Alexander hadn't anticipated Amy's response. For a fleeting moment, something dark and unreadable flashed in his eyes—surprise, perhaps even anger—but it disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual composed mask.

"Amy, you're playing with fire," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "Human nature is the last thing you should gamble on. What if I decide to make you pay?"

Amy held his gaze without flinching. "For Victoria, you were willing to throw away our marriage and hand me a fortune. A minor injury is nothing compared to that, isn't it?"

A knowing smile curved her lips as she studied him. "You're right—human nature is unpredictable. But I wasn't betting on your guilt toward me. I was betting on your feelings for Victoria. Forcing me to give up my studio and compose for her—wasn't that you gambling too?"

She leaned forward slightly, her tone deceptively soft. "Alexander, you can't always win."

Alexander prided himself on being steps ahead, always in control. The difference was, he had the power to absorb any loss. But for Amy, one wrong move could cost her everything. Yet she never hesitated.

Life was a high-stakes game. Those too afraid to lose would never win.

Her methods were simple, but he had no choice but to accept defeat this time. He had forced her hand often enough—now, the tables had turned. For once, the scales felt balanced.

Amy pulled a contract from her bag. "So, are we signing or not? If you haven't changed your mind, let's make it quick. We need the funds for a new studio and equipment."

Alexander studied her for a long moment before speaking quietly. "Give me the pen."

She handed it to him without hesitation. He signed each page with deliberate strokes.

A flicker of mockery passed through Amy's eyes. In the end, he had folded—she had won. But there was no triumph on her face. She had always known there was a ninety percent chance he would agree. The slim possibility of refusal only existed if he had lost his mind. It might have looked like a gamble, but the outcome had never been in doubt.

Just as she gathered her things to leave, Alexander's voice stopped her. "If I told you I had nothing to do with what happened to Benjamin, would you believe me?"

Amy turned, her expression icy. "Why ask when you already know the answer?"

His gaze was steady, voice low. "I mean it. I wasn't involved. You misjudged me."

A quiet, scornful laugh escaped her. "Now that the contract is signed, suddenly you're innocent? Alexander, do you even hear yourself?"

Silence stretched between them before he spoke again. "Amy, if one day you learn the truth, will you regret everything you've done to me?"

"Never." Her eyes were sharp as steel. "Alexander, you may lack morals, but at least you're fighting for the woman you love. For that, I can still respect you as a man. But if you truly weren't responsible—if you knew the truth all along and stayed silent, took what you wanted, and only now try to explain yourself—what does that make you? Do you think clearing up a misunderstanding absolves you?"

She met his gaze unflinchingly. "If you had explained before signing, maybe I would have given you some credit. But if what you say is true? Then I'm sorry—you're even more despicable than I thought."