Chapter 2

Rhiannon's POV

By the time I returned to the hillside estate, the sun was fully up.

The scent of expensive agarwood hung heavy in the foyer, doing nothing to mask the suffocating emptiness of the mansion. Ignoring the staff's sideways glances, I walked straight up to the private music room at the far end of the second floor.

I pushed the door open. Resting in the center of the climate-controlled room was a sleek black velvet case.

It was an 18th-century Italian Guarneri, passed down to me by my grandmother. The backplate carried unique varnish patterns earned through centuries of history, and its tone was profound and piercingly sweet. It wasn't just an instrument; it was an extension of my musical soul, the deepest bond between Grandma and me.

I approached it, but just as my fingertips brushed against the cold metal latches, footsteps sounded behind me.

"You're back sooner than I thought."

Edward's voice drifted in from the doorway. He was dressed in a bespoke charcoal-black suit, his tie knotted to absolute perfection. Beneath the high bridge of his nose, his thin lips curved into a faint, mocking smirk.

Right behind him stood Lauren.

Lauren was wrapped in an eye-catching white cashmere coat, an expensive silk scarf wound delicately around her neck to protect her supposedly inflamed throat. Her eyes peered over Edward's shoulder, locking onto the antique violin case with unmistakable greed and jealousy.

"Edward, really, you don't have to go through all this trouble," Lauren murmured in a soft, timid voice. "Rhiannon is part of the orchestra, after all, and that violin belonged to her grandmother. Taking it from her will definitely hurt her feelings. Even though I'm representing the orchestra in the international finals next week, I'm sure I can manage with a standard company instrument..."

"Managing and winning are two very different things," Edward cut in, stepping briskly into the room. He didn't spare my pale, exhausted face a single glance, heading straight for the velvet case.

With practiced ease, he popped the latches open and lifted the gleaming Guarneri from its velvet bed.

"Edward, what are you doing?" I stood up abruptly, my voice raspy from spending the night without sleep. Instinctively, I reached out to snatch it back.

Edward shifted slightly, dodging my grasp with casual ease. He looked down at me from his height, his eyes carrying the mild disdain one might have for a spoiled child throwing a fit. "The judges for Lauren's finals next week are ruthlessly critical. The guest soloist needs an instrument of the highest caliber. Leaving this Guarneri in your hands is a complete waste of its potential. Your playing lately has been as dull as ditchwater. There's not a drop of artistry left in you."

"That's my grandmother's violin," I said, glaring at him, my eyes bloodshot. "She handed it to me with her own two hands on my eighteenth birthday. Edward, you redirected the doctor who was supposed to save her life. Are you really going to rob me of her violin, too?"

"Rob? Watch your mouth, Rhiannon. Everything you eat, wear, and use right now—which part of it isn't funded by the Sterling family?" Edward let out a cold scoff.

He glanced toward his assistant, who immediately stepped forward and offered a brand-new violin case that still reeked of cheap plastic.

Edward kicked the flimsy case toward my feet, his tone dripping with condescension. "I'm not leaving you empty-handed. It's a fresh practice violin. With your current skill level, you're just sitting in the back doing accompaniments anyway. An assembly-line factory model is more than enough for you. When you're this mediocre, the instrument makes no difference."

I looked down at the unbranded case by my sneakers. A sudden wave of absurdity washed over me, so ridiculous it almost made me burst out laughing.

An assembly-line student violin.

Handed to someone who took the Junior Division Gold Medal at the International Tchaikovsky Competition?

I lifted my chin, looking past Edward to Lauren. Standing just behind him, Lauren had a small, triumphant smirk playing on her lips.

"Lauren, take it and go test the tuning," Edward said, passing the Guarneri to her.

Lauren took it eagerly, her fingertips running greedily over the aged wood. "Thank you, Edward. I won't let you down."

Edward finally turned his attention back to me.

I didn't scream, and I didn't break down. I just stared at him with an eerie, detached calm.

"Okay," I said quietly.

Edward's brow furrowed instantly. "What did you say?"

"I said, okay." I bent down, picked up the cheap case, and turned toward the chair in the corner of the room. "You can leave now. I need to practice."

Edward strode over and clamped his hand around my wrist. "Rhiannon, what kind of game are you playing now? I already explained the situation with your grandmother! It was the optimal allocation of medical resources! Who are you trying to guilt-trip with this soulless, dead-eyed attitude?!"

I let him grip my wrist, slowly turning my head to face him. I studied his handsome, twisted features.

The Edward who had thrown himself into the fire in my past life and the man standing in front of me completely fractured apart in this very moment.

"Edward," I whispered softly, my voice as faint as a passing breeze. "You don't need to explain anything. I understand completely."

I really did.

The debt of gratitude from my past life had been paid in full the moment he watched my grandmother fall into paralysis and stripped away the instrument I valued more than my own life. I had forced myself into the mold of a dutiful, submissive wife, clipping my own wings just to repay a ghost from a parallel timeline.

And the man standing before me was nothing more than a tyrant who used my guilt as an excuse to trample on my dignity.

"Good, as long as you understand," Edward scoffed, letting go of my wrist. "Memorize the score for next week's finals. Lauren needs a flawless accompaniment."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked out with Lauren, the door slamming shut behind them.

The latch clicked into place, plunging the room into dead silence.

I sat alone in the hollow expanse of the music room. Slowly, I unzipped the cheap case and pulled out an instrument that smelled heavily of industrial varnish. I rested it against my collarbone and drew the bow across the strings.

*Screeech—*

The rough nylon strings let out a grating, saw-like screech. No resonance. No soul. Nothing but lifeless, grating noise.

I closed my eyes.

In that quiet, frozen moment, I felt it with absolute clarity: the Rhiannon I had painstakingly assembled to appease Edward Sterling, along with the music I had silenced for him, died right there on that cold morning.

And the girl who once lived under the stage lights, who breathed through four strings and a bow—Rhiannon Vance—was slowly opening her eyes within the silence.