The parlour of the west London house was rich and eclectic. On one end of the room was the study, with wall-to-wall cases displaying a stunning selection of vinyl records, and books on history, art, politics, literature, and music. It was not surprising, given this was the house of an eminent pianist, dancer, curator, and historian. On the other end was the antique, nine-foot Steinway grand piano from 1917, the same instrument that had come up many a time in their conversations in the past, rousing her curiosity and fascination. But never in her wildest imagination had Amelia dreamed of being at Dr Daniel McGraw’s residence under the present circumstances.

She had drifted into a bleak state of consciousness as he settled her on his sofa, supporting her head with a pillow, wrapping her in a blanket, and administering medication for the raging fever. In response to his natural query, she had tried to lie again, but he had warned that he was not going to believe that she fell. So she had reluctantly recounted the events of the previous day, too weak to feel shame or unease anymore. Several times after Jason fled, she had tried to rise from the floor but been incapable of moving a muscle. She now realised it was the fever, coupled with the pain, that had made her nearly lifeless. Daniel listened quietly, without a single comment. Now he was seated beside her, tending to her wounds with excruciating tenderness.

She flinched when something cold and stinging touched her forehead, crying out against her will.

“Shh. It’s alright.” Daniel’s voice was soft. “If you can endure being thrown against the wall, then a little antiseptic shouldn’t be that bad.”

“Dan…” she breathed, her fingers involuntarily clutching the blanket around her when he shifted attention to her neck.

“Don’t.” His gloved hands reached for the bandage and the roll of gauze. “How long has this been going on?”

Amelia tried to be comfortable in the plush, overstuffed sofa but any movement made the pain worse. “About two months,” she replied, staring at the renaissance painting above the mantle, the masterpiece that for years National Gallery had tried in vain to buy from him for two million pounds. When she closed her eyes again, her body pulsed with pain, her breathing heavy like the gasps of a trapped bird. “I broke up with him when it started but…”

“Did you seek help?” He asked, then laughed at his own question. “Of course not.”

“I almost killed him last night,” she admitted. “I was this close to stabbing him with that knife.”

“Instead of reaching for a knife,” he said calmly. “Why didn’t you reach for the phone and call the police?”

“Because he’d kill me before they arrived.”

Daniel’s hands paused abruptly, a pit forming in his stomach. Then he cleared the thoughts with a shake of his head.

“How did he get into your flat?” he asked, wrapping the gauze around her head and tying a knot at the side. Amelia was already regretting discussing this with him. He was her mentor. If he knew, so would everyone else at the academy. “Don’t tell me you live with him?”

She shook her head. “But he has a spare key.”

Daniel looked disappointed. “What does your lease say about changing door locks?”

“You really shouldn’t get into this…” she warned quietly.

“Impossible, after the state I found you in.” A long strip of medical adhesive bandage was pressed to the cut on her neck. “I don’t want to think what might have happened if I hadn’t decided to visit you today.”

“No one was supposed to see me in this state,” she said. “Why were you there anyway?”

“I was upset about today and wanted to give you a piece of my mind.” Soaking a ball of cotton in antiseptic, he wiped away the residue of dried blood from her neck. “Battery is a severe criminal offence, Amelia, and you show no sign of doing anything about it. Given how you’ve been for the last few months, it’s evident that you intend to keep hiding instead of taking action. How on earth did you end up with someone like that?”

“He wasn’t always like that. He comes from a good family, he’s gifted with horses…”

Daniel gave her a cold stare. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

Closing her eyes, Amelia drew in a shuddering breath. “I’ve made some wrong choices in life.”

“Quitting the academy will certainly be one of them.” Daniel moved away from her and pulled off his gloves. “Is this why you want to leave?”

She rested her head against the pillow, the pain making her temples throb. “I no longer have it in me.”

“You have twenty symphonies, fifteen ballades, ten sonatas, and several fusion tracks to your name,” he reminded her. “You’re going to let that dirtbag win, are you? Is quitting your esteemed degree a more rational decision than reporting him?”

“I haven’t got a note right in the last several months!” Angry tears pricked the back of her eyes and she quickly blinked them away. “Each night I sit at the piano hoping to finish my concerto but my fingers and my mind don’t cooperate anymore. They just don’t…”

Daniel’s heart sank when her voice cracked. For as long as he had known her, Amelia was stoic to the core, fiercely guarding of her space and adamant about letting no one see behind her professional appearance. Extracting a laugh from her was as difficult as making her cry. But this… this went against her very nature. 

