His Vicious Revenge (Dark Romance)

Some people are born into softness, kept there like something precious. Emma Beaumont was that girl, sheltered, loved, the kind the world hadn’t touched yet. Then one night took it all, and nothing that came after was gentle. She was twenty two, far too young for the life she was living and far too stubborn to let it show.

The studio had emptied an hour ago but Emma was still here, pointe shoes on, refusing to stop until she got it right. Ballet didn’t forgive small errors. Neither did Mrs. Hargrove, who would be sitting front row tomorrow with her clipboard and her complete lack of sentimentality. The school board would be there too, and with them the possibility of an extended contract.

Emma needed every penny it would bring. She had a brother who needed treatment she couldn’t yet afford, and tomorrow night was the closest she’d come to being able to.

Emma was too deep in the music to hear the door open. Mina stepped in, coat on, bag over her shoulder, ready to leave but stopped the moment she saw her. Three years and she still couldn’t quite make sense of it. How someone so reserved, so quietly closed off, could look this mesmerizing when she danced. So beautiful and expressive and utterly unguarded.

Mina leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She said nothing, just watched, waiting, until Emma’s eyes finally lifted and caught hers. Emma’s steps broke rhythm. She yanked one earbud free, chest still heaving from hours of practice.

“Just…” She caught her breath. “Five more minutes.”

“You said that an hour ago.”

“I mean it this time, I promise.”

Mina looked at her. Really looked. The damp hair, the careful breathing, the flush still high on her cheeks. She walked over and held the water bottle out without a word. Emma took it and drank, only now remembering she’d had nothing since the cereal bar at noon.

“You’re not getting a medal for these extra hours, you know that, right?”

“I know, but my landing isn’t right. I can’t leave it like this.”

“No, it's fine.”

“Mina, it's not—”

“Em, seriously you need to stop doing this. You look exhausted. Take your shoes off, we’re going home. James must be waiting.”

There was no arguing with that. If it wasn’t for James Emma would have gone for another round. She sat on the bench and worked the ribbons loose on the right pointe shoe. The moment she peeled it back the small sharp sound she made gave her away entirely. The foot had swollen inside the shoe. Mina crouched, jaw tight, and began working the other ribbon loose with careful fingers. She looked so done with Emma. Not angry, no, just tired of watching her push past every limit she had.

Mina still remembered the first time she’d seen Emma when she moved next door. Her thoughts about this young girl were completely different. Obscene maybe. Young, naive, breathtakingly gorgeous, with no one beside her except a baby that she's carrying in her arms with much care.

Mina believed her to be some spoiled teen that's been dumped by her boyfriend and abandoned by everyone.

God, she’d been wrong.

Three years, and Emma had completely dismantled every assumption Mina had ever made about her. The way she carried everything without complaint, never asked for anything she hadn’t earned, never bent her self-respect for anyone — it showed she’d been raised well, with values so deeply rooted they’d survived everything life had thrown at her. Mina was proud of her. More than she ever said.

“You love torturing yourself, don’t you?” Mina said.

“I’m fine, honestly.”

“Right, of course you are. You were fine when you danced through that sprained wrist last year too.” She picked up Emma’s bag from the floor and held it out.

Emma took the bag but didn’t move straight away. She looked worried. “I need this to go well tomorrow.”

“I'm aware.”

“No, I mean I really need it, Mina. I just… I can’t mess this up.” Her voice dropped. “My contract’s up for renewal. I can’t afford to lose it.”

“You won’t, Em.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Okay, listen.” Mina turned to face her properly. “You’ve put in more hours than anyone on that stage tomorrow. Mrs. Hargrove would have to be blind not to see that. So stop worrying.” She held the door open. “Now that ankle needs ice and James has been waiting since noon, so can we please just go home.”

Emma looked at her for a moment, then stood and pulled her bag over her shoulder. “Where is he?”

“Probably asleep on the couch by now, honestly, you know how he is.”

A fond smile crossed Emma’s face. “Sleeping bear.”

They walked out together into the dim corridor, the building quiet around them. Then Mina’s phone buzzed, once, twice, three times. She pulled it out, read the screen and put it back with her jaw set in a way Emma recognized immediately.

“Peter?”

“Drunk again. I have to go.” Mina buttoned her coat quickly.

“Wait, let me get James and we—”

“No, I can handle him.”

“Sure?”

“Positive. Call me when you’re home, yeah?”

“I’m twenty two, Mina. Stop treating me like a child.”

“Call me when you’re home.” She squeezed Emma’s arm once and walked back toward the entrance.

Emma watched her go, this impossible woman who had decided without being asked, that Emma and James were her business. She was loud and blunt and occasionally terrifying but Emma didn’t know what she would have done without her.

Somewhere in those three years, Mina had become her family.

Maybe that was why Emma could never understand Mina’s relationship with Peter. Mina deserved someone way better than him. But she chose him anyway, every single day. That was love, Emma supposed.

Beautiful and blind and completely irrational.

Emma never understood love. Between James and work and survival, she’d never had the space or time for it either.

Sighing, she pushed open the faculty room door. James was asleep on the far couch, shoes still on, coat hanging off one shoulder, a red crayon held loosely in his fist. He had fought sleep. He always did but sleep had won anyway.

Emma stood in the doorway and just looked at him for a while. He’d spent another day in this room, on this couch, waiting for her. James never complained though. He just waited, drew his pictures, and fell asleep holding his crayons like they might run away.

She crossed the room quietly and crouched beside him, brushing the hair from his forehead. “Gem. Wakey wakey.”

He didn't move.

“James, baby.”

