“Did you talk to her?”

Jayden Freeman-Atwood, the conservatoire’s principal, sat across from Daniel in his office. Three other pairs of eyes settled expectantly on Daniel at the question – Timothy Martin, Tilda Dankworth, and Oscar Harvest, all eminent pianists and professors at the academy, all masking their selfish concern for the star pupil as professional interest.

“To whom, exactly?” asked Daniel, leaning back in his chair.

“Amelia, of course,” Mr Freeman-Atwood said. “She’s… she’s slipping, Daniel. The board is worried about her decision to quit the programme.”

“It’s unexpected of a staunch professional like her,” Ms Dankworth said. “A rare lapse in her meticulousness. She never lets anything get in the way of her career. But the last two months… it’s been a different story.”

“Yes.” The principal sighed. “I tried to talk to her the other day, but she wouldn’t say why she was led to this decision.”

“It’s such a shame,” Ms Dankworth lamented in a soft, pitiful voice. “She’s a smart, intelligent, even-tempered girl. You can put her in any situation and she will shimmy her way out with her charisma and elegance.”

“Summer is almost here and we have events lined up.” Mr Harvest clasped his hands under his nose, a scowl forming on his wide forehead. “She is the most remarkable musician we have seen since Dr McGraw. She’s carrying our music festivals, the recitals, the seminars—”

“Ah.” Daniel scoffed involuntarily. There it was. The fear of losing their Kohinoor. The fear of a public disappointment. The fear of bad press. “You’re worried about your coffers if she’s unable to dazzle the audience.”

The people in the room recoiled. “I… I did not imply that,” Mr Harvest quietly amended. “But after the predicament she put your masterclass in, it’s hard not to doubt her. If she really withdraws from the events—”

“Daniel, I want you to talk to her,” the principal interjected. “You’ve known her far longer and better than we have. If there’s anyone she’ll listen to, it’s you.”

For the whole weekend, Daniel had not just talked to Amelia. He had dressed her wounds, administered pain killers, coaxed out her anxieties, and watched her stumble over her notes. The girl who could silence a hall with her presence and rouse it with a single stroke of the ivories was crumbling, and he was a helpless spectator, unsure of what he could do besides offering some creative guidance.

“Jayden…” Daniel began, folding his arms on the desk. “There’s this thing called respecting a person’s decision. I’m sure you know that.”

“Yes, but…” An anxious shadow fell over the principal’s bloated face as he calculated his next words. “She’s not just another student to us. She’s an asset, an… investment. We intend to hire her as part of the piano committee after she graduates, as your second-in-command—”

“I don’t need a second-in-command.” Daniel barely concealed the bitter resentment unfurling inside him. “Does she even want to be part of the piano committee?”

“The offer was presented to her,” said Mr Martin, a soft-spoken, mild-mannered man. “She said she’d think about it.”

Daniel knew she was not thinking of much aside from the physical pain, the mental turmoil, and the fear of the next blow.

“I realise it sounds bad,” Mr Freeman-Atwood continued. “But there is a lot riding on Amelia, and her sudden decision to leave will have long-term consequences for the institution’s reputation. We care about her but the reality is-“

“The reality is that she’s a commodity whose value is plummeting,” Daniel finished with a brittle smile. “You don’t care about her. You care about the glory she brings, the donors she impresses, the newspaper reviews she graces. You care about the bottom line.”

The principal’s lips thinned. “Daniel, don’t be absurd. Of course, we care about her. But you understand that we rely on—”

Daniel waved him off, pushing his chair back to stand. He understood perfectly. He had been in that industry long enough to know its ruthless underbelly. They were all cogs in the machine, their talent and passion measured in growing revenues and glowing reviews.

“I’ll do what I can, Jayden,” he announced, shrugging into his jacket. “But maybe give her some time? See if she comes around?”

He wished everyone a good day and took his leave. Halfway down the corridor, a voice sounded behind him.

“Just a minute, Dr McGraw.”

Daniel turned around. “Yes, Mr Martin?”

The professor ran a hand through his prematurely silver hair. “Is she alright?” he asked hesitantly, almost with a strange unwillingness. “If there’s something wrong… if there’s anything I can do…”

“What makes you think something is wrong?” Daniel queried with a frown. Mr Martin sighed, starting to walk.

