Alexander's stormy gaze was impossible to decipher. "You're certain about this?"

"Did you honestly believe I wasn't serious?"

"There were steak knives at the gala. You could've taken one."

Amy let out a laugh, sharp as shattered glass. "Oh, so you wanted me to stab you in front of everyone? Get myself arrested for assault?"

His jaw tightened, bitterness darkening his expression. "I was giving you a chance to settle the score."

She arched a brow, her smile dripping with venom. "One stab would make up for everything you've destroyed? Since when is justice that simple? Do you really think you deserve such mercy?"

She hadn't slapped Alexander in front of Arthur Pendleton—not out of restraint, but strategy. In that vipers' nest of high society, whoever struck first would be condemned, regardless of who was right.

Sacrificing her reputation for him? Not worth a single breath.

Alexander seemed to finally grasp the weight of his actions. He stood frozen for a long moment before murmuring, "I'll fix this."

"Fix it?" Amy's laugh was hollow. "With what? That pathetic two-million-dollar 'compensation'? Your charity is insulting."

Even the sight of him made her skin prickle with revulsion.

She took three deliberate steps back, turned on her heel, and walked away.

Alexander didn't move, his eyes tracking her until she vanished around the corner.

A soft knock interrupted the office silence. Gregory stepped inside.

"Mr. Blackwood, we've located Celeste. Would you like to handle this personally?"

Gregory had spent weeks chasing leads. After his last contact with Celeste's associate, the phone line went dead. Tracing it led to a fake identity—a burner number Celeste used exclusively. Once they realized Gregory was closing in, they'd severed all ties.

The delay had cost them. Only after hiring a hacker did they finally pinpoint the signal's origin.

Alexander checked his watch. "Take me there."

The studio was a warzone.

Amy and Samantha Reynolds catalogued the wreckage—shattered instruments, paint-smeared floors, slashed curtains. The walls still screamed with vandalized threats in crimson strokes.

Samantha exhaled sharply. "The rehearsal room's totaled. We'll need to replace everything—floors, equipment, walls. It's a full renovation."

Anyone who'd ever rebuilt a studio knew the agony. And thanks to Nathan Prescott's tantrum, they were back to square one.

Amy's voice was steel. "Start scouting for a new location immediately."

Samantha hesitated. "You're really just handing this place to Victoria?"

"With Alexander involved, I'm not worried about him coming after me," Amy said coldly. "I'm worried he'll target Benjamin. He holds the lease now."

Samantha knew the truth—how Alexander had rejected Arthur Pendleton for Amy's sake, only to secure Victoria's place as the maestro's protégé.

"That scheming viper," Samantha spat. "Victoria steals everything she touches. And Arthur? Age has rotted his judgment. Taking her as a student? He's signing his own disgrace."