But even with blood staining the keys, I couldn't play even the simplest piece all the way through.
I lost my chance at the competition. Then the entire internet turned on me, calling me a plagiarist.
I went to Vera Swanson's apartment like a woman possessed, desperate to make her admit that she was the one who had stolen from me.
But the moment I threw open the door, I saw two naked bodies tangled together.
All I remember is Wyatt pressing Vera into his arms, shielding her, his eyes bloodshot as he roared at me: "Mildred! If you still want to be Mrs. Simmons, get the hell out!"
But I had been someone he once held in the palm of his hand. Someone he'd loved. How could I just let it go?
So I lost all composure. I screamed. I raged through that apartment like a hurricane.
I even started a livestream, shrieking until my voice gave out that I was the one who'd written those compositions.
I thought that would be enough—that she'd back down and return my music and my husband.
But what came instead was her trembling, pitiful little sob. "Wyatt! I'm not afraid of her!"
"Don't you remember? I'm your brave little lamb! I love you! I want to be with you!"
"If Mildred is willing to give you up, I'll kneel on camera right now and admit the compositions are hers!"
Those words sent Wyatt's protective instincts into overdrive.
That very night, he held a press conference as CEO of Simmons Group.
"My wife, out of extreme jealousy toward Vera's piano talent, stole her compositions before the competition. I discovered the theft in time and had them returned."
"The truth is, my wife knows nothing about piano. I spoiled her too much in the past—bought her accolades she never earned—and she developed the delusion that she was a gifted pianist."
"As for the alleged relationship between Vera and myself, my wife fabricated it entirely to frame an innocent girl."
"Please don't misunderstand Vera. She is a hardworking, dedicated young woman."
With a few simple sentences and a forged psychiatric evaluation, he pinned the label of mental illness on me.
And just like that, the name Vera Swanson exploded overnight.
She became the hottest young piano prodigy in the country.
And I fell into depression.
On the worst day, my body moved without my mind's permission, and I fell from the third-floor balcony.
When I came to, the first thing I saw was Wyatt standing over me—holding divorce papers. "Mildred, do you have any idea how terrifying you are?"
In that moment, it was like waking from a long, suffocating dream. I picked up the pen and signed without a second's hesitation.
So he was the one who destroyed my dream with his own hands.
And now he wanted to buy it back.
How laughable.
My thoughts snapped back to the present. I pulled out the order form and handed it back to him, then dialed the sales associate right in front of his face. "Deliver the piano I originally ordered."
"And if you ever let a stranger alter my order again, I will file a formal complaint."
I hung up and moved to walk past him.
He reached for my arm. I sidestepped, then lifted my gaze to the space behind him. "Mr. Simmons, spending money on other women like this—doesn't your wife get jealous?"
He turned to follow my line of sight. A woman was approaching from across the way, a cup of milk tea in hand.
Vera Swanson.
The same wide-eyed little protégée from all those years ago—now polished into the pampered, imperious Mrs. Simmons, courtesy of Wyatt's money and indulgence.
But after all these years, that cloying perfume of hers hadn't changed one bit.
She wasn't even close yet, and I was already sneezing.
Wyatt moved instantly, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over my shoulders. "You always get sick when the seasons change. Let me take you to the hospital—"
I didn't even get the chance to refuse.
Vera had already stepped between us, blocking his path.
