Chapter 3

The iron gates of Caleb’s private villa swung open. I gripped the strap of my worn-out tote bag, my heart pounding.

I was just here to play the piano. For his engagement party rehearsal.

Don't have anything else to do with him. Don't drag him down anymore. I thought to myself.

Vivian was already waiting in the grand living room. She looked flawless in a silk slip dress, a stark contrast to my faded jeans and oversized sweater.

"Florence! You actually came." Vivian smiled. She walked over, her heels clicking against the marble floor. "I have to admit, I was surprised when Caleb told me. You know, back then, he wouldn't even let you carry anything weight. Said your hands were too precious."

I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth. "Where is the piano?"

She pointed to the corner of the room. A magnificent Steinway grand. "Let’s get started, shall we? The engagement is this weekend. I need everything to be perfect."

I sat on the bench. The keys felt cool beneath my fingertips, a ghost of a life I used to live. I took a breath and started to play.

It had been ages since I touched a concert-grade Steinway or played a piece this demanding. I was a little rusty, but the muscle memory kicked in. I forced my fingers to adapt, gliding over the keys to keep the tempo steady.

Finally, the piece ended. I dropped my hands to my lap, subtly massaging my stiff right thumb.

"Not bad," Vivian said. She walked over to a silver tray on the coffee table. "You must be thirsty. I had the maid brew some Earl Grey."

She picked up a porcelain teacup and walked toward me.

"Thank you, but I’m fine—"

"Oh, just take it." Vivian shoved the cup toward me.

The scalding black tea splashed directly onto my right hand and soaked the sheet music on the stand.

"Ah!" I gasped, pulling my hand back. The skin on the back of my hand instantly turned an angry, blistering red.

"Oh my god! I’m so clumsy!" Vivian gasped.

The shock of the pain hit my chest. My breath hitched. Suddenly, the air in the room felt too thin.

I clutched my throat, my mouth opening as I struggled to pull in oxygen. An asthma attack. The severe stress and sudden shock triggered it.

I fell off the bench, my knees hitting the hardwood floor. I desperately clawed at my tote bag, trying to find my inhaler. My vision started to blur.

"Florence? Are you okay?" Vivian’s voice sounded far away.

"What the hell did you do?!" a furious voice roared from the hallway.

Caleb dropped to his knees beside me. His face was pale, his dark eyes wide with panic.

"Florence! Breathe, look at me, breathe!"

I couldn't. I was suffocating. My nails dug into his shirt.

He scooped me up into his arms and sprinted down the hall. He kicked open the door to a bedroom and dropped me onto the mattress.

"Hold on. Just hold on!" he yelled, his voice cracking.

He yanked open the nightstand drawer. A second later, he shoved an inhaler into my mouth.

"Press it! Now!"

I pressed the canister and inhaled sharply. The medication hit my lungs. I coughed violently, curling into a ball on the bed, but the airway slowly began to open.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my chest heaving.

Caleb was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head buried in his hands. He was trembling.

My eyes landed on the open nightstand drawer.

Inside, neatly lined up, were at least a dozen unopened asthma inhalers. It was the exact, expensive brand I used to use five years ago. He kept them here. Right next to his bed.

Caleb lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot. The panic was fading, replaced by a dark, simmering rage.

He reached into my cheap tote bag, and pulled out my inhaler. It was a cheap, generic brand. Faded and almost empty.

He held it up, his knuckles turning white.

Caleb’s voice was dangerously low. "Six million dollars. I gave you six million dollars, and you can't even afford the best medicine for yourself?"

My heart skipped a beat.

I forced a laugh, pushing myself up against the headboard. I hid my trembling, burned right hand under the blanket.

"Of course I buy them," I lied, keeping my voice light. "It's six million, Caleb. You think I don't treat myself well? I just... grabbed the wrong one today. That’s an old backup."

I looked at him and forced a bright smile. "Besides, I haven't had an attack in a long time. Today was just an accident. And I know Vivian didn't mean it..."

"Shut up."

The words cut through the room like a knife.

I froze. Caleb wasn’t looking at my face. He was staring at the blanket where I had hidden my hand.

He lunged forward. Before I could pull away, he grabbed my right wrist and yanked it out from under the covers.

He was staring at the rough calluses, the split cuticles, the slightly swollen joints. These were not the hands of a concert pianist. These were the hands of a laborer.

"I know you haven't played on a professional stage in five years," Caleb said. His voice was deadpan, but his eyes were burning into mine.

My breath caught. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Florence." He leaned in, trapping me against the headboard. His chest brushed against mine. "I had my guys look into you. You don't do high-end private shows. You teach kids at a run-down community shop. You gave up the piano."

"That's none of your business—"

"It is my business!" he roared, slamming his free hand against the headboard, inches from my face.

His chest heaved. The raw pain in his eyes made my chest ache.

"You left me," Caleb whispered, his voice shaking with a mix of fury and heartbreak. "You took the check, and walked away. You said you needed the money for your career. To go to Europe. To be a star."

He tightened his grip on my wrist, bringing my ruined hand up between us.

"So tell me, Florence," he gritted his teeth, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "If you didn't spend it on your music. Where the hell did that six million dollars go?"