Ballerina's Vow: His Empire Will Burn

as the star of the New York City Ballet, but he ensured every major award went to his mistress

had helped Cassie' s brother escape justice aft

care as leverage, holding her hostage to ensure my

the truth of her assault until Grace, broken and

to save her, I leaped a

the public humiliation, the death of my career.

a new vow. I wouldn't just get a divorce. I would gather the evid

pte

Butl

f my own home, I was just a woman whose career was systematically dismantled by the man who vowed to cherish it. The fi

tal demands of my art. It was the slow, deliberate suffocation of my spirit. For years, I had held the principal dancer title, my name synonymou

ent to

, they went

ed honor, shimmered under the spotlights. It was meant to be mine. Everyone knew it. The online polls had me leading by a landslide, the critics had

world, built with his mo

alled out the name: Cassie Atkinson. My blood ran cold, then boiled. Cassie. His latest playthin

d the voice of a fellow dancer, one I had mentored, now a b

venomous hive. "Hanna Butler snubbed again! Is Alexander Arnold playing favorites?" T

k. She held the Starlight Award, a heavy, glittering symbol of everything I had earned, everything she had

words, "M

years of quiet humiliation, of watching my talent be diminished, my passion ridiculed, all for the sake of his ego, h

ou

d out of the Lincoln Center, leaving the hollow applause and the bitter taste of defeat behind. My feet carried

cage I shared wit

his laptop screen illuminating his perfectly sculpted profile. He didn

n on his mahogany desk. The crisp white pa

flat, devoid of emotion, a tone I had perfec

His eyes, usually cold and calculating, held a flicker of amusement. "A divorce? I

rting to crack. "This is about being done. Done with the public humiliation

easy?" He picked up the petition, his thumb tracing the bold letters of my name.

," I said, the words catching i

illingly serious expression. He stee

d, his voice low, almost a p

ister, my only living family, locked away in a private mental health facility, a fragile bir

m Paris, where my original choreography had swept the international stage, earning me a standing ovation and the promise of a gl

im to justice. He swore he would protect her, ensure she received the best care, tucked away from prying eyes, from the brutal memories that haunted her wak

engeance, of justice. I gave up the international tour, the pinnacle of my career, to be by Grace' s side, to ensure her recovery.

aid, forcing the words out, my voice trembli

e what could happen if my protection were suddenly... withdrawn. The best doctors, the tranquil environment, the specialized care... all gone. What happens then,

ds balled into fists, my nails digging into my palms. The

," I hissed, my voi

ion. "You think your little dance career is the most important thing? I own this city

ust have contorted my features. This was his

ppeared at the study door. "Bring the gifts," he comm

ing garment bags. Alexander gestured towards them dismissively. "A little so

e gown, a cascade of midnight blue silk and intricate silver embroid

easures, gifts from him over the years, each one a gilded chain. They were supposed to be symbols of his adoration, tokens of my worth. Now, they felt like shackles, each glit

r the slow, agonizing death of my spirit. Each jewel f

he delicate fabric. With a sudden, violent surge of adrenaline, I ripped it from the hanger and hurled it across

the floor. Diamonds skittered across the polished marble, rubies bounced, sapphires

before, contorted with rage. "Hanna!" he roared,

lew through the air, a lethal projectile. It struck my temple with a sickening thud. A blinding flas

, only fury. "You will learn your place, Hanna. I will not tolerate this insolence." He leaned down, his voi

haze of pain, a stark clarity emerged. This man, my husband, was c

softened, the rage melting away as if it had never been there. A fai

e me another glance as he strode out of the study, leaving me bleeding on the floor, surrounded by shattered crys

rf to tie around my wound. My reflection stared back at me, a stranger with haunted eyes and a bruised, bleeding temple. But

ak. Not for him

powerful and influential, until I found the one I needed. Alex Callahan. My childhood friend, now a high

thing okay? You never call this late." His voice

unshed tears. "I need your help. I need to divor

is steady voice. "Hanna, whatever you need. I' m on

hat felt like forever, ignited within m

"You are grace incarnate, Hanna," he'd said, his voice husky. "My muse. My queen." I had believed him. I had fallen for the illusion, the idea that his possessiveness was love, that his control was protectio

d strategically in roles I should have had, given awards I had earned. My name, once whispered with reve

nd me, sometimes. "Why the long face, Hanna?" he'd ask, a cruel amusement in his eyes. "I give you everything.

debt I could never repay. He thought lov

dn' t want a wife; he wanted a possession. Once acquired, its value diminished, its purpose reduced to a display. He had pursued me relentlessly, with a fervor that once felt like p

own, piece by piece, until I t

er of fire, deep within me, that he had failed to exting