Stella hadn’t felt this at ease in a very long time.
Ever since her parents passed away, moments like these—simple, quiet joys—had become rare luxuries. She used to play the piano freely when she was younger, but those days felt like a lifetime ago. Sometimes, when the yearning became too much to bear, she would sneak into a piano shop and lose herself in the keys for an hour or two. But it was never the same.
Unlike dancing, which needed nothing but a little space, playing the piano came with a price—literally.
Her modest salary was barely enough to sustain both herself and Roger. Day by day, the weight of their financial struggles wore her down, pressing heavily on her shoulders. Something as indulgent as a piano had long since been crossed off her list of attainable dreams.
But now, seated in front of one, the music flowing effortlessly from her fingers, she felt whole again.
She was completely immersed in the rhythm, each note freeing a part of her spirit. A soft, genuine smile lit her face—a rare sight these days.
The music seemed to breathe life into the room. It was infectious.
Yvonne was completely enchanted. She lifted her phone to record the duet, wanting to capture the magic of Stella’s performance.
The long-haired young man who had invited Stella to join him had initially approached her with casual interest—she looked like his type, after all. The fact that she could identify the tune he was playing only sweetened the deal. But the moment she began playing, his intentions shifted.
He hadn’t expected her to be this talented.
Her fingers had started off a little hesitant, rusty from disuse, but as the melody progressed, her skill became apparent. Fluid, elegant, refined—she played with the grace of someone who had once been truly accomplished.
As they continued, their harmony grew tighter, more instinctive. They exchanged a fleeting smile, a silent acknowledgement between two musicians who had found rare chemistry.
To Stella, it was nothing more than a shared moment of musical understanding. She saw him simply as a fellow pianist, someone who appreciated the art as deeply as she did.
But to the onlookers, especially one in particular, the moment held far more weight.
Weston.
He stood in the shadows with Lucas, watching in silence.
Lucas, taken aback, muttered under his breath, “Well, seems I was wrong. There really isn’t anything between you and Ella.”
He was teasing, of course. Weston knew it. But the remark only tightened the knot forming in his chest. His jaw clenched slightly, though he said nothing.
The smile on Stella’s face—carefree, joyful, unreserved—gnawed at him.
Lucas noticed. And naturally, he couldn’t resist twisting the knife just a little more. “I don’t usually meddle in other people’s affairs, and I’m not here to stop you from having an affair. But… you don’t seem to be doing a great job keeping her in line, do you?”
Weston turned to him with a cold, withering glare. The corner of his mouth curled into a humorless smirk. “I wouldn’t be so quick to judge, considering your wife isn’t exactly sitting quietly in a corner either.”
Lucas blinked. Then followed Weston’s gaze—and froze.
There she was. Yvonne.
Seated just across from the piano, she was still filming the duet, a soft smile on her lips. But what caught Lucas’s attention was the young man standing beside her, tapping her on the shoulder and striking up a conversation.
To Lucas’s surprise, Yvonne didn’t brush him off.
Instead, she started chatting back, her tone casual and open.
Yvonne had always been the outgoing type—vibrant, expressive, charming. Men naturally gravitated toward her. Even after marrying Lucas, she had toned down that side of herself out of respect for his more reserved nature. She had stopped frequenting places like this, knowing how he felt about her talking to random men.
But tonight was different.
Maybe it was the atmosphere. Or the rare chance to unwind. Either way, she was letting herself enjoy the moment.
The man beside her, encouraged by her friendliness, leaned in slightly, clearly misreading the situation. His confidence bloomed.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said with a grin. “How about we exchange contacts?”
Still filming Stella’s performance, Yvonne turned to him with a bright, unwavering smile. “I’m sorry. I’m already married.”
She lifted her hand subtly, letting the overhead lights catch the glint of her wedding ring.
The man blinked, startled. “You’re joking, right? These days, women wear rings just to mess with people’s heads.”
Yvonne’s smile remained, but her eyes sharpened. “Believe what you want. I can’t help you with that.”
The man hesitated. He couldn’t quite tell if she was politely brushing him off or genuinely uninterested. But he wasn’t ready to back down just yet. Women like her—beautiful, elegant, and engaging—didn’t come around often. If he let her walk away tonight, he didn’t know when he’d get another chance at someone like her.
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