Lucian paced in front of his office window, the early morning sunlight casting long, golden lines across the tiled floor. Jeremy sat at his desk typing away, only to pause as Lucian turned to him sharply.

"Call production," Lucian instructed. "I want Lia’s debut track ready by next month."

Jeremy blinked. "Next month? Are you serious? That’s... ambitious."

Lucian nodded, firm and unshaken. “I’ve been watching her. She’s ready. Not just vocally—she’s got presence. The kind of fire that can set the whole industry ablaze.”

Jeremy still looked hesitant. "People might talk. Say you’re pushing her because of… personal ties."

Lucian let out a low chuckle, leaning against his desk with a smirk. “The company’s mine. If I want her to be a star, she will be. Let them talk.”

Jeremy raised an eyebrow, grinning slyly. “You say you’re being fair, but you sure do treat her differently.”

Lucian paused. The grin slowly faded from his face as his mind drifted—different, huh? Was he?

—

Meanwhile, in a dim room lit only by the pale glow of a phone screen, Lia’s eyes were locked on a familiar face. Ophelia’s Instagram page lit up with polished smiles and hollow captions.

"Confidence Increases Beauty!" one post read.

Lia snorted. “Confidence won’t help you when I take it all back.”

She swiped to another post—one from 42 weeks ago. A couple, tangled in happiness, with the caption: "Mine forever..."

Lia's lips curled into a bitter smile. “Let’s see how long forever lasts, sister.”

The image of Ophelia’s shocked face at the mall replayed like a movie scene in her head. The disbelief. The panic. The beginning of the unraveling.

—

After a quick dinner, Lia found herself at her desk, surrounded by crumpled pages and scattered pens. A single lamp illuminated the notebook in front of her. Words formed, then were scratched out. Again and again.

Each attempt was met with frustration. The right lyrics—her truth, her fire—refused to translate onto paper. She bit the cap of her pen, eyebrows furrowed in thought, then tried again.

She wasn’t just writing a song. She was carving out her identity.

—

Elsewhere, Amy sent off her final report of the month to Lucian, detailing Lia’s schedule. “If you have any questions,” she typed, “ask her directly. But just so you’re aware, she’s missed several piano lessons.”

Lucian frowned as he read the text. Piano? Why had she quit?

Jeremy, of course, didn’t miss the moment. “Maybe she’s just careless,” he mused.

Lucian shot him a look. “She’s not careless. She’s reconnecting with her family after two years. Let her live a little.”

“Right,” Jeremy said with a smirk. “You’re so understanding when it comes to her.”

Lucian ignored him and glanced at the time. “Let’s call it a day.”

—

Later that night, the house was quiet. Lucian stepped inside, welcomed by silence. He grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and noticed a faint light coming from the basement.

Curious, he followed it—and found her.

Lia was sprawled out on the dance studio floor, the soft rise and fall of her chest the only movement in the stillness. No music. Just her. Exhausted. Asleep.

Lucian stepped closer and crouched down, his gaze settling on her peaceful face. Her lashes curled against her cheeks, her lips parted slightly, her skin glowing under the soft light.

His heart beat once—loudly. He looked away.

Without thinking, he scooped her gently into his arms. She murmured something in her sleep and nuzzled into his chest. Her lips brushed the open collar of his shirt, and Lucian froze, breath caught.

He forced himself to look away, shifting her to the couch and laying her down carefully. He fixed a pillow under her head and pulled a light throw over her body. One last glance.

One last heartbeat.

He adjusted the thermostat and walked out quietly, the door closing with a soft click behind him.

But even after he left, his thoughts stayed.

And on the couch, Lia stirred faintly in her sleep—smiling.