Chapter 8 - The Ambush
The press conference for the National Ballroom Invitational was held at the Drake Hotel, drawing sports journalists, high-society columnists, and international dance critics.
I stood beside Ethan in the green room backstage, smoothing down the creases of an emerald-green silk evening gown he had ordered specifically for me. My hair was swept into an intricate updo, held by a silver hairpin that belonged to my mother. For the first time in twelve years, I didn't feel like a phantom hiding in the dark.
"You look stunning," Ethan said softly, fastening his cufflinks.
"I feel like I'm stepping onto an executioner's block," I admitted, offering a weak smile.
"I won't let them touch you," he promised.
The heavy doors swung open, and the event coordinator waved us forward. "Mr. Ashford, Ms. Bennett, you're up."
The flash of dozens of cameras blinded me the moment we stepped onto the stage. Microphones bristled across the podium. In the front row sat Walter Ashford, his expression thunderous, flanked by his lawyers and Vivian. And standing right at the center podium was Daniel Vance, dressed in an immaculate white tuxedo, flashing his signature million-dollar smile for the cameras.
"Welcome, members of the press," Daniel said into the microphone, his voice booming with theatrical charm. "As the defending five-time champion, I am thrilled to welcome our new competitors. However, before the competition begins, I believe transparency is owed to the public and the governing dance committee."
A hush fell over the room. Ethan tensed beside me, his hand finding the small of my back.
"Twelve years ago," Daniel continued, pointing a dramatic finger directly at me, "my former partner, Claire Bennett, suffered a catastrophic accident. It was a tragedy that broke my heart. But today, Ethan Ashford—using his family's vast wealth—has dredged Claire out of retirement as part of a publicity stunt to promote Ashford Hospitality."
The reporters began murmuring, keyboards clattering rapidly.
"Claire Bennett's medical records are on file with the national athletic board," Daniel sneered, his eyes flashing with cruel triumph. "Her left knee has sustained irreversible structural damage. By the bylaws of Section 4 of the National Dance Federation, any dancer whose physical condition presents an active hazard to their partner or the competition may be barred from competing!"
Murmurs of shock rippled through the press corps.
Walter Ashford leaned forward in the front row, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. He had orchestrated this with Daniel to publicly disqualify me before I could ever set foot on the competition floor.
"She cannot complete an elite standard program," Daniel announced loudly. "And I demand an immediate disqualification on medical grounds!"
Reporters jumped to their feet, shouting questions, their cameras clicking furiously.
"Ms. Bennett! Is it true?"
"Are you physically unfit to dance?"
"Is this just a stunt for the Ashford brand?"
My throat tightened. The humiliation threatened to drag me under once more.
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Ethan stepped to the microphone, his commanding voice cutting through the chaos like a knife.
"If Mr. Vance is so confident in his accusations," Ethan said coldly, his eyes boring into Daniel's, "why doesn't he test his theory right now?"
