Chapter 1: You're Nothing But a Cheap Substitute

Sophia's POV

The final notes of Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto No. 1 are still echoing through Lincoln Center as I stand beside the grand piano, sweat trickling down my forehead. My chest is rising and falling from the intensity of the performance, and the thunderous applause from the audience makes my green eyes sparkle with satisfaction. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I take in the moment.

Alexander turns from his conductor's podium to bow to the audience, then his gaze finds mine. There's something warm and appreciative in his dark eyes that makes my heart skip a beat. He walks toward the piano, his movements fluid and confident.

"Brilliant as always, Sophia," he says, his voice low with that hint of Italian accent that never fails to affect me. "You brought something new to Tchaikovsky tonight."

Heat rises to my cheeks as I gather my sheet music. "Your conducting made all the difference. We really work well together, don't we?"

Before Alexander can respond, Marcus Sterling, his assistant, hurries over looking apologetic. "Alexander, sorry to interrupt. There's a call from Europe about next month's Vienna arrangements. They say it's urgent."

Alexander gives me that familiar smile. "Give me ten minutes. Let me handle this, then we can go celebrate?"

I nod. "I'll wait for you in the lounge."

Alexander follows Marcus away, and I'm left alone. I gather my skirts and walk toward the backstage area, my heels clicking against the polished floor. The adrenaline from the performance is still racing through my veins, making everything feel electric and alive.

The backstage corridors are dimly lit, with only a few staff members still bustling about. I make my way toward Alexander's dressing room, planning to surprise him when he returns. The door is slightly ajar, and I reach for the handle.

But then I hear voices inside. Heated, arguing voices. One is unmistakably Alexander's, and the other belongs to a woman with a French accent.

"Three years, Alexander!" The woman's voice cuts like glass. "You've let this nobody from Ohio replace me for three whole years!"

"Isabella, stop this." Alexander sounds tired. "We're over, you know that."

"Over? You think finding some substitute will make you forget what we had?"

My hand freezes on the door handle. My body starts trembling as I peer through the crack. Inside, I can see an elegant blonde woman. Isabella Moreau, Alexander's former partner. She's everything I'm not: sophisticated, European, with the kind of background that opens doors in the classical music world.

Substitute? She called me a substitute?

The door suddenly swings open wider, and Isabella notices me standing there. A cold smile spreads across her lips.

"Oh, look who's here." Isabella deliberately raises her voice. "Alexander, do you really think this little girl from Ohio can replace me?"

I stumble back a step, shock written across my face. "What are you talking about?"

Isabella moves toward me, her blue eyes filled with contempt. "You're nothing but a cheap substitute, darling. Three years ago, he chose you only because you look like I did when I was younger."

"Isabella, that's enough!" Alexander jumps to his feet, but he doesn't immediately deny her words. Instead, he tries to calm her down, which makes my heart sink.

My face drains of color instantly. I clutch my dress, my knuckles turning white. The light in my eyes quickly dims as the weight of her words settles in.

"Look at her playing jazz in that pathetic little bar." Isabella continues her assault. "It's an insult to classical music! Alexander, when did your taste become so cheap?"

My voice trembles but remains steady. "My music speaks for itself. I don't need to rely on my background."

Isabella laughs mockingly. "Background? You think tonight's applause was for you? They're clapping because of the name on the program!"

Then she delivers what feels like a killing blow. "You know what? Every time he rehearses with you, he closes his eyes. Because that way he can pretend it's me sitting at that piano."

This explains those moments when he'd close his eyes and listen so intently. He was thinking of her.

"He even told me that your technique would need years to reach the level I had back then. Poor little girl, did you really think you were special?"

That's when I finally snap. I lunge forward and shove Isabella away from me. We collide, and she stumbles backward, her diamond earring getting torn off in the scuffle. We crash into the vanity, sending the mirror cracking and cosmetics scattering across the floor.

"Stop! Both of you!" Alexander rushes to separate us.

But in the chaos, Alexander instinctively reaches out to protect Isabella's wrist, worried she might be hurt. This gesture is crystal clear to me, and it breaks something inside.

"I see..." My voice comes out hoarse and broken. "Even now, you're still protecting her."

With shaking hands, I reach up and unclasp the silver musical note necklace from around my neck. The first gift Alexander gave me three years ago. My hands are trembling, but my movements are resolute.

I throw the necklace hard at Alexander. "If I'm just a substitute, then go find your original!"

Alexander catches the necklace, shock evident on his face. "Sophia, you don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly," I say, tears threatening but my voice remaining firm. "For three years, I thought we had something real. But it turns out I was just a shadow."

By now, several staff members and musicians have gathered at the doorway, whispering among themselves. The humiliation is complete and public.

I raise my voice so everyone can hear. "Starting tonight, I, Sophia Blake, am no longer anyone's accessory! Our partnership ends here!"

I turn and walk out of the dressing room without looking back, my heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. The onlookers automatically part to create a path, and an awkward silence fills the air.

"Sophia! Wait!" Alexander calls after me, taking a few steps in my direction.

But I don't turn around. If anything, I quicken my pace. When I reach the exit, I can't help but glance back one last time. Through the glass doors, I see Alexander standing in the middle of the corridor, still holding that necklace in his hand. Isabella is leaning against the doorframe with the smile of a victor on her face.

I won't be anyone's shadow anymore.

The night wind sweeps across Manhattan's streets as I walk alone into the darkness, leaving behind the brilliant lights of Lincoln Center and everything I've just lost.