nothing of the slow poison, the hospital bed, the sounds of skin against skin while I lay dying. It only felt the warmth of his gaze and the strange, fluttering pull in my chest.

I placed my hand in his.

A quiet collective sigh rose from the onlookers as Richard’s fingers closed around mine. His touch was firm, warm, almost reverent. He led me into the open space the staff had cleared. The quartet shifted into a slower waltz. One of his hands settled at the small of my back while the other kept mine captive.

“You dance beautifully,” he murmured near my ear.

“I haven’t danced in years,” I answered truthfully, though the years I meant belonged to another lifetime.

He smiled, that same gentle curve of lips that once made me believe I was the luckiest woman alive. “Then let me guide you.”

We moved together. He was an excellent dancer, smooth, controlled, never forcing the steps. Every turn brought us closer. The heat of his body bled through the thin fabric of my dress. Butterflies exploded in my stomach, wild and unwanted. I hated them. I hated the way my pulse jumped when his thumb brushed the back of my hand. I hated that part of me, the naive, untouched part, wanted to lean into him.

He poisoned you. He fucked Claire on your deathbed while joking about how long it took you to die.

I forced the memory to the surface like a blade against soft skin. The hatred flared, sharp and cold, and for a moment I could breathe again.

Richard’s voice pulled me back. “You’re quiet tonight. Are you always this reserved, Lisa?”

“I prefer observing,” I said carefully. “People reveal more when they think no one is watching.”

His eyes flickered with something that looked almost like respect. “A rare quality. Most people your age only want to be seen.”

I almost laughed. Most people my age haven’t already died once.

The music continued. Around us, the garden glittered with fairy lights. 

Claire stood near the edge of the crowd, smiling the way a cat smiles at a cornered bird. Isabella Voss watched from a different angle, her silver gown gleaming, expression unreadable. I catalogued every face, every glance. This was no longer a simple charity gala. It was a stage, and every player had already chosen their role.

Richard spun me gently. When I returned to him, his expression had softened further. “I meant what I said earlier. I feel as if I’ve known you before. It’s… unsettling in the best way.”

My blood ran cold.

He remembers nothing. This is a new life. A new him. Or is it?

I kept my voice light. “Perhaps you simply like the idea of mystery.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. Then, quieter, “Or perhaps I simply like you.”

The words landed too close to the ones he had spoken in our first life, the night he proposed. My steps faltered for half a beat. Richard noticed. His hand at my back tightened, steadying me.

“Easy,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

No, you don’t. Not this time.

The waltz ended. Applause rippled through the garden. Richard did not release me immediately. His thumb stroked once across my knuckles before he finally stepped back.

“Thank you for the dance,” he said. “I hope it won’t be the last.”

I opened my mouth to answer when Claire appeared at my side, linking her arm through mine with practiced ease.

“My turn to steal her,” she declared brightly. “Lisa and I have so much catching up to do.”

Richard’s gaze lingered on me a moment longer, then he inclined his head. “Of course. I’ll find you later.”

The promise in those words made my skin prickle.

Claire guided me toward a quieter corner near the fountain. The moment we were out of earshot, her smile turned sharper.

“You two looked perfect together,” she said. “Richard rarely dances with anyone. You should feel special.”

I met her eyes. “I don’t need to feel special.”

Claire’s laugh was light, but something colder lived underneath. “Still so modest. That’s what everyone loves about you, Lisa. You’re so… pure.”

Before I could reply, Isabella Voss approached, champagne flute in hand.

“Well,” she drawled, “the little mouse finally danced with the lion. How adorable.”

Claire’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly. “Isabella, must you?”

“I’m simply observing,” Isabella replied, eyes never leaving me. “Richard Hale doesn’t chase. Yet tonight he ordered a private quartet and matching balloons for a girl in a simple dress. Interesting, isn’t it?”

I stayed silent. Let them talk. ..Let them reveal themselves, so I can get a better view of their personality.

Isabella stepped closer. “Be careful, Lisa. Men like Richard collect pretty things. And once they grow bored…” She let the sentence hang, then smiled. “But I’m sure you already know how to protect yourself.”

Something in her tone was different. Not pure malice. Something closer to a warning.

Claire laughed again, louder this time. “You’re being dramatic. Lisa is perfectly safe.”

I excused myself with a polite smile and walked toward the restrooms, needing space. My mind raced. Richard’s intensity. Claire’s possessiveness. Isabella’s strange warning. The pieces were already moving, and I had barely begun to play.

Inside the restroom, I splashed cool water on my wrists and stared at my reflection. Seventeen. Young. Soft-eyed. No one would believe the hatred burning behind those eyes.

When I stepped back into the corridor, a figure leaned against the wall.

Richard.

He straightened the moment he saw me. “I hoped I might catch you alone.”

My pulse spiked. “You shouldn’t follow people into restrooms.” I replied almost angrily. 

“I waited outside,” he said, a faint embarrassed smile tugging at his mouth. “I wanted to ask something.”

“What?”

“Tomorrow. There’s a private art exhibition opening at the Hale Gallery. I would like you to come as my guest.”

I stared at him. In my first life, it had taken months for him to invite me anywhere private. This version of him was moving faster and more aggressively.

“I have school,” I said.

“After school,” he countered smoothly. “I’ll send a car.”

“I haven’t said yes.”

“You haven’t said no either.”

We stood in the quiet corridor, the distant music of the gala floating around us. His eyes searched mine, and for one dangerous second I saw the man who had once made me believe in forever. Then the memory of his voice on my deathbed rose like poison.

She was always so fragile. But you… you’re perfect.

I took a step back. “I’ll think about it.”

Richard’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted determined, patient, and somehow more dangerous because of it.

“That’s all I ask,” he said. “For now.”

He walked away first, leaving me standing alone with my racing heart and the unshakable feeling that the game had already begun and that this time, the stakes were higher than before.