The venue was a masterpiece of grandeur. Chandeliers cast golden light across the sea of elegantly dressed guests. Soft classical music played in the background, a delicate prelude to the evening's performances.

Champagne glasses clinked, laughter and conversation blending into a quiet hum.

Amelia moved with practiced ease, her posture straight, her smile poised, slipping seamlessly back into a world she had once belonged to.

And yet, I could feel it. The tension beneath her composure. The way her fingers tightened slightly against my arm as we walked through the entrance.

People stared. Of course, they did. She was Mrs. Valemont or she still is. And for the first time in a long time, she had resurfaced—without her husband by her side.

Except... he was here. Standing near the entrance, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, his expression unreadable. And by his side—Saddie.

She was clinging to him, her body angled toward his, her fingers resting lightly against his sleeve. Like she belonged there. Like she was making a statement.

Michael's eyes found Amelia instantly. And he moved. A single step forward, his mouth parting— But Amelia didn't stop. She turned away. Her smile didn't falter, her expression didn't waver as she greeted her old professor, her voice warm, engaged, effortlessly dismissing the man she had once given everything to.

Michael stilled. I saw the way his jaw tightened. The way his hands clenched into fists at his sides before he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to relax. He wanted to talk to her. But not here. Not now. Not when she had already decided not to hear him. So instead—he waited. He watched.

And for the first time since I had arrived in this world, I saw it— The frustration. The helplessness. The regret. Michael Valemont, the man who always had control, the man who always dictated the terms of his life, was losing his grip. Because Amelia was slipping away. And he knew it.

When it was time for her to play, the ballroom fell into silence. The crowd parted, guests finding their seats, eyes turning toward the stage as Amelia walked forward with quiet confidence. She sat before the grand piano, her fingers poised over the keys.

And then—she played.

Aeolian Harp. The melody surged through the room like a storm, rising and falling in breathtaking crescendos. Each note was deliberate, precise—a masterpiece unfolding in real time.

People watched in awe. The murmurs and whispers that had followed her throughout the night disappeared, swallowed by the music.

But I saw him.

Michael.

His expression was unreadable at first, his gaze locked on Amelia with an intensity that almost startled me. His features softened. His posture stiffened—not with tension, but with something else. Something akin to reverence. The unguarded awe flickering across his face like a secret he hadn't meant to reveal. Like he was seeing her. Not as his wife. Not as the woman he had taken for granted. But as the artist she had once been. The artist she still was.

But before he could even breathe, before anyone could react— She transitioned.

The final delicate notes of Aeolian Harp faded into silence, only for her fingers to press down again—

Chopin's Ballade No. 1. A shift. A storm of emotion and defiance. The piece wasn't just beautiful—it was powerful. The notes climbed, fell, collided—a conversation between pain and triumph.

It was a story. Her story.

And Michael? He couldn't look away.

The air in the ballroom was heavy. Electric. This wasn't just music anymore. This was Amelia taking back everything she had lost.

And then—The final note rang out.

Silence.

For a moment, nothing. Then— Applause. Thunderous. Overwhelming. People rose to their feet, voices overlapping with admiration.

"That was incredible!"

"Mrs. Valemont, you were magnificent!"

"When will you have your next concert? We've missed your playing!"

Her next concert. A future she had never allowed herself to think about. She hesitated. The attention was overwhelming, their words an invitation to return to something she had lost. Then, slowly— She turned her gaze and she smiled. But not at Michael.

At me. I froze.

She wasn't looking at the crowd. She wasn't looking at her past. She was looking at me.

"Someday," she said. She wasn't answering them. She was answering me. And I didn't know what she meant. Not yet. But something told me— This was only the beginning.