Chapter 2

Conrad looked at the bow in my hand.

"Play it again," he said.

The woman beside him frowned. "Conrad, the dinner is about to begin."

"Go downstairs. I'll join you soon."

She glanced at me, clearly unhappy to leave us alone.

Then she kissed his cheek. "Don't keep me waiting."

She walked out without looking back.

Conrad closed the door behind her.

"Start from the beginning."

I placed my fingers on the strings.

"Will you pay me for the full piece?"

"If you finish it."

I began to play.

The melody filled the office. It had once been Conrad's favorite. Whenever he came home late, he would sit beside me and listen until the tension left his face.

Now he stood across the room with no warmth in his eyes.

My fingers moved faster as the music rose.

Then pain shot through my left hand.

I almost missed a note, but I kept going.

"Stop," Conrad said.

The bow froze above the strings.

"I haven't finished."

"Your hand is shaking."

"I can still play."

He crossed the room and caught my wrist before I could begin again.

His eyes settled on the faint scars across my fingers.

"What happened to your hand?"

I pulled away. "Nothing."

"Those scars weren't there before."

"You didn't pay me to answer questions."

His expression turned cold again.

"You're right. I don't care what happened to you."

He returned to his desk and took out another envelope.

It was thinner than the first.

"You said you'd pay for the full piece."

"You didn't finish it."

"You told me to stop."

"And you still expect to be rewarded. Some things never change."

I knew he wasn't talking about the music.

"I didn't steal from your foundation," I said.

"The transfers came from your account."

"They were made in my name. That doesn't mean I made them."

"You disappeared the same night with Dorian Shaw."

"He helped me because no one else would."

Conrad gave a bitter laugh. "Go ask him for money, then."

"I can't."

"Did he finally get tired of you?"

I put the cello back in its case before Conrad could see my hands shake.

He remembered a woman who had emptied an emergency fund and run away with another man.

That woman had never existed.

The transfer records had been changed. Messages between Dorian and me had been cut apart and rearranged. By the time I understood what had happened, Conrad had already decided I was guilty.

I had tried to show him the original records.

He had burned them without reading a page.

"Keep the money," he said. "Consider it payment for reminding me never to trust you again."

I took the second envelope.

I hated him for making me accept it.

I hated myself more for feeling relieved.

Together, the two envelopes were enough to secure Micah's place.

For tonight, that had to be enough.

I left Conrad's office and took the service elevator so the guests wouldn't see me.

By the time I reached the hospital, Micah was awake.

He looked too small in the white bed. A clear tube ran into his arm, and dark shadows circled his eyes.

He smiled when he saw the cello case.

"Did you play tonight?"

"A private performance."

"Was it good?"

I sat beside him. "I've played better."

He touched my fingers. "Your hand hurts again."

"Only a little."

"You always say that."

I opened my bag and showed him the payment receipt from the hospital desk.

"Your treatment place is safe."

His face brightened. "The foundation approved us?"

"Not yet."

"Then where did the money come from?"

"I worked for it."

Micah studied my face. He had always been too good at knowing when I was hiding something.

"Did you see him?"

I knew who he meant.

"Yes."

"Did you tell him about me?"

"No."

His smile faded.

"Maybe he would help if he knew I was sick."

I looked down at our joined hands.

Conrad knew Micah existed. He simply believed my son belonged to Dorian.

"Get some rest," I said.

"Does my father know my name?"

The question struck deeper than any insult Conrad had given me.

"Micah..."

"I don't need him," he said quickly. "I was just wondering."

I leaned down and kissed his forehead.

"You have me."

"I know."

His eyes closed, but his fingers stayed wrapped around mine.

A few minutes later, his grip suddenly tightened.

His body curled forward as he struggled to breathe.

"Mom..."

The monitor beside him began to scream.

I jumped up. "Nurse!"

The door flew open. A doctor and two nurses rushed inside.

One of them pulled me away from the bed.

"What's happening?"

"His condition is worsening. We need to take him in now."

They pushed the bed toward the door.

Micah reached for me, but a nurse blocked my path.

"Please wait here."

"I'm his mother. I'm coming with him."

"You can't."

The doors closed between us.

Only then did I see the doctor standing in front of me.

"The treatment you paid for may keep him stable," she said. "But it won't be enough to save him."