“I’m so tired,” she rasped. “I can no longer do this.”

“What does that mean? You proved yourself at the age of eight. The world fell at your feet like ninepins. You are a famed performing artiste with genuine talent, charisma, and stage presence. This is what you’ve done for years.”

“I’m not like you,” she choked out. “I don’t have entire compositions perfected inside my head even before they are written down. I can’t even play other people’s compositions anymore. How am I supposed to come up with my own music?”

“Mel—”

“I cannot afford to fail at the finals. If I don’t quit, I’ll make a hash of the recital and be a national disappointment.”

“Failure is nothing to be ashamed of, but giving up is cowardice.” He looked at her. “Where is the gutsy girl I used to know?”

“I’m not gutsy.”

“You picked up a knife last night.” His eyes raked over her face, the wounds stark against her otherwise flawless skin. The gash on her forehead was not deep enough to require stitches, but the bruise on her cheek and the wound of her neck would take a while to fade.

His blood boiled. Men did not hit a woman. They most certainly did not leave them battered.

“I still think calling the police would be a better alternative to picking up a knife,” he said. “No one has the right to ruin your life and your career, and I certainly don’t want you to do something stupid.”

“Do you want me to tarnish my career with the revelation that I’m being beaten up? I haven’t had a public performance in months, and you expected me to attend your masterclass when I’m decked in wounds.” 

“How was I supposed to know? How is anyone supposed to know if you keep hiding?”

“I don’t want anyone to know.”

“Obviously.” Daniel uncuffed his shirt sleeves to roll them up. “But the more you hide, the more attention you attract, why don’t you see that? You’re not a regular girl. You’re a world-renowned artiste. You cannot hide and expect to be forgotten.”

“Why do you care?”

 “Mel, this is not the time to give me sass,” he hissed, rising to his feet. “You’re still the brash little girl, aren’t you? Too proud to stoop, too confident to care about consequences, too strong-willed to give in without a fight. Do you realise the danger you’re in or how distressing it is to see you in your current state?”

“No one asked you to see me in this state,” she sharply rejoindered. ” I never wanted to see you again.”

The words hit him harder than they should have. “And why not?”

Because he was the same man she had been helplessly attracted to as a teenager. Because the distance between them was a thin line. Because she had been foolish to imagine that a married man with a child and an established reputation would ever consider her any more than a schoolgirl with a silly fantasy.

It had relieved her to a great extent when he left his position at her school to take over as the principal conductor at Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. Their paths had crossed several times ever since but she had always kept her distance, ensuring that she never had to dwell on the fact that in her twenty-three years of existence, he was the only person she had dropped her guard with.

“You said we weren’t friends, remember?” Amelia answered quietly.

“Not in the eyes of the world, at least. And as your teacher, I had the right to remind you of our respective places.” Daniel turned his back to the sofa and ran a rough hand through his wavy, raven hair. “You were different from all other students I had ever worked with, far beyond your years. You were knowledgeable and articulate, you knew your mind and spoke without hesitation, and your riveting opinion on everything almost made you seem like an old woman trapped inside a young body. You were mentally stimulating. It never felt like talking to a child.”

“I wasn’t a child,” she snapped, her eyes trained on the contours of his square shoulders and strong back pronounced through the beige shirt. He evidently took care of himself. As a famous pianist and conductor who travelled the world, he needed to be in shape. His passion for dance probably also contributed to his athleticism.

“No, you were an adolescent blossoming into a young woman.” He looked at her over his shoulder. “I was an adult, you were not. If I allowed you to be friendly with me – a liberty I gave no other student – there would be a lot more than raised eyebrows. It would’ve been a questionable position for me and for you. I could not let either of us risk it.”

“You gave me a pet name,” Amelia reminded him. “Allowed me to call you Dan.”

“Yes, because I considered you my equal and took pride in you. I’ve been a professional pianist for nearly forty years, but when I saw you create a sonata in under a minute with the three random notes thrown at you, I knew that I had found a worthy compeer.”

“But a man of integrity like you could not be seen sharing a laugh or a dance with a young girl,” she scoffed. “So you needed to remind me of boundaries.”

Daniel closed his eyes to summon some of his control. When he turned around, she was absently twisting a tissue between her fingers.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” He sat near her feet on the other end of the sofa. “But I worked with hundreds of students and could not be caught being partial to anyone. Yes, we had a lot in common. Yes, I cared about you. Why? I have no clue. But when you’re a performer in the public eye, decorum and propriety are necessary. You didn’t see that then, but I hope you realise that now as an adult.”

