Chapter 7 - THE WOMAN WHO STOLE HER DREAM
Amelia had survived poverty.
Betrayal.
The death of her mother.
And eight months of pregnancy without her husband.
But seeing Erica Laurent standing inside the Ryder mansion nearly destroyed her.
Erica wore a white silk dress.
A diamond necklace glittered at her throat.
She looked at Amelia's simple clothing and smiled.
“So you're the wife.”
Amelia stood beside the staircase.
“Yes.”
Erica tilted her head.
“How sweet.”
She glanced at Amelia's stomach.
“I suppose Christian felt obligated.”
Amelia said nothing.
Erica stepped closer.
“Men like Christian don't fall in love with girls like you.”
Amelia's fingers tightened around the railing.
“Then why are you here?”
Erica's smile faded.
“Excuse me?”
“If you're so certain he loves you, why do you need to convince me?”
For a moment, Erica had no answer.
Then she laughed.
“You really are naive.”
She leaned closer.
“Christian and I have history. Real history.”
Amelia looked directly at her.
“So do we.”
That evening, Christian found Amelia alone in the music room.
She was sitting at the grand piano.
Her fingers rested on the keys.
“Why aren't you upstairs?”
“I couldn't sleep.”
Christian approached slowly.
“Are you upset about Erica?”
Amelia didn't answer.
He sat beside her.
“She was part of my past.”
“Was?”
“Yes.”
Amelia looked at him.
“Did you love her?”
Christian considered the question.
“I thought I did.”
“And now?”
He looked at Amelia.
“Now I know the difference.”
She swallowed.
“Christian—”
“I loved the idea of Erica. Her talent. Her confidence. The music she played.”
He glanced at the piano.
“But I never knew her.”
Amelia looked down.
“What if the music wasn't hers?”
Christian frowned.
“What?”
Amelia pressed one key.
Then another.
A familiar melody filled the room.
Christian froze.
Dark Night, Starlight.
Erica's most famous composition.
But Amelia played it differently.
More slowly.
More intimately.
As though every note belonged to her.
Christian stared.
“Where did you learn that?”
Amelia continued playing.
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“I wrote it.”
Christian stopped breathing.
“What?”
“Six years ago.”
She finished the final phrase.
Then removed her hands from the keys.
“My father sold it. Erica bought it. Everyone believed she was the genius.”
Christian looked at her.
“Amelia.”
She smiled sadly.
“I was Mia.”
The name struck him.
Mia.
The mysterious young composer whose original manuscript had vanished.
The artist he had admired for years.
He stared at his wife.
The woman he had rejected.
The mother of his children.
The musician he had fallen in love with before ever knowing her face.
And suddenly he understood something extraordinary.
He had loved Amelia's music long before he loved Amelia.
Christian immediately ordered an investigation.
Within forty-eight hours, his legal team uncovered bank transfers.
Contracts.
Forged signatures.
Evidence linking Erica to Amelia's stolen composition.
But Erica had already learned what was happening.
She arrived at Amelia's apartment with a smile.
“I hear you've been telling stories about me.”
Amelia stood in the doorway.
“I've been telling the truth.”
Erica's expression hardened.
“You have no idea what you're doing.”
“Actually, I do.”
Amelia held up a copy of the original handwritten score.
“And this time, I'm not letting anyone steal my work.”
Erica stared at it.
Then whispered:
“You think Christian will choose you when he learns what happened the night you conceived those babies?”
Amelia went cold.
“What are you talking about?”
Erica smiled.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
She stepped closer.
“Your marriage wasn't the only thing Henry arranged.”
May you like
And before Amelia could ask another question, Erica placed a photograph in her hand.
A photograph taken on the night Christian's life changed.
