Vivian had spent her entire life measuring herself by who wanted her, who envied her, who moved when she entered a room.
Tonight the room had moved for Elena.
Vivian could not forgive that.
Julian closed his suitcase.
“I’m leaving.”
“Good.”
He walked toward the elevator.
Vivian spoke behind him.
“Did you steal her father’s money?”
Julian stopped.
He had hoped she had not heard enough of Cassian’s conversation.
Slowly he turned.
“Who told you that?”
“Cassian questioned you for twenty minutes in my father’s library.”
“It was complicated.”
Vivian’s face changed.
“So you did.”
“I borrowed it.”
“From a dying man?”
“From Elena.”
“That’s worse.”
Julian laughed without humor.
“You suddenly care about Elena?”
“I care about what your past can do to me.”
Of course.
Julian pressed the elevator button.
Vivian walked closer.
“How much?”
“Forty-eight thousand.”
Her eyes widened.
“That’s nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing to us.”
The elevator opened.
Julian stepped inside.
Vivian held the door.
“Why?”
He looked at her.
Because shame had been rotting inside him for years.
Because seeing Elena at the piano had cracked something he had sealed away.
Because he suddenly wanted somebody to understand that he had not always been the man he had become.
“I owed someone.”
“Who?”
“Marcus Vale.”
Vivian released the elevator.
The doors closed.
She stood alone.
And for the first time that night, she looked frightened.
The next morning Elena woke to forty-three missed notifications.
Her coworker Tessa had sent twelve messages.
CALL ME.
YOU’RE EVERYWHERE.
DO NOT OPEN SOCIAL MEDIA UNTIL YOU CALL ME.
Then:
Actually open it.
YOU LOOK AMAZING.
Elena groaned and covered her face.
Her phone rang.
Tessa.
Elena answered.
“I hate you.”
“You’re famous.”
“I hate you more.”
“Six million views.”
Elena sat up.
“What?”
“The video.”
“What video?”
“All of them.”
Elena opened the social media link Tessa sent.
There she was.
Walking toward the piano.
Vivian laughing.
Julian whispering her name.
Cassian lowering his glass.
Then Elena playing.
The caption read:
MAID ACCEPTS BILLIONAIRE CRIME BOSS’S IMPOSSIBLE CHALLENGE AFTER PROFESSIONALS REFUSE.
Elena closed the app.
“I’m moving to another country.”
“No, you’re not. Read the comments.”
“I would rather eat glass.”
“Most people love you.”
“That makes it worse.”
“How?”
“Because they don’t know me.”
Tessa became quiet.
“Elena.”
“What?”
“Adrian Falk posted about you.”
Elena stopped.
“What did he say?”
Tessa read it.
“Last night I heard one of the most instinctive interpretations of the Bellgrave Concerto I have encountered in thirty years. Talent does not ask permission before appearing.”
Elena stared at the wall.
Her father’s photograph sat on the dresser.
Arthur Marlow smiled from a cheap plastic frame.
She whispered, “Dad.”
Tessa heard.
Her voice softened.
“He would be proud.”
Elena swallowed.
Then another notification arrived.
A message from an unknown number.
Cassian.
9 p.m. Bellgrave Conservatory. Side entrance. No reporters.
A second message followed.
And no marriage proposals unless requested.
Elena laughed despite herself.
At 8:55 that evening, she arrived at the conservatory.
Cassian was waiting in the empty recital hall.
No guards visible.
No chandeliers.
No crowd.
Only a stage, rows of empty seats, and a Steinway piano beneath one light.
Elena removed her coat.
“This is your idea of dinner?”
“Dinner is afterward.”
“Why are we here?”
Cassian nodded toward the stage.
“Because I thought you might want to see a piano without three hundred people judging you.”
Elena looked at him.
That was unexpectedly thoughtful.
She walked toward the instrument.
“Do you play?”
“Badly.”
“How badly?”
“I can make musicians leave rooms.”
She smiled.
Cassian sat in the front row.
Elena touched one key.
Then another.
She did not perform.
She simply explored.
Cassian watched.
After several minutes Elena asked, “Why did you really make that challenge?”
He considered lying.
Then decided not to.
“I was bored.”
She looked over her shoulder.
“You offered marriage because you were bored?”
“I didn’t expect anyone to succeed.”
“Romantic.”
“I never claimed to be.”
Elena faced the piano again.
“What happens when people expect you to keep your word?”
“They usually expect that.”
“And?”
“I told you. The proposal became an invitation.”
She looked at him.
“And if I had accepted?”
Cassian held her gaze.
“I would have married you.”
Elena laughed.
He did not.
Her smile disappeared.
“You’re serious.”
“I do not make public promises I won’t keep.”
“That might be the most terrifying thing you’ve said.”
“I’ve said worse.”
“I’m sure.”
Cassian stood.
There was a pause.
Then he said, “Your former fiancé is in trouble.”
Elena’s hand stopped over the keys.
“I asked you to stay out of that.”
“I stayed out of it.”
“That doesn’t sound like staying out.”
“I didn’t investigate for you.”
She turned.
“For whom?”
“For myself.”
“Why?”
Cassian approached the stage.
“Because Marcus Vale’s name came up.”