“I do.” She consulted the giant clock on the far end of the parlour. “It’s getting late. I must leave.”

“I can’t let you go like this, when you’re hardly able to walk. If that scoundrel comes back to hound you tonight…” The thought made him shiver. “I’d be more relieved if you spent the night here.”

The surprise on Amelia’s face was barely hidden. “I cannot,” she stuttered. “You know I cannot… I shouldn’t…”

“It won’t be a problem. It’s the weekend, and I’m going to drop you home in the morning if you’re doing better. If you’re not, you will need medical attention.”

“I won’t…” She sank back against the pillow. “I’ve been through this before…”

“Yes, you have.” He touched the skin of her forearm, now much cooler that it had been an hour ago, though her eyes were still droopy, her breaths heavy and tortured. “If you’re not feeling better tomorrow, the least I can ask is for you to remain here for the weekend and allow me to monitor your condition. You don’t seem to get much sleep in that flat. Maybe in the safety of my home, you’ll get some badly-needed rest.”

Amelia’s head fell back against the pillow, her eyes closing to a long, ragged exhale. Daniel watched her chest rise and fall erratically, her body frail and curled underneath the blanket.

That same girl had left him speechless with her audacious compositions, made him bawl with her poignant rendition of , held the congregation captive with her rousing vocalism of Ave Maria. The contrast between that vibrant maestra and the limp young woman on his sofa broke his heart.

“Can I get you anything?” He asked hesitantly, brushing aside the unexpected surge of protectiveness. “Would you like me to help you to the guest bedroom before I get started on dinner? Maybe make a cup of tea?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“But you probably haven’t eaten in nearly a day, and you need to line your stomach before you take any more medication.”

Her heavy eyelids parted to let her gaze settle upon him, expecting pity and judgement but seeing only an unshakable calm in the black pools of his eyes. The sincere, benevolent Daniel McGraw, revered by the world not only for his unparalleled musical brilliance but also for his generosity and humility. In many ways, he had made her the musician she was, coaxing the most complex melodies from her fingers. After all that time, lying in front of him broken and defeated was no less painful than a physical blow.

“You cook?” she asked.

“Well, I live alone,” he answered. “Who else will?”

A hint of a smile appeared on the corners of his lips. “Sleep if you want,” he said, rising. “I’ll wake you up when dinner is ready. I don’t have any clothes that will fit you but I’ll get you a warm dressing gown to change into.”

Amelia caught his hand as he walked past her. “Thank you,” she croaked. “For bringing me here instead of taking me to the hospital.”

Daniel gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Trust me,” he whispered. Amelia nodded, letting herself believe that she was safe in that moment.

#

In the dark of the night, Daniel opened his bleary eyes to the poignant reverberation of his piano. It was a song he had not heard in a long time, one that evoked a deluge of memories. He lifted his head to look at the bedside clock, which read half-past two in the morning. Even through the closed door, the strain of the melody reached him distinctly, and he sat up, something inside him breaking when the simple notes did not sound right. The fingers went over the same keys again and again, faltering every time.

She had written that nocturne-style piece at the start of Year 13, shortly before her prolific debut at the BBC Proms. It was an uncomplicated G minor track, but the heartrending soulfulness of the melody had left every listener with tight throats and misty eyes when she performed it at the annual Royal Albert Hall festival. He recalled her seeking his help with naming the song, and Daniel had chosen to call it Amelia’s Theme, because the stirring, evocative essence of the piece almost mimicked her personality.

Hearing her fail at her signature song felt as painful as discovering her covered in wounds.

It had taken him a while to fall asleep that night. Instead of reaching for his book, he had paced around the room, his mind matching his stride. Amelia had barely eaten, and even after the medications, she was visibly in pain. Behind the closed door of the guest bedroom, Daniel knew she had succumbed to the tears, too proud to openly display her weaknesses.

He felt a hot knife in his chest. She was an artiste, a talent to reckon with, one of the bravest people he had ever met in his life. She did not deserve that.

The music stopped, plunging the house into silence again. Unable to stay put any longer, he got out of bed and threw on some clothes. The parlour was dark except for a ray of streetlight streaming in through the drapes, but Daniel could clearly discern the shadowy figure at the piano, head bowed and shoulders quivering. She seemed too broken to appear startled when he turned on a light and gently held her.

