I hadn't even made it to the parking lot before I was hugging my arms against the chill.

When I looked up, a dark figure stood in my path.

Wyatt shoved a purchase order into my bag.

He was breathing hard, and there was a stubbornness on his face I'd never seen before. "Mildred, I returned the piano you just bought. I exchanged it for the Steinway—the one you always wanted."

His fingers trembled.

"I still remember. Your dream was to play your own concert on one."

"Consider this piano a gift from me. Please... stop resenting me. Can you do that?"

When I heard those words, I slowly pulled off my gloves.

I hadn't said a single word. But the moment his eyes fell on my hands—covered in scars, every finger—he went silent.

After all, he knew better than anyone that I could never perform in a concert again.

Eight years ago, I had been the most talked-about competitor in the National Piano Competition.

But the day before the finals, he stole my original compositions and gave them to his protégée, Vera Swanson—all to make her famous. And when she deliberately poured boiling water over my hands, he did nothing to stop her.

My fingers were scalded beyond recognition, flesh raw and ruined. And still, he shielded Vera behind him. "Mildred Fox! It's one competition. Did you really have to fight Vera for it?"

He dragged me to the hospital. "You want a championship? I'll arrange another competition for you next year."

"But this time, you step aside for Vera."

I cried the entire night. Stubbornly, I peeled the blood-soaked bandages from my hands.

But even with blood staining the keys, I couldn't play even the simplest piece all the way through.

I lost my chance at the competition. Then the entire internet turned on me, calling me a plagiarist.

I went to Vera Swanson's apartment like a woman possessed, desperate to make her admit that she was the one who had stolen from me.

But the moment I threw open the door, I saw two naked bodies tangled together.

All I remember is Wyatt pressing Vera into his arms, shielding her, his eyes bloodshot as he roared at me: "Mildred! If you still want to be Mrs. Simmons, get the hell out!"

But I had been someone he once held in the palm of his hand. Someone he'd loved. How could I just let it go?

So I lost all composure. I screamed. I raged through that apartment like a hurricane.