Some claim marriage shackles your freedom.

But not for him.

Alexander Blackwood lived exactly as he pleased—unchanged by vows or rings. If anything, his marriage had been an advantage. A competent wife meant a well-ordered home, leaving him free to focus entirely on his empire.

He’d always considered it an ideal arrangement.

Except… sometimes, in rare quiet moments, he sensed an absence.

Something undefined.

Something he never cared to examine.

Amy Sinclair studied him with wary amusement.

"Alexander, are you that starved for drama? Should I slap you again to remind you what my temper feels like?"

Was this some twisted craving? Did he enjoy being yelled at, pushed around?

If so, she was definitely the wrong woman for him.

Victoria Langley, with her endless theatrics, would suit him far better.

No wonder he couldn’t seem to let her go.

Alexander’s expression cooled, the momentary flicker of emotion vanishing.

"You have three days to reconsider."

"Unnecessary." Her voice was glacial. "My answer is no."

"Don’t be rash." His tone softened, laced with quiet menace. "Amy, if not for yourself, think of those around you."

A bitter laugh escaped her. "Alexander, you spared no expense for Victoria—money, influence, everything. Yet suddenly, a million in compensation is too much?"

She met his gaze, all pretense of warmth gone.

"Or is it that you only bully those you consider weak? Now that it’s me, you can’t even bother to negotiate properly? You think threats will work?"

Her smile was razor-sharp.

"Sorry to disappoint. They won’t. Pay up, or we’ll see who breaks first."

With that, she turned and walked away.

Any hope of compromise had just evaporated.

She’d rather spend her energy warning Benjamin Carter to watch his back.

When she returned to the gala, the hall was already buzzing.

A small crowd had gathered around Benjamin, their conversation animated.

Like her, Benjamin was an alumnus of Solmaris Conservatory. Though not in the Hall of Fame, he’d been among the top talents in his field.

Still, only a handful of Solmaris graduates earned that honor each year.

Spotting her, Benjamin waved her over.

"Celeste! Come meet these brilliant musicians."

She approached, exchanging polite greetings.

Recognition flashed in one man’s eyes.

"Wait—you’re that viral violinist, aren’t you? I saw your performance video. Absolutely stunning!"

"Ms. Sinclair," another interjected eagerly, "our foundation is hosting an international competition. With your skill, you’d dominate. The prize is substantial—would you consider it?"

A third leaned in. "You’re a philanthropist and a musician—perfect for our brand ambassadorship. Have you ever done endorsements?"

As word spread, the circle around her tightened, voices overlapping with offers and flattery.

These events weren’t just about music. They were battlegrounds for connections, deals, survival.

Even geniuses had to eat.

She opened her mouth to respond—

When a voice, sharp with mockery, cut through the chatter.

"Well, well. If it isn’t our prodigy—the one who never even graduated high school."