Chapter 1

My grandfather was terminally ill. His only wish was to see me play our family’s legendary piece, *The Tempest*, on our heritage cello at Lincoln Center.

But on the night of the performance, I was blocked outside the theater.

Only then did I find out that my girlfriend, Chloe, had secretly cancelled my solo. She did it just to give her crush Chase’s boy band the spotlight.

I waited outside the theater until the curtain fell, only to see her walking out with her arm around Chase, talking about going out for drinks to celebrate.

Grandpa passed away from the shock. But Chloe just accused me of making a big deal out of nothing.

"No one wants to watch that boring, dusty classical stuff anyway. I did it for the show's ratings."

"Chase is the leader of a top boy band with an unlimited future. How does your broken cello even compare to his singing and dancing?"

My mother kicked me out of Grandpa’s funeral.

She said I was the murderer who killed him. She screamed at me, saying I didn't deserve to inherit the Vance family's cello-making legacy.

Facing the accusations of my relatives, I was speechless.

I had personally promised Grandpa that I would bring *The Tempest* back to the grand stage and win the trophy at the National Showcase.

But I failed.

I knelt outside the memorial hall, bowed deeply three times, and walked home like a ghost. I sat on the sofa in the dark until midnight.

Chloe walked in smelling of alcohol. She flicked on the light and gasped, "Why are you sitting there in the dark without making a sound? You scared the hell out of me!"

I didn't say a word. I just stared at the red mark on her neck.

An unspeakable disgust rose in my chest.

She acted completely normal, walking over and throwing her legs across my lap, signaling for me to massage her.

"Sorry, my phone was on silent. I missed your calls."

Smelling the faint scent of men's cologne on her, I felt sick. I coldly pushed her legs off me and stood up to leave.

Chloe grabbed my arm, frowning with impatience. "What’s with the attitude?"

"So what if I swapped your performance? I told you there was a reason, and I already apologized. What more do you want?"

I remained silent. I thought back to this morning when the security guards blocked me outside Lincoln Center. She had texted me saying the schedule changed last minute and told me not to worry.

She even promised she would find a way to get me on stage.

Yet, I waited until the lights went out, and I couldn't even take a single step into the venue.

A sharp pain pierced my chest, making it hard to breathe.

"A reason? Your reason was staying out drinking with Chase until now?"

Her face stiffened, and she guiltily looked away. "Stop being so unreasonable. Who listens to classical cello these days? As the producer, I had to think about the ratings."

"If you really want to play that bad, go set up a stage in some local park. You can play there all day."

I let out a bitter laugh.

I wanted to play?

She knew exactly how many years of blood and sweat I had poured into this instrument. To me, it was never just a gig.

It was our family's legacy. It was the survival of a dying craft.

Yet, she destroyed my dream with her own hands.

I didn't want to waste any more breath. "We're done. Let's break up."

She stared at me, her eyes wide, screaming, "You’re breaking up with me over this petty little thing?!"

I didn't want to look at her for another second. I grabbed my jacket and slammed the door behind me.

Back then, Chloe only got her job as a producer at Lincoln Center because Grandpa used his connections to help her.

Grandpa loved her like his own granddaughter. He had even prepared our family's Victorian emerald-and-diamond set—something even I rarely got to see—as an engagement gift for her.

In the end, we had only raised a parasitic snake.

I walked aimlessly down the rainy street. Suddenly, I saw the giant screen on the opposite mall broadcasting Chase's post-show interview.

He was wearing a flashy black sequin outfit, with the prestigious stage of Lincoln Center—the stage I had dreamed of—right behind him.

When asked about the act he had replaced, he just smirked, his tone arrogant and dismissive.

"What was it called? *The Tempest*? Please, what era are we in? That kind of ancient junk is long outdated. It has no right to be on a stage like Lincoln Center."

"I want to give a special shoutout to our producer, Chloe Bennett. If she hadn't cut that act in time, we wouldn't have been able to perform and take first place..."

I couldn't listen to the rest of the interview.

My umbrella slipped from my hand, falling onto the wet pavement. A wave of bitterness flooded my throat.

So, this was the "reason" she talked about?

I let out a soft sneer. Suddenly, the weight in my heart lifted.

A heart that cold was never worth warming in the first place.