The Dance Square

On the day the Scott Group's responsibilities were handed back to Yale Gabriel, I rented a sunny shop on the third floor of Scott Square. Since I usually just hung around at home, I thought, why not open a children's dance studio? It'd also be fulfilling a childhood dream. The studio grew from five to twenty little students after three months. To help the kids get brave enough to dance in front of people, I talked it over with Yale Gabriel, and we set up a temporary stage in the Scott Square atrium for a small dance competition. On the day of the competition, sunlight poured through the glass dome, flooding the stage. I crouched at the edge of the stage, silently mouthing the words to Nancy, who had forgotten her moves: "Raise your hand, spin around, just like a little butterfly." She blinked her big round eyes and nodded, about to lift her hand when suddenly a strong grip yanked my hair. A slap, smelling of cheap perfume, landed on my left cheek, numbing it, followed quickly by one to my right cheek. "B*tch! What are you playing at?" Vivian Lincoln's nails scraped across my cheek, leaving a red scratch, her voice shrill like a screeching horn. "You're all dolled up and wandering around here—you must want to seduce my husband." She shoved me hard; I stumbled and slammed into the stage rigging, a sharp pain shooting through my lower back. "What nonsense are you talking about!" I grabbed the rigging to steady myself and shouted to the security guard in the distance, "Security! Get her out of here!" Vivian Lincoln sneered, pushing back her curls with a raised hand: "This square is my husband's business. You're on his turf trying to seduce someone—so what if you get a beating?" I froze for two seconds, then suddenly burst out laughing in anger. Scott Square was a gift from my parents on my eighteenth birthday. They even named it after me. After we got married, I handed the square over to Yale Gabriel to manage, but that's no excuse for someone else to impersonate him. I pulled out my phone to message Yale, but Vivian Lincoln's phone suddenly rang. She shot me a smug glance, then answered the call, her voice dripping sweetly: "Honey. I'm getting bullied at our square." I sneered, about to snap back, but then caught sight of the profile picture on her screen. It was the photo I took of Yale's back last year on the snowy mountain—he was standing in the snow, holding up the red scarf I knitted. There's only one like it in the whole world. While I was stunned, Vivian Lincoln yanked my hair and pulled me to the center of the stage. "Today, I'm going to make you notorious, you cheap woman. How dare you seduce my man?" A sudden knee jabbed into my lower stomach, and the sharp pain made me curl up on the ground. Clutching my stomach, cold sweat pouring down, I gritted my teeth and said, "I was just reminding the kids about their gesture. You stormed up and accused me right away." "I don't care who your husband is. You're spreading false rumors, and I will definitely take legal action." Vivian Lincoln widened her eyes, like she'd just heard a joke: "We're all women here, I know exactly what you're thinking." "What's a thousand-year-old fox got to do with ghost stories?" She crouched down, holding her phone right in front of my eyes: "Still worried about the consequences? My husband's the richest man in Capital City. Crushing you is as easy as squashing an ant." I looked at her breakfast photos on her Moments and froze suddenly. That was the tuna sandwich I made myself this morning, with a cup of hot milk, taken at 7:05 AM—exactly the same time I posted it in our family group chat. From behind, the sound of a child crying came. Nancy rushed over and grabbed Vivian Lincoln's sleeve: "Teacher Quincy is a good person, you're the bad woman!" Vivian slapped Nancy with the back of her hand. The child fell to the ground, tears streaming down her face. "See that? Even such a little boy is completely under her spell." "If I hadn't found out early, she would've already destroyed my family!" The crowd around them got stirred up by her words, and the mood started to change. "Using a child as an excuse to seduce someone—how disgusting." Don't kids usually rehearse their performances beforehand? She's all made up, wandering around like that—if she's not trying to attract men, then what else could it be?