Chapter 2

I didn't take Rose home.

Nathan's car was still parked at the concert hall entrance, but I walked past it and hailed a cab.

Once in the backseat, Rose held her sheet music tight, crumpling the paper in her hands.

She didn't ask about her father again; she just pressed her face against the window, trying hard to hold back her tears.

I knew she was waiting for me to tell her it was all a mistake.

But I couldn't bring myself to say it.

Nathan had acknowledged Leo as his son in front of everyone. Vivian hadn't been surprised, and neither had the foundation staff.

That meant the secret had lived out of my sight for years, leaving Rose and me as the last to know.

I brought her to a nearby hotel. After washing her face and changing her into pajamas, she finally asked, "Will Dad give Grandma's violin back?"

"I will get it back," I said, tucking her in. "That violin is yours."

Rose looked at me, hesitating for a long time. "If Leo doesn't have a dad with him, is he worse off than me? Dad said I should help him."

Her words made my chest tighten.

Nathan was a master at packaging his choices as responsibilities.

He had convinced me to leave the orchestra the exact same way, saying the foundation was just starting, Rose was still young, and someone had to yield.

Back then, I believed he was looking out for us.

Now, he was asking his ten-year-old daughter to shoulder the dignity of his betrayal so he could keep playing the generous father.

"Being compassionate doesn't mean giving away what's yours," I said. "And it certainly doesn't mean letting people hurt you."

Rose nodded, but her hands were still clutching that piece of music.

At 1:00 AM, Nathan finally called. He didn't ask if Rose was crying, nor did he ask where we were staying. His first words were: "How long do you plan to throw a fit?"

I stepped out into the hotel hallway and lowered my voice. "You should start by explaining who Leo is."

"He's my son, and I will handle it." Nathan paused, his tone laced with barely suppressed impatience. "Tonight wasn't supposed to happen so abruptly, but the board thought introducing him publicly would benefit the foundation."

"Does the board know you have another family?"

"Don't make it sound so ugly. Vivian has had a hard time raising a child alone all these years. I can't just pretend nothing happened."

I gripped my phone tightly.

To Nathan, the ugliest thing had never been lying to his wife and daughter—it was someone speaking the truth out loud.

He continued, "Bring Rose home tomorrow. We're shooting a promotional video for the new academy next week, and both kids need to be in it. The public likes a complete story. Don't let her throw a tantrum."

"You dragged her off the stage, took her grandmother's violin, and now you want her to act out a complete family for you?"

"Adeline," he sighed. "The violin is just an old item. Buy Rose another one. Don't let your emotions strip her of everything she's meant to have."

After the call ended, I stood there for a long time.

Nathan wasn't ignorant of what he was doing.

He knew Rose would be hurt, and he knew I would be furious.

He simply assumed I would compromise in the end—for our daughter, for the foundation, and for the place he called "home."

The next morning, I went home to pick up a change of clothes for Rose.

Nathan wasn't there.

The housekeeper said Gloria had come early to take away Rose's performance photo from the living room, saying it was "to keep the child from feeling sad." I didn't argue and went straight upstairs to pack.

As I passed Nathan's walk-in closet, the suit jacket he wore last night was draped over the back of a chair.

A folded document peeked halfway out of the pocket.

I intended to put it back, but my eyes caught the address at the top.

It wasn't our home address.

The insurance beneficiary was listed as Nathan Grant.

The insured apartment had Vivian Hale and Leo Grant registered as its occupants.