“I saw her crying at the piano, the day she announced her plan to drop out,” he murmured. “She doesn’t know I saw and I didn’t want to embarrass her by probing. But she hasn’t been herself lately.”

“Maybe we should realise that she’s only human and can experience ups and downs like everyone else.” Daniel forced a smile at his colleague. “But thank you for your concern.”

His short drive to Amber Trust was filled with racing thoughts. Had he been a fool to let her go back to her apartment, where that brute could come for her any time? Should he call Scotland Yard and seek protection for her? Should he go against her will and report her abuser anyway? He had contacts, influence, and friends in high places. But he also had Amelia’s trust, perhaps the only person who did.

The meeting with the board of trustees was mercifully quick. After reviewing the progress reports and exchanging polite smiles and pleasantries with the other members, he decided to take a walk around the school, hoping that watching the talented little children would calm his mind. But instead, he found the source of his worry.

Amelia, guiding the hands of a partially sighted girl across the keys of a baby grand piano. She had been a mentor there for two years, carving an important place at the foundation for herself with her talent, her unmatched skills in Braille music, and her adeptness with the children. Daniel stopped at the doorway and watched, unseen.

A new hairstyle. Pristine makeup. Clever clothing. If only her performance were as neat and orderly as her appearance.

The little girl was playing Lascia Ch’io Pianga from memory. She kept stopping abruptly every time she faltered on a note, shook her head, and then began afresh. Amelia sat beside her on the bench, offering gentle instructions and encouragement, adjusting her student’s fingers for the right angle and pressure. With every attempt, the girl’s confidence improved, the music turned more fluid.

Daniel felt a pang of something he could not name. There she was, an embodiment of kindness, patience, and maternal adoration, helping others reach their potential while herself adrift and drowning. The cold fury he had felt since he discovered the truth came rushing back the longer he stared, the harder he thought about the violence she had been enduring in silence, while his layers of gentlemanly restraint and professional detachment had kept him blind to her covert struggle.

“That was magnificent, Lily.” Amelia’s soft but triumphant praise shook him back to the present. The girl had managed to play the piece faultlessly, earning herself a tight embrace from her teacher. “I’m so proud of you,” she added, dropping a few kisses onto Lily’s unruly curls.

That warm display of affection, that rare hint of a smile, that uninhibited physical closeness to another person, all twisted sharply into Daniel’s heart.

He had to protect her. He needed to protect her.

Amelia flinched at the sound of him clearing his throat, her eyes meeting his. A small tremor ran down her body at the contact.

The new chair of trustee, the unsung hero behind the pathbreaking musical resource for visually-challenged children for twenty years. The only man to have ever made her feel seen.

It had been five days since he saved her. Five days since someone had cared for her. Five days since the yawning emptiness of her lonely life had started pricking her every waking minute, momentarily overriding the nagging fear of Jason returning to damage her again.

She rose from the bench without speaking a word to him, then helped the little girl down from the bench. She pushed Lily’s glasses up her nose, unfolded her white cane, and took her hand to guide her out of the room. Daniel stepped aside, clearing the doorway. Lily waved at him as she left, and he returned the gesture with a smile.

“You aren’t also planning to leave the Amber Trust, are you?” he asked Amelia while watching a volunteer take Lily away. She shook her head.

“I love being here. It lets me quietly do my work behind the scene without being in the spotlight.”

“Good,” he nodded. “Because the children and the staff would be lost without you.”

He consulted his watch. “I’m going out to get lunch. Would you like to come and grab a bite with me?”

“Oh.” She looked at her bag. “I was planning to work on my final recital.”

“Is that a no?”

“No. I mean…” She looked away, trying to not stare at his regal elegance in his tailored suit. “I’m not very hungry.”

“But it’s lunchtime. You must eat.”

He could practically see the gears turning inside her head. It was not about lunch – they had shared many lunches before. It was about her need to maintain some autonomy over her life that was quickly spiraling out of hand. He took a small step closer, dwarfing her petite form, and Amelia had to fight the urge to step back, an instinctive impulse born from fear.

“Humour me,” he said, his voice neutral but his eyes holding hers captive. “A quick lunch. You can work on your recital, if you like.”