The kid scrunched his face and burrowed deeper into the cushion, which was somehow both an answer and a refusal.

“Gem, get up.” She rubbed his back gently.

“I’m wake,” he announced, eyes still shut.

“You’re very much not awake. Come on, we’re going home, love.”

His eyes opened this time. “Home?”

“Home.” she confirmed.

He blinked at her, his whole face doing that little reboot it always needed. He looked around the room. Looked back at her. Then noticed the crayon in his fist and held it up.

“I was d’awing,” he informed her.

“I can see that. What did you draw?” She took it from him gently and clicked it back in the tin. “Can you sit up for me?”

He sat up slowly and immediately leaned his whole weight against her arm, too tired for a proper hug but needing one anyway. Then he pointed at the workbook on the floor.

Emma reached for it and her hands stilled the moment she opened it.

Four figures. Wobbly, huge-headed, the way only a four-year-old draws people. Two tall ones, two small ones. All holding hands in a line. He’d pressed so hard the paper had dented beneath the crayon.

“That’s us,” James said, pointing carefully. His small finger moved along the row. “You. Me.” Then it moved to the two taller figures. “Them is mummy and daddy. I made them big cuz they grown ups.”

Emma smiled and sat down properly on the couch beside him. She looked at the drawing for a moment, at those four figures holding hands under his thick blue sky and a six coloured rainbow, and something in her chest pulled tight.

“Where dey go, Em?” James asked, still looking at the drawing.

Emma looked at his small face. At those big waiting eyes.

“They’re in heaven, baby,” she said softly.

“Where’s heaven?”

“Up in the sky. Where it’s really beautiful and bright and everyone is happy.”

His brows furrowed. “Why we not with them?”

Emma looked at him. At that small serious face waiting patiently for an answer that would make sense.

“Because they wanted us to stay here,” she said, smiling. “You and me together. And you know what?” She touched his nose lightly and he scrunched it. “They can see you from up there. So you better be a good boy.”

James looked up at the ceiling, thinking about this very carefully.

“Can they see me right now?” he asked.

“All the time.” she said.

He looked back up at the ceiling and gave it a small, uncertain wave.

Emma pulled him into her side and pressed her lips to the top of his head and stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, this boy who was her whole world tucked against her.

“Look, I maded mummy’s hair too long.”

Emma laughed softly. “She’d have loved it anyway, I promise. Come on, let’s pack your things, yeah?”

James nodded eagerly, and that smile, that ridiculous unbearably adorable smile, spread across his face. He slid off the couch and began collecting his crayons. Emma gathered his things into the small panda bag. The workbook, his pencils, a half eaten biscuit she found wedged in the cushions that she wrapped in a napkin and tucked into the side pocket because she didn’t throw food away.

She got him into his coat, zipped it to his chin, pulled his hood up while he stood very still and let her, the way he always did.

She was his whole world. He was hers.

The security guard knocked on the door. “Still here?”

“Just leaving,” Emma called.

She shouldered both bags and held out her hand. James slipped his into hers. He's still thinking about heaven.

Outside, the evening had gone cold. They were on their way to the bus stop, weaving along the pavement. James was swinging her hand, his mood lifting the way it always did once he started moving. Emma’s ankle throbbed with every other step, but she ignored it. She was good at ignoring things.

“Em. Em. Em.”

“I’m right here, James.”

“I made a new friend today.” He looked up at her. “Her name is Sofie.”

“Yeah? What’s she like?”

“Nice. She had a big cupcake.” He stopped walking entirely, the way he always did when something deserved his full attention, and held both hands up creating a circle about the size of his own head. “This big, Em. Chocolate. With sprinkles.”

“That’s big.”

“Yes, so big.” He started walking again, satisfied. “She gave me some and I said thank you.”

“Good boy.”

He was so busy telling her stories that he didn’t notice when they passed the bus stop. They turned the corner onto the main street, and the café sat there at the end of the road, windows fogged, the smell of it drifting out even through the cold air. Butter and sugar and something warm just out of the oven. James slowed.

“Where we going?”

Emma crouched down and cupped his cold cheeks in her hands. “To get you a cupcake.”

His eyes went wide. They were blue and enormous.

“Really? Wow! I want a chocolate cupcake.”

“Then chocolate it is.”

She glanced at the café. A bit fancier than she’d have picked, if she was being honest. But it didn’t matter. Anything for him.

Emma asked the man behind the counter for a chocolate cupcake. James jiggled beside her, too excited to stand still, watching him tuck it into a box like it was something rare. Emma smiled fondly. She loved watching him get excited like this over small things. It undid her a little, every time, in the best way.

While they waited, Emma pulled her scarf from her bag and wound it twice around James’s neck, while he stood still and let her. It's freezing outside. She had nothing left to put on herself though.

She bought him the cupcake and nothing for herself. They stepped outside and the wind hit immediately, cutting through her coat and flattening the loose fabric against her for a moment before she caught it. Underneath all that shapeless material, she was slender and striking, a fact she tried to mask with clothes too large for her body. It was easier this way, fewer looks, less attention.

The gust took her hair with it too, long and dark, the bun she’d redone twice already giving up for good, waves spilling down past her shoulders. She gathered the strands back, twisting them into a loose, functional knot.

Soon it started to drizzle.

Emma looked over at James and he didn’t look bothered at all. Cheeks round, a smear of chocolate across the tip of his nose, grinning up at her like nothing in the world could touch him. She grinned back. The hardships never really left her, but she was happy, in her own quiet way, with the small life she’d built for the two of them.

The rain poured softly. She held James close and walked home, warm despite the cold, completely unaware that someone vicious had already found her.