Chapter 4 Her Name

But for some reason, James just felt empty inside.

He stood in the empty walk-in closet for a long time, so long that he felt like an invisible layer of dust had settled on his suit shoulders.

This villa had never felt so lifeless before.

Usually at this hour, the sound of a violin would drift from the music room—not any complete piece, just a few scales, played over and over again, grating on his nerves. Or there'd be the smell of some soup wafting from the kitchen.

He used to find it incredibly annoying.

But now that it was all gone, he found himself unable to adjust.

Throughout the entire house, there was only the monotonous hum of the air purifier and an unfamiliar smell of disinfectant. It wasn't like the kind used at home—more like what a cleaning company would leave behind after a deep clean, cold and impersonal, carrying an air of wanting to wipe away all traces of the past.

This smell seemed to be telling him that Emily was really going to leave him.

James pulled his phone from his suit's inner pocket, unlocked the screen, found his assistant Terry Perez's number and dialed. He didn't even notice how cold and harsh his own voice sounded.

"Find out where Emily's staying now. Right away."

Terry on the other end was probably busy with something else and took a moment to respond: "Mr. Smith, at this hour, it might not be very convenient..."

"I don't want to hear excuses." James had no patience and cut him off directly. "I'm giving you one hour. I don't care what you have to do—contact her and get her back home immediately."

He wasn't asking. He was ordering.

After hanging up, James yanked off his tie and carelessly tossed it onto the sofa armrest. The tie slid off and fell to the floor, but he couldn't be bothered to bend down and pick it up. He sank into the sofa, and just as he was about to close his eyes, a video call from Sophia popped up.

On the screen was Sophia's face, wearing delicate light makeup, with just the right touch of redness at the corners of her eyes. Her hair fell smoothly around her shoulders, making her look both wronged and fragile.

"James, Erik finally fell asleep." Her voice carried a sob, soft and gentle. "When are you coming back? This house is so big, I'm a bit scared being here alone..."

James stared expressionlessly at the face on the screen, watching her work hard to play the role of a little woman who needed protection. In the past, he might have found this kind of fragility charming, a catalyst for a man's protective instincts. But today, looking at this face, he felt an indescribable sense of disgust rising in his heart for the first time.

Emily never said she was scared. Emily was as stubborn as a rock—even with a high fever, she could drive herself to the emergency room.

"Got it."

Without waiting for Sophia to say anything else, James reached out and pressed the hang-up button. The world became quiet.

At the same time, in a luxury apartment downtown, Emily had just walked out of the bathroom. Wrapped in a bathrobe, she was slowly drying her wet hair with a towel.

This place didn't have the intimidatingly large villa that was the Smith Villa, or even a proper music room—her violin could only lean temporarily against the living room wall. But somehow, standing on every inch of floor here, she felt completely comfortable. Even breathing felt easier.

She poured herself a glass of warm water and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window barefoot, without slippers.

Outside the window were the city's countless lights. The traffic on the elevated highway flowed like glowing ribbons, quietly streaming through the night. In the distance, office buildings still had scattered lights on, like stars in the night sky.

Seven years. In the seven years since marrying James, this seemed to be the first time she had the mood to stand quietly and look at the night view outside. Before, where she stood, the window only looked out onto neatly trimmed lawns and lonely streetlights.

The phone screen on the coffee table lit up, vibrating with a news notification.

[Celestial University Centennial Celebration, Inviting Distinguished Alumni Worldwide to Return and Celebrate Together]

Celestial University. Her alma mater.

Distinguished alumni... These words pricked her like a needle.

Emily's finger stopped on the screen without scrolling further. She suddenly remembered many years ago, on graduation day, when her white-haired advisor had grabbed her hand, eyes full of light, and said excitedly: "Emily, remember my words—you will be the brightest, most brilliant star in the hundred-year history of Celestial University's School of Music!"

Everyone thought so. She thought so too.

But what happened after that? After that, she became Mrs. Smith.

That star that hadn't yet risen into the sky fell headfirst into the daily grind of marriage, covered in the smell of cooking oil, and could never shine again.

The phone vibrated again. This time it was a text from an unfamiliar work number, but she recognized the avatar—it was Terry.

[Ms. Johnson, Mr. Smith asked me to find you. He's very worried about you. If you see this message, could you tell me your address? I'll drive over to pick you up and take you home.]

Worried?

Emily felt like laughing. Was he worried she wasn't doing well, or worried that he'd lost a servant he could order around at will?

She didn't think much about it. Her fingertips tapped on the screen.

[Not necessary.]

Send. Then she found that number, clicked on it, and added it to the blacklist. The movements were smooth and practiced.

After doing all this, she placed her phone face-down on the table, picked up her water glass, and continued watching the night view outside.

A minute later, James's phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID—it was Terry—and immediately answered, his tone very impatient: "Where is she?"

Terry's voice on the other end carried a sense of defeat.

"Mr. Smith... Ms. Johnson won't say where she is."

"I don't want to hear about the process, I want results. If all you needed to do was tell her to come home, would I need to ask you?" James was very angry, his voice rising. "I must see her back home tonight, must!"

"There's really no way. We're not the mafia—we can't just kidnap someone." Terry's voice became even more cautious.

Terry paused, seemingly organizing his words, then continued in a more serious tone: "And after I conveyed your message, Ms. Johnson blocked my number too. Mr. Smith, this has never happened before. What exactly happened between you and Ms. Johnson?"

At this point, Terry's voice became as quiet as a mosquito: "Mr. Smith... maybe you should apologize to Ms. Johnson yourself and go pick her up personally. Ms. Johnson likes you so much, she definitely wouldn't embarrass you. If you send a small-time assistant like me, it might just make Ms. Johnson feel unvalued and even angrier."

James gripped his phone, unable to say a word.

He couldn't exactly tell Terry that he was asking him to contact Emily because he himself couldn't reach her—Emily had already blocked him.

What he'd always been most proud of was his control over everything. But now, for the first time, that control had been shattered to pieces in front of Emily.

James was fuming inside. Emily had a perfectly good life, but instead she was throwing a tantrum, and now she was hiding away. Even when he offered her a way out, she wouldn't take it. Did she think he would beg and plead like an ordinary man?

He didn't have time for that!

James had decided to ignore Emily for now. When she'd had enough of her tantrum and thought things through, she'd naturally come back.

In the hotel, Emily finished the water in her glass and picked up her phone again. Looking at that number in her blacklist, the corners of her lips curved up ever so slightly.

Some things had been lost for too long. It was time to take them back, one by one, with her own hands.

Like the position of principal violinist in the orchestra.

And also, at Celestial University's School of Music, that star that should have been the most brilliant.