Chapter 3

From that day on, the way everyone looked at me changed.

“That’s her, right? The gold digger who demanded a million bucks for a wedding.”

“I heard that the orchestra director was her sugar daddy, too. No wonder she got the principal cellist spot—guess we all know how she actually earned it.”

Everywhere I walked, the whispers swirled like smoke.

The same girls who used to share makeup shade recommendations and swap secrets with me now dodged me in the hallways like I was carrying a contagious disease.

Then, my concert shoes vanished from my locker without a trace.

I took a deep breath and pulled open my locker door, only to freeze. Hanging inside was my performance gown, completely slashed to ribbons. Dark, thick ink had been dumped across the fine silk, ruining the color beyond recognition. The sleeves and hemline had been maliciously chopped into jagged, frayed rags.

That was the dress my mother had made by hand for my coming-of-age ceremony, a beautiful blessing from her to me.

“Who did this?”

My face went numb as I turned around, locking eyes with the hostile stares around the room.

One girl sneered, rolling her eyes. “Oh, please, Anna. Just because you failed to pull off a million-dollar score doesn’t mean you get to blame us for your drama!”

Looking at the raw malice and disgust shining in their eyes, I hit my breaking point. I grabbed my bag and bolted for the exit.

The second I pushed through the doors, a swarm of paparazzi blocked my path. A guy holding a heavy camera was scrolling through his phone, a leaked photo of my ruined dress glaring on his screen.

“Anna, is it true you traded favors to land the principal cellist seat?!”

“Anna, after failing to shake down your ex-fiancé, were you trying to stage a fake property damage stunt for insurance money?!”

Our orchestra director, Frederick Langley, stepped forward, trying his best to shield me, but the reporters shoved their microphones straight into his face, barking questions about whether he was one of my secret patrons.

Furious, Mr. Langley swung his wooden cane, trying to knock away the lenses pressing into us. In the chaotic shoving match that followed, a heavy video camera came crashing down right toward my head!

I went down hard on the concrete. Several leather shoes trampled brutally over my hands as I tried to cover myself. Behind me, Mr. Langley’s face flushed a violent red before he clutched his chest and collapsed onto the pavement.

Outside the ER, I sat on a plastic chair with a blank stare, looking down at my stain-covered skirt. The cruel laughter and bitter insults kept echoing inside my head.

“It’s literally just a tiny paper cut. Do you really need a full ER evaluation for that?”

Sophia’s sugary, mock-concerned voice rang out behind me.

“Oh, wait—isn't that our star principal cellist? Wow. Haven't seen you in a few days, and you already look like a total street vagrant.”

My head snapped up. Standing next to her was Damian, looking completely unbothered.

“Can't blame you, though,” Sophia added, “Idiots willing to drop a million dollars on a girl don't just grow on trees.”

Damian didn't look at me once. He just patted Sophia on the head with a faint smile and guided her down the hall.

I stared at their retreating backs. They looked like the perfect high-society couple.

“Oh my gosh, sweetie, this is a terrible injury! You must be in so much pain.”

The nurse’s gasp pulled me back to reality. I looked down at my swollen, purple-bruised fingernails.

My mind flashed back to how Damian used to ban me from even stepping into the kitchen.

“Anna, your beautiful hands were made for cellos, not dishes,” he used to whisper, kissing my fingertips, “I’m going to protect them forever.”

Tears finally overflowed, burning down my cheeks.

Thanks to quick emergency care, Mr. Langley made it through the night, but management suspended me from every upcoming performance anyway.

I locked myself inside my apartment for days, staring at our old pictures until my chest felt completely hollow and cold.

Then late one evening, my phone rang. It was the associate director—one of the few people who still believed in me after the rumors went viral.

Excitement buzzed in his voice as he told me he had tracked down a brand-new sponsor for the orchestra. If I showed up to the gala, he could leverage the connection to get my principal seat back.

I hesitated for a long time, but I couldn't bring myself to throw his kindness back in his face. In the end, I put on a dress and went.

The moment I stepped into the banquet hall, Sophia materialized in a floor-length red gown, holding a glass of champagne with a triumphant smirk.

“Look who decided to grace us with her presence! So, gentlemen, which one of you is her next target?”

Laughter erupted around the room. A guy in a tailored suit stepped up, resting a heavy, unwelcome hand on my shoulder.

“A million dollars is a bit steep, sweetheart, but for a face as gorgeous as yours? How about ten grand for a night?”

Nausea slammed into me. I turned and sprinted for the exit, only to crash straight into a familiar chest.

Damian pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped the tears from my cheeks, his movements as smooth and tender as they had been for the past five years.

“I told you, Anna,” he murmured softly, “You were going to regret this.”

I clutched my chest, my whole body shaking as I stared at him. “You set this up? You let them humiliate me like this?!”

He slowly released me, leaning down to look into my eyes, his tone terrifyingly calm.

“I didn't do a thing.”

He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“Anna, don't you get it yet? All I did was stop protecting you.”

Damian’s eyes locked onto mine.

“I sheltered you so well that you forgot how the real world works. When you're on top, everyone kisses your feet. The second the spotlight fades, they’ll kick you while you're down.”

He held out his arms, offering a cold smile.

“Stop being stubborn, Anna. Sign the prenup, and my promise to marry you still stands.”

At that moment, everything clicked. I finally understood why my father had insisted on a massive, high-profile wedding in the first place.

I looked at Damian standing there with his open arms, expecting me to break.

“I finally got it now,” I said softly.

I looked him dead in the eye.

“We’re completely, officially done.”