He saw her resistance slip. He knew how to play this game, the delicate dance of persuasion, the subtle wielding of influence. It was the same language he used to coax perfect harmony from an orchestra or the right notes from a faltering student. Making Amelia eat was child’s play.

“Alright,” she conceded with a sigh. “But I pay.”

Daniel let a smile brush his lips, the kind that never broke his even, composed façade but still hinted at the warmth underneath. “Deal. Now come on. There’s an excellent Japanese restaurant around the Surrey Street bend.”

They left the premises together, making the short walk to the restaurant in silence. Amelia kept her gaze low and her hands inside the pockets of her coat. Daniel was a commanding presence next to her, his long strides easily matching her shorter ones. His eyes flicking to her every now and then made her skin prickle with awareness and apprehension. She looked up only when he waved to the street musicians at the square across the road, the three elderly men tipping their hats in reciprocation.

Amelia failed to fathom how he managed to have time for everything and everyone despite wearing so many hats. He was the director of three music festivals, permanent conductor at two orchestras, the chair of piano at the conservatoire, guest professor at several colleges around the world, a patron of the National Gallery and the Victoria and Albert Museum, a professional narrator, expert speaker, documentary host, and curator.

As they reached the restaurant, Daniel held the door open for her. The comforting aroma inside the establishment made her stomach growl. She had not had a proper meal in days. Cooking was her pet passion and a mode of relaxation. Not lately, though. Lately, her life was an abysmal maelstrom of dwindling appetite, failing creativity, and fitful sleep marred with nightmares and pain.

“Do you eat rice?” he asked her. When she nodded, Daniel approached the counter and ordered for them both – two katsu sando, a plate of yaki onigiri, and a small bowl of miso soup to share. Lunch hour seemed slow because the only other customers there was an elderly couple.

They unanimously chose the smallest booth in a corner of the restaurant. Amelia draped her coat across the back of the seat and took out her mini touchscreen tablet from her bag.

“Would you like to take a look at my final recital?” she asked. Daniel nodded, reaching into the pocket of his jacket for his reading glasses. She opened her unfinished work and pushed the device towards him. He picked it up in his hands, his eyes running across the lines with the speed of lightning. He was a genius at playing by ear and equally dexterous at completing entire compositions within mere hours. He was possibly one of those rare musicians who never relied on the written score during a performance.

“How have you been?” he asked, scrolling the screen. Amelia’s jaw tightened.

“Don’t,” she warned quietly, unpleating and pleating the napkin on the table. Daniel peered at her over the rim of his glasses, knowing what she meant. Don’t push. Don’t probe. Don’t make me confront the truth I’m desperately trying to bury.

“How’s the concerto shaping up?” he asked instead. Her demeanour softened.

“It isn’t quite complete yet,” she said. “I know I need to finish it soon. There’s not much time left.”

“Need help with it?”

“I’m almost done. If I could figure out the cadenza…”

“You will. And you know who to turn to if you need creative stimulation.” When he looked up, his eyes held an appreciative gleam. “I love this,” he said, pushing the tablet back to her. “I’m interested in seeing what you do with the coda. A lot of room for variation there.”

He removed his glasses and put them back inside his pocket. “How old is Lily?” he asked.

“Eight,” she answered, returning the device to her bag. “A real talent. Always adamant about playing the hardest pieces.”

“Is she?” Daniel chuckled lightly. “Probably reminds you of a certain someone who debuted at Royal Albert Hall at the age of eight.”

It took Amelia a moment to realise he was talking about her.

“You know I don’t glorify my so-called accomplishments.” She folded her arms on the table. “I was twelve when I debuted at the Paris Opera House. My agent was exhilarated that I was the first child artist to ever perform there and that thousands of people would come to watch my first concert in France. But I didn’t care where I performed, as long as I got to play the piano. It was my only calm in my sea of chaos.”

Daniel watched, almost relished, the glimpse of the vibrant Amelia he knew. “How was the concert?”

“Glorious, just like every concert.” She shrugged. “I did get lost, though.”

“Inside the opera house?”

“Yes. I wanted to go to the restroom and I confused the directions and ended up behind the massive organ.” She met his eyes. “You know, where those gigantic pipes are.”