“It’s not wrong to cry, just so you know.” He slowly turned her around to discover her tear-soaked face. “And you’ve been doing too much of it lately.”

Daniel pushed her hair back to study her countenance. “Did I ever tell you what was the first thing about your musical talent that impressed me?” he asked. “Your ability to connect notes without using the pedal.”

She bowed her head, trying to hide the tears that kept staining her quilted dressing gown. “Your legato technique was flawless,” he carried on. “and your left hand so strong when it came to repeated chords. You were a natural at it.”

“Stop,” she croaked, shaking her head. “Please stop.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t you hear? I couldn’t get a single note right. And it’s my own song.”

“A song that was born from emotion and passion. The fiery passion that was the hallmark of your character. You were a livewire that no one could step on, always sure of what you wanted. You played with your heart and soul, with every fibre of your being, charging the air, leaving everyone spellbound.”

Gently, he dabbed away the tears that rolled down her swollen cheeks. “All you feel now are fear and shame. That’s not where music comes from.”

Daniel held her fingertips. They were the most beautiful hands he had ever seen on any woman, delicate, graceful, and gifted. Whether she was turning the pages of a book or opening a door, there was no mistaking the elegance in those slender fingers. Despite the aloofness that had been one of her defining traits, she never failed to arouse envy in others. The girls at school had coveted her beauty and her lifestyle, wishing they could also wear fancy dresses and be a red-haired princess who travelled the world. Those comments had only made Daniel wish that they had been blessed with a fragment of her talent or determination.

“I gave the situation a long, hard thought,” he said, letting go of her hands. “Something needs to be done.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Look, I understand you’re scared. And I’m scared for you.” He crossed his arms. “I know someone high up in Scotland Yard. I went to school with him. Maybe I could—”

“No,” she repeated, turning away from him. “Please, no. You don’t have to do anything.”

“If nothing is done, you know he will come back and do worse.”

“He comes only when he wants money. And I think I frightened him at least for a few days.”

“And what happens after that?” He sighed heavily. “Come with me,” he offered, his hand going to her elbow. “I have something to show you.”

Daniel carefully led her up the stairs and down the small passageway until he was sliding open the door to the rooftop. The space was slightly larger than a master suite, guarded with steel railings and overlooking the neat little backyard. The floor was made of antique Sicilian baroque tiles, like the ones she had seen at Palazzo Butera.

“Do you still dance?” he asked, glancing at the clear, star-lit sky. Amelia slowly limped to the railing and leaned against it.

“If the opportunity presents itself.” Her eyes roamed around the well-kept space. “Is this your ballroom?”

“For the lack of an actual ballroom. I could dance all day.” He came to stand beside her. “I still remember your ballet solo in school. You made every jaw drop with those leaps and turns in the air. You hated ballet because of its rigidity, but god, were you exceptional at it.”

“Says the three-time World Tango Champion.” She gave him a fleeting look. “You introduced me to the smooth sensuality of ballroom dance. I hated ballet even more after that.”

He smiled at a distant memory. “You were always a special girl, and you know why? Because you were self-made.”

Turning around, he leaned back against the railing. “It was an expensive private academy where most students came from privileged backgrounds. Yes, you had a scholarship, but what you had more was grit. You had no family, you grew up in foster care and did not even have a piano of your own. You practised at the train station, remember? It made you were fearless, spirited.”

Daniel glanced down at her face. “I still recall the first conversation we ever had. You were in the library, nose deep into Atlas Shrugged. You wanted to know what I thought of Ayn Rand’s theory of objectivism when I expressed interest in what you were reading.”

Amelia nodded. “You said you found her to be fairly noxious and did not believe she was a talented writer,” she said. “You also found her theory pretty malignant and that her characters tended to be extraordinary, while the ordinary ones quickly disappeared from the narrative.”

“What you said in reply to that was more interesting,” he smiled. “You said that a just society requires a state that can protect the powerless from predation. Just because they do not need protection doesn’t mean society shouldn’t afford them that. You also said that a free actor must really have choices, going on to add that too many people do not have lives that allow them meaningful choices.”

He paused. “It’s time you believed what you said that day. That we live in a society that is capable of protecting those who need it. That you are a free actor with several choices, but succumbing to violence isn’t one of them.”

