Arthur Pendleton studied Julian Montclair with a knowing glance. "It's not like you to go out of your way to advocate for someone."

Julian's piercing blue eyes, reminiscent of the Mediterranean at dawn, remained unreadable.

"Because she's exceptional."

For a brief moment, the air between them shifted—Arthur, Julian, even Amy Sinclair herself felt the weight of those words.

Arthur regarded Julian with newfound seriousness.

"Julian, you're too talented to let personal feelings influence your decisions."

A faint smile touched Julian's lips. "This isn't about feelings, Arthur. It's about recognizing brilliance when I see it."

He leaned forward slightly. "Spend five minutes truly listening to Ms. Sinclair play, and you'd regret letting her slip through your fingers."

His tone lightened, though his gaze remained intense. "Consider this a personal favor. What do you say?"

Arthur exhaled, shaking his head with reluctant amusement. "You're impossible, you know that?"

Amy's quiet voice cut through their exchange. "Mr. Montclair, I appreciate your kindness, but this isn't necessary."

Her chin lifted slightly, moonlight catching the determined set of her jaw. "As Mr. Pendleton said—there are countless roads to success. Being selected by him is one. Forging my own path is another."

Her fingers absently traced the edge of her violin case. "Not every journey looks the same. But if you walk with purpose? The destination remains unchanged."

Arthur's eyebrows rose.

He'd heard the rumors—that she lacked formal training, that she'd squandered her gifts chasing wealthy suitors instead of perfecting her craft.

Yet here she stood, speaking with the quiet wisdom of a seasoned artist.

Julian's intervention had surprised him. The young virtuoso rarely involved himself in others' affairs. Had Amy truly captivated him so completely?

It would've been easy to agree—to offer casual mentorship as Julian requested. But Amy's refusal, her quiet dignity, sparked something unexpected in Arthur. Respect.

Across the room, Victoria Langley watched the exchange with barely concealed triumph. Without Alexander Blackwood's interference, she never would've secured Arthur's approval—let alone the coveted position as his protégé.

If Amy hadn't been so reckless with her talent, so determined to play the martyr, Victoria might still be struggling in her shadow.

Now? The tables had turned spectacularly.

Let Amy wax poetic about different paths all she wanted. Victoria knew the truth—walking alone couldn't compare to having a legend clear your way.

In two years, she'd be performing on the world's greatest stages.

And Amy Sinclair?

She'd be lucky if anyone remembered her name.

The gardens lay bathed in silver moonlight when Amy finally turned on Alexander.

Without warning, her palm connected sharply with his cheek.