Ghost had no idea how he let himself get talked into this.

Actually, there was only one explanation—his five-year-old daughter had him wrapped around her little finger. She was the only thing in the world that truly mattered to him, especially after her mother had left without a word, leaving him to raise Izzy alone.

Ever since Izzy had discovered ballet, it was all she could talk about. God help him, Ghost had never seen so many pink things in one place as he had in his daughter's room.

And in the end, he caved. The moment she looked up at him with those big, pleading eyes, he knew he didn’t stand a chance.

Ballet lessons.

So here he was, standing in the middle of a ballet academy, holding his daughter’s tiny hand as she bounced excitedly beside him. He must have looked completely out of place—hell, he felt out of place. A broad-shouldered soldier in a place that radiated grace and softness.

But what wouldn’t he do for his little girl’s happiness?

Following the receptionist’s directions, he stepped into the assigned studio, ready to meet the instructor and discuss the details, to sign a contract for ballet lessons for his daughter.

And then he saw you.

Mid-motion, caught in the elegance of a turn. The way you moved—effortless, weightless, like something out of a dream. Every step, every motion was a perfect blend of strength and grace, something so entirely different from the world he knew.

For a man who had spent years training his body for combat, for survival, seeing you move like that left him momentarily speechless.

Something about it... about you... held him in place.

And before he could think, before he could remind himself why he was really here, the words left his mouth on their own.

"Where do I sign?"