“Wasn’t that the day you gave the class an impromptu lecture on why pop songs are obsessed with the tonight hook?” She overrode his comment. “You always had a penchant for impromptu lectures, and sometimes the subject had nothing to do with music at all. Like how to wire your brain to be calm under pressure, or the need for examinations in school and how they prepared us for the real world, or how a language changes the way we think.”

“Oh, I cannot forget that one,” he chuckled under his breath. “I still haven’t met anyone who speaks Irish better than you.”

“I taught myself when I started singing Celtic folk,” she said. “The same time I started Irish dancing.”

He involuntarily thought back to her impeccable Irish rendition of Be Thou My Vision and the goosebumps he could still feel at the memory.

Suddenly, inexplicably, his thoughts returned to her current state and the brute who had stolen her spark and was free to hurt her at will. With difficulty, he restrained the rage kindling inside him, just the way he had stopped himself from reaching out to chief superintendent Harrison Clarke.

“I didn’t mean to disrupt your masterclass,” she said abruptly. “I’m sorry. I should have told someone that I wouldn’t be able to make it.”

“Yeah.” Daniel nodded. “Made up another lie.”

“I cannot reveal the truth.” She closed her eyes. “The world knows me as this strong, capable, glamorous diva. I need it to remain that way. Once you let the world see that you’re a victim, it never forgets.”

“You’re not a victim. You’re only letting your fears cloud every other sense.” His chest deflated on a deep exhale. “Abuse never stops. Maybe you did make a wrong choice, we all do sometimes, but no one deserves this.”

He moved her hair back to examine the wounds, hoping they would heal before Monday arrived. “Come here,” he said, peeling her from the railing to let her lean into him. “Look at me.”

His voice was like an incantation that she could not help but obey. Their eyes met, sending a small jolt through his veins. Her beauty had always been haunting. Quiet and mysterious, as though hiding something behind those crystalline green eyes. It gave her an air of enigma, both intimidating and alluring, as unflinching as her personality.

“I went to see you unannounced not because I was upset,” he admitted. “But because all those missed calls left me a little alarmed. You always answer calls. Unprofessionalism is not your trait.”

Her lips trembled slightly. “You’re still as intuitive as ever, aren’t you?”

“I read the signs. And so did the shopkeeper below your apartment. He seemed to know.”

“Hard not to, when someone’s been wacked around the house just above you.”

“This isn’t just about your degree or your career. You are more than your music. And you cannot remain silent forever. I will not allow you to.”

She opened her mouth, but he held up his index finger in front of her face. “If you remember the kind of person I am, you probably know that I’m not going to remain calm when something so wrong is happening to you. Now that I know the truth, I will not let you get hurt again and that’s a promise.”

“Dan…” She whispered. “You’re letting the boundaries erode.”

“I know what I am doing. If boundaries need to be broken in order to save someone’s life, so be it.”

“But–”

“No,” he commanded. “I’m doing the talking here and you will listen. First things first. Change the lock of your flat. Get one that cannot be picked or hacked. Otherwise, change the apartment. There’s no dearth of places to live.”

He took a deep breath. “Next, you are going to practise with me five days a week for the next three months until your finals and the world premiere of your concerto. It can either be at your house or mine, and I’ll attend to you once my day is over. Is that clear?”

“Private coaching? But you don’t do that.”

“I’m not coaching you. Only helping a lost soul find its passion again.” His lips quirked. “You and I go back a long way, Mel. Please let me help you, for old times’ sake.”

“Why?” She frowned. “You don’t have to care.”

“I wouldn’t have brought you here, or dressed your wounds, or been this close to calling the police if I didn’t care,” he retorted. “I know you’re holding on to what I said all those years ago, but believe me, deep inside I never stopped considering you a friend. A friend unlike any other.”

“You won’t tell the conservatoire, will you?”

“I’ll tell no one. This will remain between you and me, you have my word. But I also need something from you.”

He frowned, his gaze hardening. “You will never think or talk about dropping out again.”

Her eyes lowered. “There’s only three months’ time…”

“That’s right. And I will have you ready before then.” He held a hand out in front of her. “Do we have a deal, Ms Cavenham?”

Amelia hesitated, unsure of making a promise she could not keep. But when she looked at him again, the gentle smile in his eyes seemed to reach the deep, dark places inside her, the aura of quiet power in his silent gaze filling the spaces left hollow by Jason’s wrath.

Slowly, she gave her hand in his. “Yes, sir,” she nodded, bracing for whatever was to come.