Chapter 2

When my two days of leave ended, I covered the redness around my eyes with concealer and drove to work.

My access card no longer opened the door to my practice room.

I tried it twice before going to the front desk.

The receptionist avoided my eyes. She made a phone call, spoke in a low voice for several minutes, and finally turned back to me.

“The board has assigned you another practice room. It’s on the second basement level.”

I had worked there for years and never known the building had a second basement.

The hallway downstairs was dark, and my new practice room was beside the staff kitchen. The air smelled of grease, and the walls were too thin to block the noise of dishes and running water.

I said nothing.

The tour began the following week. As the orchestra’s principal pianist, I still had music to prepare.

I sat down and pressed the first key.

The note struck the bare walls and came back painfully loud.

Upstairs, the rest of the orchestra continued rehearsing without me.

I had also been removed from the core members’ group chat. The notification had arrived the night before, but I had not seen it.

What hurt more was learning that the colleague I had worked with most closely had given my rehearsal schedule to a group of reporters.

By that evening, two media vans were waiting outside the building. Reporters stopped anyone wearing an orchestra badge and demanded to know whether the gold-digging pianist was still being allowed to perform.

I avoided them by leaving through the underground garage.

The following morning, the board summoned me upstairs.

The director sat at the far end of the conference table.

“The public attention has become too disruptive,” he said. “The board has decided that you should step away for the rest of the season.”

“My name has already been removed from the tour?”

No one answered.

I looked around the table.

“Is this the board’s decision, or the sponsor’s?”

Not one person met my eyes.

I understood.

“All right.”

I stood and gathered my things.

“I have an excellent memory. I’ll remember everyone who made this decision.”

On my way out, I passed the sponsor banners covering the main corridor.

The largest one carried the name of the Hale Foundation.

I stopped in front of it.

Had my talent ever been enough, or had everyone respected me only because they believed I belonged to Julian?

By the time I reached my car, my disappointment had settled into something colder.

I sent a message to my agent.

Find me independent engagements. New York, another state—I don’t care. Send my schedule anywhere that will consider me.

The orchestra had already removed me from the tour.

I no longer had any reason to stay available for them.

Aldo was the only person who defended me.

After I left the meeting, he slammed his hand against the table and told the board that I had done nothing wrong. Punishing me to satisfy an online mob made them no better than the people harassing me.

“Perhaps,” one board member replied. “But we have no obligation to be better.”

That night, Aldo suffered a heart attack at home.

By the time I reached the hospital, he was already in surgery.

I waited outside the operating room until the light above the door changed from red to green.

The surgeon emerged and removed his mask.

“He made it. Another two minutes, and there would have been nothing we could do.”

Relief weakened my knees.

“Thank you.”

Aldo had no family, so I completed his admission paperwork and paid the deposit with my own card.

While I waited for him to wake up, my phone began to vibrate.

My father was calling.

This time, I answered.

“The situation has gone far enough,” he said. “What are you planning to do?”

“I’ll accept independent performances for now. I’ve spent so many years following the orchestra’s schedule that I almost forgot I was allowed to choose for myself.”

Silence passed between us.

Then I said quietly, “Dad, I miss you.”

“Then come home.”

His voice remained stern, but I heard the softness beneath it.

“I’m getting older, Bianca. It’s time for you to return and take your place.”

For the first time since the proposal, I felt as though I could breathe.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll come home soon.”

Three days later, my agent called.

“A private sponsor is willing to finance your return to the stage. They want to discuss the contract with you over dinner tonight.”

The meeting was held in a private dining room at one of the most exclusive hillside hotels in the state.

When I entered, I recognized several wealthy heirs whose faces regularly appeared in entertainment magazines.

Vivian sat at the head of the table.

She barely looked at me. She only tilted her chin toward the empty chair opposite her.

One of the men pushed a contract across the table.

The payment was generous. A single evening would earn me more than six months with the orchestra.

But they were not offering to restore my career.

The contract required me to perform exclusively at their private parties and personal events.

They wanted to turn me into entertainment they could purchase whenever they pleased.

One of them leaned back with a smile.

“You’re only playing the piano. What difference does the venue make?”

I photographed every page of the contract with my phone.

When I stood, the man beside me caught my wrist.

I pulled away, twisting it in the process. Pain shot up my arm so sharply that my vision blurred.

I forced myself to remain steady.

“No, thank you. This arrangement isn’t suitable for me.”

I returned the contract to the center of the table and walked out.

In the hallway, I lowered my head and rubbed my injured wrist.

I nearly collided with someone waiting outside the door.

Julian.

“Of course you’re here.”

He reached up to wipe the tears of pain from my face.

I stepped away before he could touch me.

His expression hardened.

“Do you know why no one in this city dared treat you like that before?”

I looked at him.

“Because everyone knew you were my fiancée. They respected you because you had the Hale name protecting you.”

His gaze moved toward the private room behind me.

“Without me, this is what you should expect.”

Even Julian seemed to hear the cruelty in his own words.

He exhaled and reached for my injured arm. Taking my wrist carefully between his hands, he began to massage it.

“Come back with me,” he said. “You can return to the orchestra. You can still be the respected pianist everyone admired.”

His voice softened.

“Bianca, stop making a scene.”

I pulled my wrist from his hands.

“I don’t need you to make me a respected pianist.”

Julian went still.

“And there is no future for us.”