Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 227

“Emma, if you turn your idea into a full ballet, it would be absolutely breathtaking. Are you going to keep choreographing?” Serena asked, wiping sweat from her brow.

Emma hesitated. She wasn’t sure… not sure if she really had what it took.

Sebastian caught the flicker of doubt in her eyes. “Emma, it’s late. Let’s head back—we’ve danced our hearts out tonight.”

Emma nodded, her smile bright and genuine. Tonight had been a release, a pure joy.

“Emma! I’m sending you a picture!” Serena teased, just as they reached the hotel and were about to go their separate ways. “You look amazing!”

It was a photo of their big lift: Sebastian holding her high, her form elegant and strong, the arch of her uninjured foot perfectly pointed, like a phoenix rising.

“Hey, were you sneaking photos of me?” Sebastian said, pretending to be offended.

Serena had already stepped out of the elevator and turned back with a grin. “Who said I was taking pictures of you? It’s all about Emma!”

Sebastian looked down at Emma, showing her the photo. “Look at this, Emma. Serena caught your best move. It’s like the muscle memory is in your bones.”

Emma smiled softly. Serena really did have a knack for capturing the perfect moment—this was the highlight of the entire dance.

“Emma, you said it yourself: you dance for the love of it, for nothing else. If you love it, you’ll keep going, no matter what!” Sebastian’s words were gentle but encouraging.

Emma understood—he was trying to give her courage.

As the elevator doors slid open at her floor, Emma looked at them earnestly. “I know what you and Serena are trying to say. I’ll think about it seriously.”

She stepped out just as her floor arrived. “Thank you both for tonight. I’m heading in. Goodnight.”

Sebastian waved, his smile warm. “Goodnight, Emma. Sweet dreams.”

She crept quietly into the room, worried she’d wake Ms. Brown. To her surprise, her teacher was still up, scribbling in a notebook at the desk.

“Still working, Ms. Brown?” Emma asked, sweat still clinging to her skin.

Ms. Brown looked up and smiled. “You’d better hit the shower before you catch a cold! How long were you all dancing out there?”

“You knew I went dancing?” Emma felt a little embarrassed. After all, she’d once been Ms. Brown’s favorite student, and now… well, she was a mess.

“Of course I knew,” Ms. Brown said, eyes twinkling. “I watched you three. Looked to me like you were working on something new.”

Emma blushed, flustered. “Ms. Brown, I’m really not dancing well these days…”

“Nonsense!” Ms. Brown cut her off with a firm shake of her head. “Dance is technique, yes—but it’s also the language of emotion, the romance of moving just because you want to, and the courage to stand up again no matter how many times you fall. I’m thrilled to have you back.”

“Ms. Brown…” Emma wanted to hug her, but glanced down at her sweaty clothes. “Let me shower first.”

“Go on, I’ll be here a little longer.” Ms. Brown smiled and turned back to her notes.

Suddenly, her comment section turned into a battleground—Theodore and Carlisle bickering back and forth.

Carlisle: “Excuse me, I’m just here worshipping our goddess with the purest intentions. Unlike some people, sneaking around behind everyone’s backs.”

Theodore: “Better hope your mouth is as tough as your body.”

Carlisle: “Try me. Let’s see whose fists are harder—mine or your big mouth!”

Theodore: “Just landed—wait and see.”

Emma rolled her eyes at their childish antics and simply deleted the whole thread.

Almost immediately, Theodore’s message landed in her inbox along with the photo from her post. “Tell me—what decision have you made? You and that Remington guy, what have you decided?”

If making up her mind about the divorce counted as a decision, well—he’d find out soon enough.

Theodore’s messages kept coming, more insistent and frequent than anything she’d seen from him in the past five years.

“I’m back in Cresthaven. You have two days to get home, or don’t blame me for what happens next.”

“I know you won’t reply, but let’s be clear: you eat my food, wear what I pay for. Without me, you wouldn’t survive out there. Keep being stubborn and you’ll be begging to come back.”

Emma stared at his words, feeling a strange mix of anger and resolve.