Amy Sinclair studied the pianist's tear-stained face, then turned her gaze toward where Alexander Blackwood had disappeared. A bitter smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

Someone had been discarded without hesitation—over a trivial accusation, with no consideration for years of dedication. Just like that—gone. A classic intimidation tactic, she thought. A message for everyone else.

If that poor pianist was the first casualty, then Amy knew she would be next.

Her phone vibrated moments later. Nathan Prescott was summoning her to discuss performance arrangements.

The venue was nothing less than spectacular, with Alexander sparing no expense for Victoria Langley. The interior was predictably lavish, but even the outdoor spaces took her breath away. A natural lake glistened in the afternoon sun behind the mansion, its surface rippling gently. The air carried the delicate fragrance of blooming roses. Amy spotted Victoria and Alexander standing on a stone bridge, admiring the view. Victoria gestured animatedly toward the water, laughing at something he said.

Nathan noticed Amy first. His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Ah, the elusive Ms. Sinclair finally graces us with her presence. Too proud to ask for a spot, waiting for us to beg her to perform?"

Amy met his gaze coolly. "I just witnessed Ms. Langley's unfortunate accident. I assumed today's rehearsal might be postponed."

Victoria turned with a polished smile. "Just a minor scrape, nothing serious. I could continue rehearsing without issue. Alexander is simply overreacting."

The subtext was clear: Look how much he cares about me.

Amy's eyes flicked to Victoria's knee—a faint bruise, no broken skin. For performers, minor injuries were routine. Yet Alexander had dismissed the pianist without hesitation, all for Victoria. That level of favoritism was impossible to ignore.

Amy had no interest in their drama. She addressed Victoria directly. "Ms. Langley, would you prefer a solo or ensemble performance from me?"

Victoria handed her a meticulously prepared program. "Review this, Ms. Sinclair. If anything displeases you, adjustments can still be made." The arrangements were diplomatic—solo pieces balanced with ensemble performances, carefully avoiding any direct collaboration between them. A tactful approach.

Amy skimmed the list and returned it. "This works."

Victoria nodded. "Ms. Sinclair, did you bring the compositions you promised?"

Amy retrieved her original scores from her bag. "Choose three. Credit them to 'Amy.'"

The terms were already settled, so there was no room for debate. With Alexander watching, Victoria played her role flawlessly. "Perfect."

Their discussion turned technical, Victoria lobbing pointed questions—clearly testing Amy's knowledge. But Amy countered each one effortlessly, even throwing back a few sharp queries that left Victoria momentarily speechless.

Victoria had no choice but to retreat.

Throughout it all, Alexander's gaze never left Amy. He'd never seen her like this—fully immersed in her craft, radiating a different kind of brilliance than her stage presence. He'd always known she was beautiful, but perhaps he'd grown desensitized—or perhaps he'd never truly recognized her talent until now.

Watching her in her element, he realized she was more captivating than ever.