Alexander's piercing gaze locked onto Amy, the weight of it nearly crushing.

"You truly had no clue?"

"Obviously not," Amy countered, her face an unreadable mask. "What, do you think I have some supernatural sixth sense?"

Alexander scrutinized her, hunting for even the faintest flicker of deception. Nothing.

If she was lying, she was the best damn actress he'd ever seen.

His voice was low, controlled. "My investigation shows the people who vandalized Victoria's studio were your fans."

"And?" Amy didn't flinch, meeting his stare head-on.

Alexander's lips barely moved. "You expect me to believe you didn't orchestrate this?"

Amy actually laughed, the sound sharp. "If I'd done it, I wouldn't deny it. I own my actions. But I didn't. Frankly, I'm prepping for a concert. I don't have time to waste on irrelevant people."

Alexander's response was glacial. "Whether you did it or not, this two-million-dollar compensation isn't a loss for you."

"Not a loss?" Amy's eyes flashed, locking onto the hard angles of his face. "The concert's days away. I need a new studio, a complete redesign, starting from scratch. Your time is precious, but mine isn't?"

Alexander's tone was icy. "Blame your fans for destroying Victoria's studio."

Amy understood immediately.

Even if she wasn't behind it, she wasn't innocent. Those were her fans. That made her accountable. And she knew how it looked—her open disdain for Victoria was no secret. To Alexander and Nathan, she'd never hidden her contempt, not even in front of them. No one would be shocked if she'd ordered the attack.

Amy dropped the contract back onto the table. "If you want me to give up the studio, my terms stand—ten million. Cash for the keys."

Alexander's expression hardened. "Amy, don't push it. I'm offering compensation. Be smart."

"And if I refuse?"

A cold smirk curled Alexander's lips, but his eyes were dangerous. "If I recall correctly, the studio's currently under Benjamin's name, isn't it?"

Amy's guard shot up. She stared at him, tension coiling in her frame. "What are you planning? If you have an issue, take it up with me, not him!"

Alexander studied her, something shifting in his gaze.

He didn't know why, but in that moment, it clicked. Amy had always been the perfect wife—flawless, composed, endlessly accommodating. Yet somehow, she'd become distant, almost mechanical. Now, watching her defend Benjamin, he finally understood.

"You've never stood up for me the way you're defending Benjamin now," he said, voice unexpectedly quiet.

Amy frowned, thrown by the shift. "You have an army of people to defend you. Do you really need me too?"

A bitter smirk tugged at Alexander's mouth. "I always thought you were like some programmed doll—never angry, never emotional. Turns out you do feel. Just not for me."

To him, Amy had been the ideal wife: gentle, patient, endlessly understanding. Whether she was giving birth or handling crises alone, it never mattered if he was there. Even when she needed him and he didn’t answer, she’d just say, "It's fine, focus on your work."

She never seemed to need him at all.