Catch Me Before I Fall

Dressed in a classic blouse and skirt, her hair pinned into a neat bun, a small handbag clutched tightly in her hands, a petite girl sat alone in a silent hallway outside a closed door. The corridor smelled faintly of polished wood and cigarette smoke, the yellow ceiling lamps casting long shadows across the floor. Somewhere deeper inside the building, muted music drifted through the walls — the distant rehearsal of a circus orchestra warming up for the evening show.

When the door opened, a tall, well-built man appeared in the doorway. His broad shoulders filled the frame, his straight posture suggesting an almost military control. Sharp green eyes hid beneath dark lashes, and his dark hair was carelessly combed, as if he had no patience for unnecessary details. His white shirt hung half-unbuttoned, revealing the line of his collarbone and lightly tanned skin, while his high-waisted black trousers emphasized his narrow

waist and powerful silhouette. He carried the air of a man used to being obeyed without ever raising his voice.

“Elisa Miller?” he asked, his tone flat.

“Y... yes, sir. That’s me,” she replied, standing quickly.

Elisa barely reached his shoulder. Warm chestnut hair framed her face, and her blue eyes caught the light like frost under the sun. She carried a softness in her figure — something that made him raise a skeptical brow. His gaze lingered only a moment before he stepped aside, silently inviting her in.

The office was modest but refined. A mahogany desk dominated the room, neat and minimal, a crystal ashtray resting beside a stack of papers and a black fountain pen. To the right, a glass cabinet displayed photographs from past performances, certificates, and polished trophies. To the left, a wide window overlooked the circus tents glowing red beneath the setting sun. Paintings of trapeze acts and circus scenes decorated the walls, frozen moments of flight and applause.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing toward the chair opposite him before lowering himself into his own seat — noticeably more comfortable.

Elisa obeyed, placing her handbag carefully on her lap. Her fingers tightened around the handle.

“Let’s get straight to it,” he began. “I’m Killian Black. Owner of this circus. Your application surprised me. Many admire the circus. Very few want to live inside it.” His eyes sharpened. “So tell me... why MY circus? And what position do you think you deserve? Every role is filled — but I’m curious.”

She swallowed, steadying her voice.

“I’ve always been passionate about the circus. I believe yours could give me the chance to become who I’m meant to be.” She hesitated only a second.

“And... I noticed the trapeze has been inactive for five years. I would like to take that position.”

His expression darkened instantly. A short, humorless laugh escaped him.

“You? On the trapeze?” His voice dripped with disbelief. “Cassandra was one of the best we ever had — and she died falling from that height. And you, in your current shape, think you’d survive it?”

“I’m serious, Mr. Black,” she replied, offended but firm. “Maybe I don’t look like your idea of a trapeze artist, but I know exactly what this life requires.”

He leaned forward slowly, hands clasped.

“And where would you have learned that?”

“I’m twenty-one. Until I was sixteen, I lived in a circus with my parents. They were trapeze artists. They trained me from childhood. Even if I stopped, you don’t forget something that lives in your bones. The trapeze... is who I am.”

“And who might your parents be, my dear?” he asked mockingly.

She exhaled sharply, unimpressed.

“They were known as Bella and the Marquis.”

For the first time, Killian Black fell silent.

Recognition flashed across his face — sharp, undeniable. Bella and the Marquis... legends. The finest trapeze duo from 1930 until the Raghata Circus burned in 1961.

“It was said no one survived that fire,” he murmured.

“I wasn’t inside,” she said quietly. “I couldn’t sleep that night. I went to the lake. By the time I saw the smoke... it was already too late.”

Silence settled between them.

“And why now?” he asked, curiosity replacing mockery.

“Because I’ve spent years hiding,” she admitted.

“Finishing school. Working in a bakery. Letting fear turn me into someone incomplete. I forgot who I was... and who I lost.”

Killian nodded faintly, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

He stood, grabbing a set of keys.

“You’ll stay in this building. The circus is two minutes away.”

“You’re... hiring me?” she asked, stunned.

“Trial period,” he replied coolly. “Don’t celebrate yet.”

He explained the schedule as they walked upstairs — breakfast at seven-thirty, training from nine to six, general rehearsal on Fridays, performances on weekends. His voice was calm, controlled, precise.

He stopped in front of a door and unlocked it.

The room inside was modest but warm. A white wooden bed with pale pink sheets stood by the wall, a matching nightstand beside it. A wardrobe faced the bed, and a small white desk rested beneath a bay window framed with soft curtains. Sunset light filled the space with gold.

“This is your room.”

Elisa stepped inside slowly, her eyes softening.

“Thank you... it’s beautiful.”

“You’ll have a key. I keep a spare,” he said, placing it on the nightstand.

He watched her for a brief moment — the way she took in every detail as if it mattered.

“Tomorrow, I want to see what you can do. Come dressed to work. Be fully moved in by tonight. Dinner’s at eight downstairs. You’ll meet the others.”

And then he left — without looking back.