Amy sighed, her fingers tracing the edge of her sheet music. "With Victoria's so-called terminal illness and her relentless determination, it's hard for anyone with a shred of compassion not to feel moved by her."

Samantha scowled. "But it's all an act!"

Amy's voice remained steady, though her grip on the paper tightened slightly. "Alexander doesn't know that."

Samantha scoffed, crossing her arms. "Then he's just a blind fool who can't see the truth. Honestly, thinking Victoria is better than you? He'll regret it one day, mark my words."

She leaned forward, eyes blazing with determination. "Celeste, we have to make this concert unforgettable. Let's show Victoria and Mr. Pendleton exactly what you're capable of!"

The initial sting of disappointment had faded from Amy's chest, replaced by quiet resolve. "Maybe this is for the best. It just proves that Mr. Pendleton and I aren't meant to work together. He may be a world-renowned maestro, but that doesn't mean his judgment is flawless."

Samantha nodded vigorously. "You don’t need his approval, Celeste. You’ve got talent, vision—everything. All you need is the right opportunity."

A small smile tugged at Amy’s lips. "Still, I should thank Julian for his help—getting me the invitation and introducing me to Mr. Pendleton in the first place."

Samantha grinned, wiggling her eyebrows. "Oh, Julian, huh? He’s clearly smitten with you. Maybe you should give him a chance?"

She nudged Amy playfully. "Even if you're not looking for marriage, a little romance never hurt anyone."

Amy shook her head, laughing softly. "Not now. My career comes first."

Samantha, satisfied with teasing her, let it go.

Her gaze drifted around the studio they had painstakingly decorated, and she sighed. "Is there really no way to save this place?"

Amy exhaled slowly. "Whether we can or not, we should prepare for the worst. If Victoria succeeds in taking it from us, we’ll have nowhere to rehearse, and that could ruin everything. And with Alexander getting involved..."

She didn’t finish. A sharp knock at the door interrupted her.

The studio door had been left ajar to air out the lingering scent of fresh paint. A man in an immaculate tailored suit stepped inside, his presence commanding the room instantly.

"This is it?" He glanced over his shoulder at Gregory, who followed closely behind.

Gregory nodded. "Yes, sir. This is the last location we traced them to."

Alexander gave a curt nod and strode forward, his polished shoes clicking against the hardwood floor.

Amy had her back to the entrance, unaware of the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

She turned to Samantha. "Let’s have Isabella Whitmore start tomorrow. The other two floors are still operational, so she can familiarize herself with the concert scores. Oh, and the venue—did you finalize the booking?"

Samantha didn’t answer.

Amy frowned. "Samantha?"

Her friend’s expression had frozen, eyes locked on something—or someone—behind Amy.

Confused, Amy turned.

Standing in the doorway was a man with piercing eyes and an aura of cold authority.

"Alexander?" Amy’s voice turned icy. "What are you doing here?"

Alexander didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he exchanged a glance with Gregory.

Gregory studied Amy and Samantha for a long moment before nodding in confirmation.

For weeks now, Gregory had been quietly investigating every detail about Celeste.

His first lead had been Samantha, whose social circle was small and easy to navigate. It hadn’t taken long to uncover what he needed.