The Heir's Ruthless Obsession

, I didn't pick up my violin. I couldn't. Every time I looked at the dark wood, I remembered the w

te doesn't wait for orph

gine. I was tidying the small common room, the dust motes swirling in the shafts of au

eman will be visiting today. He wishe

music school, or... could it be connected to the gala? The thought ma

e wooden floor. Outside, a man in a smart dark suit waited with impeccable posture, a

e calm but carrying a gentle urgency. "Thi

offered a polite, if timid, g

, the fabric catching the sunlight in the most understated way. His hair, dark and streaked lightly with silver at the temples, was neatly combed back, giving him a distinguished air. A faint scent of cedar and cr

unreadable. I nodded softly, my mind flashing back to the night I had played at the gala, the compliment he had given me lingering in memory. "I have watched your

pressed my hands together, trying

ered, words small in compariso

e to offer you a scholarship to study with us, to nurture your talent, and to give you the opp

lly be happening? I looked toward Sister Marianne, whose eyes glimmered with pride but hid a

ccept this?" Director Rousseau

od. I will stand by whatever decision you choose for yourself, her gaze seemed to say. Taking a deep breath, I ret

re was a brief moment of quiet, the kind that seemed to stretch and

ri's

in front of my father's desk, my spine a rigid line of steel. Father was seated in his high-back

began, his voice like the e

ed. "They gathered the primary shareholders to discuss the expansi

were piercing, searching for the lie he was

claimed she found

hair, the silver eyes, and the way she had looked at me, brave

like ash. "A scholarship stunt to soften the

ut a dark, instinctive protectiveness flared in my gut. If my father knew she existed, if he knew she carried that face,

p curling. "Good. I have no patienc

. Father answered with a curt bark, listening in silence for several l

oice dropped to a lethal wh

u. The Director had bypassed me

nto the receiver. "I care about the optics. If sh

eems your 'adequate' violinist has been admitted to St. Aurelia, Dmitri. You will watch her. Every bre

I said, my voice

of war. She was coming to my world. She was walking str

ht, a ruthless smile tugging at my lips. B

elle

emy emerged from the autumn mist

s moving with effortless grace across the cobblestones. They were vibrant, expensive, and perfec

ral staircases and hallways that smelled of lavender and

window overlooked the dark gardens, and a private bathroom gleamed with marble. On the bed lay my new

r the fabric. It

tude I felt was heavy, a suffocating blanket of debt. I was her

," I whispered i

jagged shadows across the room, the memor

wasn't a student here. I was a target. And