Chapter 2

Pain spread like a slow-acting poison.

If it had merely been a betrayal by a business partner, perhaps I could have handled it professionally. But Liam had crossed a line; he had exploited my love. That tore the wound far deeper.

On the day we decided to "elope" to London, he had dragged me to an underground jazz bar to celebrate. Under the dim lights, I couldn't tear my eyes away from this man I had adored for years.

When he leaned in to kiss me, I didn't pull away. The emotions I had suppressed for years burst forth like a dam breaking.

Overcome, I asked, "Liam, after this song is finished, what are we?"

He placed a perfunctory kiss on my forehead. "What else could we be? You're my muse."

The bar erupted in applause, seemingly cheering for us. But barely two days later, his words shattered that fragile fantasy.

I laughed bitterly through my tears, a sound filled with self-mockery. It seemed that ambiguous answer was just another stalling tactic to keep me steady while he made room for Nina.

The humidifier in my apartment hummed, slowly soothing the tear tracks at the corners of my eyes. My broken heart began to reassemble itself.

From the very beginning, Liam had misunderstood one thing. He was just a small-time singer from Brooklyn, while I was the sole heiress to the Vance Media Empire.

We were never supposed to be on the same frequency.

The contract termination papers in my hand were crumpled, but I didn't care anymore.

I would have my lawyers draft a more thorough document. The Vance family would retain control of the copyrights forever.

I filled out a new itinerary, pausing briefly at the destination field. Then I dialed my mother’s assistant: "Catherine, is that spot at the Royal Academy of Music in London still available? Yes, just for me."

Outside the window, sirens wailed, as if clearing the path for my departure. I closed my eyes, and for the first time in years, Liam's face didn't occupy my mind.

Instead, it was replaced by a man I had once met backstage at an awards ceremony. The young President of a rival company, Julian Thorne. He had worn an impossibly arrogant smirk back then, just as he did two years ago: "Mark my words, Harper. Sooner or later, you'll find out Liam isn't worthy of your talent. When that happens, come find me."

Back then, I thought he was just trying to poach me. Now, Liam and I were thoroughly finished.

I sent the email and let out a long breath.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. I had rented this apartment specifically to fit Liam’s "starving artist" persona; besides me, only he had a key.

I opened the door to find Liam standing there, his voice as magnetic as ever. "You didn't come to the studio. I was worried."

I kept my tone even. "My migraine flared up, so I stayed home."

Just as I was about to close the door, I caught a glimpse of a figure behind him.

Nina, wearing a men's hoodie clearly two sizes too big for her. When our eyes met, she shrank back. Liam noticed her reaction and immediately pulled her into his arms, his arm acting as a shield. "Harper, don't look at her like that."

There she went again, acting so terrified, as if I were some harsh school disciplinarian.

My expression turned cold. "I told you, I don't like strangers here outside of work hours."

Liam frowned deeply. "Nina isn't a stranger. She came because she thought you might need some fashion advice."

Before I could respond, tears welled up in Nina’s eyes. "Harper, I'm sorry. I know you've always thought I was just a pretty face, but I swear I only wanted to help."

She sobbed, looking utterly piteous. "I won't disturb your creative process."

Liam glared at me. "She's sensitive, but her intentions are good. You're disappointing me, Harper."

Nina tugged at his sleeve, feigning magnanimity. "It's okay, Liam. Don't fight with your ace songwriter over me."

She squeezed out a tearful smile. "She said you two have known each other for a long time. How could I ever compare?"

"Don't say that," Liam murmured, tenderly wiping away her tears. "Your spirit is unique."

Then he turned to me, his expression icy. "Nina is upset. I'm going to take her home first. Reflect on your attitude. And don't forget to send me the lyrics for the title track."

He was right about one thing. I did need to reflect—reflect on why I had wasted so many years on a blind man.

I didn't hesitate to contact the landlord to break the lease. The knot of tension in my chest finally dissolved.