I even started a livestream, shrieking until my voice gave out that I was the one who'd written those compositions.

I thought that would be enough—that she'd back down and return my music and my husband.

But what came instead was her trembling, pitiful little sob. "Wyatt! I'm not afraid of her!"

"Don't you remember? I'm your brave little lamb! I love you! I want to be with you!"

"If Mildred is willing to give you up, I'll kneel on camera right now and admit the compositions are hers!"

Those words sent Wyatt's protective instincts into overdrive.

That very night, he held a press conference as CEO of Simmons Group.

"My wife, out of extreme jealousy toward Vera's piano talent, stole her compositions before the competition. I discovered the theft in time and had them returned."

"The truth is, my wife knows nothing about piano. I spoiled her too much in the past—bought her accolades she never earned—and she developed the delusion that she was a gifted pianist."

"As for the alleged relationship between Vera and myself, my wife fabricated it entirely to frame an innocent girl."

"Please don't misunderstand Vera. She is a hardworking, dedicated young woman."

With a few simple sentences and a forged psychiatric evaluation, he pinned the label of mental illness on me.

And just like that, the name Vera Swanson exploded overnight.

She became the hottest young piano prodigy in the country.

And I fell into depression.

On the worst day, my body moved without my mind's permission, and I fell from the third-floor balcony.

When I came to, the first thing I saw was Wyatt standing over me—holding divorce papers. "Mildred, do you have any idea how terrifying you are?"

In that moment, it was like waking from a long, suffocating dream. I picked up the pen and signed without a second's hesitation.

So he was the one who destroyed my dream with his own hands.

And now he wanted to buy it back.

How laughable.

My thoughts snapped back to the present. I pulled out the order form and handed it back to him, then dialed the sales associate right in front of his face. "Deliver the piano I originally ordered."

"And if you ever let a stranger alter my order again, I will file a formal complaint."

I hung up and moved to walk past him.

He reached for my arm. I sidestepped, then lifted my gaze to the space behind him. "Mr. Simmons, spending money on other women like this—doesn't your wife get jealous?"