ROSALINA'S POVI knew it was supposed to hurt the first time, but I didn't think it would hurt THIS MUCH. Tears prickled my eyes, the pain making me freeze from head to toe. It was as though my body was being torn apart, and I clung to Leo desperately, my nails digging into his back, seeking some anchor from the discomfort.I tried to focus on his words as I took shaky, deep breaths. "That's it," he whispered against my mouth, his breath warm and calming. "Relax, baby." His words were like a soothing balm, and I held onto them like they were my life support. I bit his shoulder, seeking something tangible to hold onto, and Leo didn't flinch. Instead, he held me tighter, whispering reassurances and words of encouragement."You're my good girl," he murmured, his voice filled with an affection that warmed my spirit. "So tight around me. I'm going to make it better, baby. You're going to feel so good, I promise."My cries of pain gradually turned into gasps of pleasure. He continued to

ROSALINA'S POVI closed the lid of the salve. It was the one I used to treat my cuts and bruises after the intense dance practice. I glanced at the mark, guilt nagging me. I wanted to show the decency to say sorry, but I couldn't. Pride held me back. "You should get going." Leo looked up at me, "Why?" "I just need some space, that's all." His face contorted. "We both wanted this, Rosalina. Stop acting like I forced you into it."I took a step back to steady my nerves. "Leo, just leave."I didn't want this to repeat again. It was too reckless, too risky. I was going to be a dancer, and getting pregnant was the last thing I wanted. He clenched his fists, frustration evident in his tightened jaw. "You can't just push me away whenever you feel like it. I'm done playing games with you." I turned away from him, unable to meet his eyes. "It's not that simple. Ballet is my dream, and I can't let anything jeopardize it.""You think I would do that to you?""I don't know," I muttered, even

ROSALINA'S POVMy reflection in the ballet studio's mirror seemed like a fractured image of my own uncertainty. The scent of sweat and effort lingered in the air, a testament to the dancers who had already left. But not me. I couldn't leave, not until I perfected the white swan. The clock's gentle ticking echoed around the room, each second a reminder of the weight on my shoulders.Then, the door clicked open, and Liora entered. I turned to her, my question slipping out almost instinctively. "Why are you here?" She greeted me with a frigid expression. "The same reason you're here." She studied me, her eyes critical as she delivered her verdict. "You are trying too hard." Her words struck me like a slap, and I released a harsh breath, frustration bubbling inside me. "At least I'm trying and not sleeping my way to get a role."Liora's eyes narrowed sharply, "Are you calling me a slut?""Isn't that true?" I taunted. "You two seem pretty close enough to see each other most nights." Lio

LEONARDO'S POVGod knows how long I kept watching her as she prepared tonight's dinner for us. It almost felt like we were a married couple, and she was my wife cooking me dinner after a long day of work. It was strangely... wholesome. The soft glow of the pendant lights above cast a warm ambiance over the room, highlighting the subtle play of emotions on her face as she focused on her task– a creamy mushroom risotto. The aroma of sautéed onions and garlic filled the air, blending with the earthy scent of the Arborio rice.Rosalina's hands moved with practiced precision, her fingers deftly stirring the rice in a pan, a wooden spoon clutched in her hand. Her dark, wavy hair was held up by a hair claw, a few messy strands occasionally falling forward as she leaned over the stove, but she didn't mind it. Her eyes sparkled with the flickering flame beneath the pot.She glanced over her shoulder to look at me, who stared at her from the kitchen island. "You could go watch some TV, instea

LEONARDO'S POVI leaned against the bedroom doorframe, my eyes feasting on the spectacle before me. There she was, a tornado of excitement, pink and glitter, twirling in front of the mirror. She had transformed her bedroom into a war zone of clothes, shoes, and makeup—her once tidy sanctuary had become a glamorous battlefield."Leo, do you think the black stilettos or the white ones?" she asked, her eyes darting between the two pairs of shoes, both with heels that could probably double as medieval torture devices.I scratched my chin thoughtfully, pretending to weigh the options with utmost seriousness. "Well, the black ones say 'I'm here to party,' but the white ones? They scream 'I'm pure as the driven snow but ready to get a little dirty.'"Rosalina burst into laughter, a sound that made my heart do a little happy dance. She held the white stilettos high above her head "I guess the white ones will do."I admired her dedication to creating the perfect look for our dinner date while