He nodded. "I know, and I'm sorry, really."
Cali looked at him, trying to decide if she believed him. Deep down, she did. "All right," she said at last, "but if you blow up again, I'm gone. And this time, I won't come back."
Henry smiled just a little, but it was genuine. "Fair enough."
Cali stood and held out her hand. "Let's start over. No yelling, no robot in a suit. Deal?"
He took her hand. "Deal."
They stayed there a while longer, talking about random things, laughing at silly jokes, and for the first time, Cali saw Henry Scott not as an arrogant billionaire, but as a real person: flawed, wounded, human.
By the time she left the studio, it was late. The sky was dark, and the New York streets glowed under the streetlights. Cali picked up her phone to call a cab and saw a new message from an unknown number. She opened it, heart suddenly racing:
He'll destroy you, too.
Cali froze, read the message again, then looked back at the lit-up studio, where Henry still was. Who sent that? And why? She put her phone away and started walking, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.
Cali spent the whole night staring at that message: He'll destroy you, too. The words felt like they were burning through her phone screen. Who was sending that? And why did they care so much about what was going on between her and Henry?
The next morning, she woke up determined to ignore it. It was probably just some bitter ex-employee of Henry's, or maybe some obsessed fan of Clara. Rich people always had hidden enemies around. She wasn't going to let one anonymous message ruin the work she had been doing.
But when she got to the studio, something felt different. She felt different—more cautious, more distant, like there was an invisible wall between her and Henry.
Henry noticed right away. "Good morning, teacher," he greeted with a smile.
"Good morning," Cali replied without looking him in the eyes.
She dropped her bag in the corner and went straight to turn on the music.
Henry frowned. "Everything okay with you?"
"Perfectly fine. Shall we begin?"
He shrugged and got into position. The lesson started, but something was off. Cali taught the steps in a mechanical way, without her usual energy. She corrected his mistakes with short phrases, none of the playful teasing that used to make them both laugh. Henry tried to make small talk a few times, but she avoided it, until he finally stopped mid-move.
"Okay, what's going on?"
"Nothing. Keep dancing."
"Cali, you've barely looked at me today. What happened?"
She sighed and crossed her arms. "Nothing happened, Henry. I'm just doing my job."
"Ah, I see. So now we're just being professional, is that it?"
"We've always been," she replied coldly.
Henry stepped forward, his look questioning. "Last night we talked, we laughed. You said we were going to start over, and now you're acting like I'm a stranger. What changed?"
Cali hesitated. She couldn't tell him about the message, not without sounding paranoid or dramatic. So she simply said, "Nothing changed. I just remembered where I stand here."
Henry was quiet for a moment, processing. Then he gave a half-smile—it wasn't a happy one, it was teasing. "Ah, so that's it. You're scared."
Cali blinked. "Scared of what?"
"Of trusting me."
She laughed without humor. "Henry, I barely know you. Why would I trust you?"
"Because I trusted you yesterday. I told you things no one else knows."
"And I appreciate that, but it doesn't change the fact that you hired me to teach tango, not to be your friend."
Henry took another step, closing the distance between them. "So you don't want to be my friend?"
Cali held his gaze, defiant. "No. I want to do my job, get paid, and move on with my life."
"Liar."
She raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"You're lying. Last night you cared. You listened to my story. You stood by me. And now you want to pretend none of that happened because you're afraid to get close."
Cali felt her face heat up. He was right, and that irritated her deeply. "You're very arrogant, you know that?"
"And you're very stubborn," he replied, smiling.
They stood there, staring at each other in a silent battle of wills, until Henry sighed and stepped back. "Fine. If that's what you want, we'll keep it professional. But just know, I don't believe a single word you said."
Cali didn't reply; she just went back to teaching the steps. But now there was something different in the air: a tension that hadn't been there before.
The following days were a strange mix of forced professionalism and subtle teasing. Henry kept testing her boundaries: making little jokes, holding her waist a second longer than needed during certain steps, looking her in the eye in a way that made Cali's heart race. She tried to keep her distance, but it was getting harder and harder.
Until one Thursday night, Henry surprised her with an invitation: "Dinner at my place tomorrow. What do you think?"
Cali, who was putting her things in her bag, stopped and looked at him. "Dinner?"
"Yeah: food, drinks, conversation. You know, things normal people do."
"Why?"
Henry shrugged. "Because I want to, and because you deserve a thank you for the progress I've made."
Cali hesitated. Every alarm bell was ringing in her head, but at the same time, she wanted to go. She wanted to know more about him, about his life outside the studio.