He laughed. “And you lived to tell the tale?”

“It was terrifying, yes. Like gargoyles sticking out in the dark. Any other child would have screamed and had a nervous breakdown.”

“But you weren’t a child,” Daniel filled in. “I understand what you mean. I became famous after performing for the Queen at eight, and then debuted at Carnegie Hall when I was nine, but I still think my parents were more excited than I was. Prodigies are known for their maturity. They grow up too quickly and have few child-like traits. But you became steely and indifferent because you never found the people to be open or vulnerable with. Or maybe it was a defense mechanism.”

“Initially. Then it became my way of life.”

The food arrived, an aromatic combination of fried pork sandwiches, grilled rice balls, and soup. Daniel forwarded the onigiri to her.

“Try this, if you haven’t before,” he offered. “They’re addictive.”

“I could not have guessed that you are a rice eater,” she pointed out softly, taking a bite of the crispy, delectable rice ball.

“Why not?”

“You have a dancer’s body. Fit and agile.”

“Are we talking about my body, Ms Cavenham?”

The quiet, cheeky retort made Amelia’s face flame. “All I’m saying is that you’re in very good shape,” she quickly clarified. “As a dancer should.”

“And as a dancer yourself, I’m sure you know that it is the most wonderful exercise for burning calories and building stamina, no matter what you eat.” He watched her take a bite of the sandwich and felt glad about his choice. “I also strength train.”

“At the gym?”

“I have a workout station at home.” Daniel glanced at her again as she tucked back a few tendrils of hair that had escaped from her voluminous braid. Her hair certainly hogged attention, often leaving the audience struggling to decide if they should stare at her or listen to her music. As he knew from experience, each was distracting in its own way.

They ate their food in relative silence, sharing the soup between bites of sandwich and rice balls. After days of surviving on morsels, that simple meal felt like the elixir of life to Amelia. Looking out the window, she sighted a woman walking down the square with a trail of eight children behind her.

“Whoa,” she gasped, almost involuntarily. “She must’ve had a lot of sex.”

Daniel followed her gaze. “Not necessarily,” he reasoned, swallowing the last mouthful of sandwich. “Only eight times.”

Amelia squinted at him. “So she got lucky every time?”

He jerked his head towards the window. “You call that being lucky?”

The server, who had just arrived to check on them, broke into a laugh. Caught off-guard, especially with a hearty lunch settling in her stomach, Amelia’s defenses deserted her. She allowed herself a small chuckle, the quiet gesture making Daniel smile. True to her word, Amelia asked for a single bill and handed the server her card. They left the restaurant as unassumingly as they had arrived, the bustling afternoon a sharp contrast to the quietness of the restaurant. Their walk was silent, filled with an unspoken tension.

“I tried to not bring it up but…” He looked at her profile. “You haven’t given a single thought to my suggestions, have you?”

“Please, Dan.” She winced inwardly. “Not now.”

“Then when? I pulled you out of the abyss that day and you’ve gone back to pretending like it didn’t happen. Is that what you’re going to keep doing? Pretend your life isn’t in danger?”

They stopped at a red light. “You cannot protect me forever, you know,” she murmured almost inaudibly. Daniel nodded to himself as they resumed their walk.

“Remember the robin’s nest?” he asked, harking back to a distant memory. The suddenness of the question took her aback.

“I made you so angry that day,” she said.

“Yes.” He could never forget the sight of her throwing caution to the wind and climbing up the rickety service ladder of her old school to reach the roof and return a baby robin to its nest. His heart had nearly stopped when he’d seen her standing on the roof on that stormy day, not a trace of fear in her bearing. “It was a dangerous stunt and one wrong step would have resulted in you slipping and falling to your death. And if anyone else had caught you doing that, you would’ve been in serious trouble.”

He looked at her. “I didn’t report you because the baby bird would be dead if someone didn’t do what you did. Even if it meant risking your life.”

They reached his parked car next to the Amber Trust building. “I will do what needs to be done to protect you,” he announced, unlocking his vehicle. “Or die trying.”

Amelia watched him slide inside his car and shut the door. The vehicle reversed and drove away, leaving her stranded in the haze of her turmoil.