Chapter 2 Too Ruthless

Isabella's POV

Elena's voice had finally lost its sharp edge.

She didn't offer praise, just studied me for a few seconds before giving a slight nod.

"Keep this up. At next week's audition, you can't afford any mistakes."

That simple nod was enough. The weight that had been crushing my chest all afternoon finally lifted, and I could breathe again.

"Thank you, ma'am." The relief in my voice was obvious.

My gaze drifted to the corner where Sophia Scott was slowly placing rosin into her violin case. Her eyes flicked toward me, resentment flickering across her face before she looked away.

Three years ago, when I'd fallen apart at that crucial performance, she'd been backstage. The mockery in her eyes then—I'd never forgotten it.

After practice ended, Mia and I walked out of the music studio together.

I raised my hand to rub my aching shoulder. My entire right arm was numb, every movement pulling at sore muscles. Even lifting it felt like a monumental effort.

"My God, Elena was brutal today," Mia stretched dramatically, hoisting her violin case higher on her shoulder. "I'm telling you, when she pointed that teaching stick at the measure you botched, I didn't dare breathe. Thank God I'm not competing for that solo spot, or I would've completely blanked on the sheet music."

"I'm perfectly happy being an ensemble member," she shrugged, her tone light. "That kind of pressure—standing in the spotlight with everyone's eyes on you—I'll leave that to people like you who can actually handle it."

I managed a weak smile, instinctively looking down at my left fingertips.

They were covered in thick calluses, marks left by three years of relentless practice, rough and hard, carrying all my hope.

The phrase "can actually handle it"—I hadn't dared face those words for three whole years.

Ever since my mother died and I'd lost focus at that performance that could have changed my life, I'd not only damaged the expensive violin she left me, but I'd also been blacklisted from all performance opportunities in the industry.

For three years, I'd been invisible, relegated to odd jobs and practice sessions at this music studio on the outskirts of town, repeating the same pieces endlessly, barely managing to convince Elena to give me another shot at the stage.

This solo spot was my only chance to perform again, to honor my mother, to prove I still deserved to hold a bow.

"I have no way out, Mia. If I don't get this spot, I might spend the rest of my life backstage handing people sheet music and tuning strings."

Mia cut me off, her tone urgent. "Hey, don't do this to yourself. Come on, there's a coffee shop up ahead. I'll buy you a hot chocolate, help you unwind a bit."

The corner coffee shop glowed with warm yellow light, like a beacon in the darkness, inviting and safe.

The moment I pushed open the door, rich coffee aroma mixed with soft jazz washed over me, shutting out the cool night air.

We chose a window seat. Within minutes, two cups of steaming hot chocolate arrived at our table.

I wrapped both hands around the warm mug, the heat gradually spreading from my palms up my arms and into my shoulders, finally pushing away the cold and exhaustion that had built up since the afternoon.

My phone on the table suddenly lit up. I glanced down—it was a message from Maurice.

Maurice: [Isabella, I'm sorry.]

Looking at those words on the screen, the weight that had been pressing on my chest all day finally shifted. My nose tingled, and my eyes started to burn.

"What? Maurice texted you to apologize?" Mia bit her straw, joking with a smile, though her eyes saw right through me.

"Yeah, he apologized."

I couldn't help but smile, picking up my cup and taking a small sip of hot chocolate. The sweet warmth slid down my throat, but it couldn't completely smooth out the knot in my chest.

"Then why do you still look like that?" Mia saw right through me. "Still upset about this afternoon?"

I set down my cup and nodded. "I'm just tired, Mia. I practice like crazy every day, not daring to slack off for even a second, terrified I'm falling short somewhere, afraid of being overtaken. But him? He never seems to really understand what I'm going through."

"Why was Maurice late yesterday anyway?" Mia pressed.

"He said he lost track of time," I answered vaguely, not wanting to elaborate, just wanting to drop the subject. "You know, he's busy with his graduation thesis."

Mia frowned. "Lost track of time? Isabella, you have your audition next week. This isn't some minor thing. As your boyfriend, he should understand better than anyone what you're dealing with right now, not add to your stress."

After we finished our hot chocolate and I walked out of the coffee shop, the evening breeze hit again, noticeably cooler, making me shiver.

I instinctively pulled my coat tighter, said goodbye to Mia, then headed home alone.

My phone kept buzzing in my pocket, the continuous vibrations breaking the quiet night.

I pulled it out and saw a flood of messages from Maurice, over a dozen in a row, filling the chat window.

[Isabella, can you please reply? I'm really worried about you.]

[I promise I'll never do this again.]

[I really screwed up today. Susan had a problem with her graduation thesis and came to me for help. I agreed to look at it, and we got so absorbed in discussing it that I completely lost track of time. By the time I realized it, two hours had passed. I'm such an idiot. I shouldn't have agreed to help her, especially not now...]

I took a deep breath, shoved my phone back in my pocket, and quickened my pace, not wanting to let those words drag me down again.

When I reached my apartment building, I spotted someone sitting on the steps in front of my door. The figure looked lonely in the dim light, their shadow stretched long across the pavement.

It was Maurice.

He heard footsteps and quickly looked up. Seeing me, he immediately stood, holding a paper bag, his eyes full of guilt and anxiety.

He rushed toward me, his voice careful, almost pleading. "Isabella, you're finally back. I called you so many times, but you didn't answer."

I didn't respond right away, just looked at him quietly.

He held the paper bag out to me, his voice even softer. "I remember you said you wanted a hot dog from that shop on the corner. I got you one. It's still hot."

He lowered his gaze, like a kid caught doing something wrong, his tone clearly remorseful. "I'm sorry, Isabella. I was really wrong today. I shouldn't have helped Susan, and I definitely shouldn't have made you wait so long and gotten you in trouble with Elena. You can yell at me, even hit me if you want, just please don't ignore me."

Looking at his pitiful yet sincere expression, the wall I'd built up in my heart suddenly crumbled.

All the hurt and anger from the past two days slowly faded in that moment.

I took the still-warm paper bag.

He froze for a moment, then his eyes lit up, his tone filled with barely contained joy. "So... you forgive me?"

I didn't answer directly, just tugged at his sleeve, stood on my toes, and pressed my lips lightly against his cold ones—brief, gentle, but clear enough.

"Drive carefully on your way back." My voice was soft but carried a hint of warmth.

He pulled me into a tight embrace, as if afraid I might slip away. He whispered "I love you" over and over in my ear before reluctantly leaving.

Holding the still-warm hot dog, I leaned against the door, watching his car drive farther and farther into the night until it disappeared from view.

Maybe Mia was right. Maybe Maurice wasn't perfect in a lot of ways.

But right now, this feeling of being on his mind, of being loved by him—for me, that was enough.

But I never imagined that the next morning, Maurice would show up right outside my apartment building with an even bigger "surprise."