If Amy Sinclair spoke French, it made perfect sense—Alexander Blackwood had hired a private tutor for Liam, and she had simply joined in during their lessons.

But her flawless German? That was unexpected.

Alexander had only ever studied English, French, and Spanish. German wasn’t even in his repertoire.

So how did she master it so effortlessly?

And it wasn’t just basic phrases—her grammar was impeccable, her pronunciation native-level.

Even if it irked him, Alexander had to admit: no one could speak a language that perfectly without real immersion, without conversing with native speakers regularly.

His dark gaze lingered on Amy, but she didn’t spare him a glance. Instead, she pressed play on the recording.

It wasn’t until Victoria Langley’s voice filled the room that Alexander’s attention snapped to her. His eyes, deep and unreadable, swept over Victoria.

She tensed, discomfort flickering across her face.

Wait—hadn’t Amy only recorded the conversation between Nathan Prescott and herself? How had Victoria ended up on the tape too?

When the recording ended, silence settled over the room—thick and suffocating, like the hush before a storm.

Expressions shifted, faces paling.

Just moments ago, they’d all been quick to label Amy as petty, painting her as the villain.

Now, with the truth laid bare, their self-righteousness crumbled. There was no dignity left to cling to.

Arthur Pendleton surveyed the room, his voice cutting through the tension.

"Anyone who insulted Ms. Sinclair—apologize. Now. Or consider yourself unwelcome at my gatherings."

The implication was clear: refusal meant banishment from his prestigious music salons.

No one dared resist.

The two men who had earlier hovered around Amy stepped forward first, their earlier bravado gone.

"Ms. Sinclair, we’re deeply sorry. We approached you because you’re stunning, and we just wanted your number."

"And then… we believed the wrong people. We were out of line. Please forgive us."

Amy’s icy stare silenced them. She said nothing.

She recognized their type—men who grew bolder the more you indulged them.

One by one, the others who had spoken against her lined up to apologize.

Amy stood composed, making no effort to appear gracious. She accepted their words with quiet dignity, letting the moment stretch.

She wanted them—Alexander included—to understand: she wasn’t someone to be underestimated.

Julian Montclair watched her, a faint smile playing on his lips, admiration gleaming in his eyes.

Alexander noticed Julian’s gaze, his frown deepening.

Amy had mentioned Julian’s name in the recording. Did he not realize she was Alexander’s wife, the mother of his child?

A strange irritation coiled in his chest.

Once the apologies ended, the crowd dispersed quickly, eager to escape the humiliation.

No one wanted to linger—their pride had been thoroughly shattered.

Finally, Amy turned to Nathan, who had remained silent.

His jaw was clenched, resentment simmering beneath a cold exterior. He refused to back down.

Missing a music salon meant nothing to him—he was only here for Victoria.

Alexander saw right through him. His voice dropped, low and commanding. "Nathan."

Nathan stiffened, his eyes darting to Alexander.

Alexander’s expression was unyielding, his gaze dark with warning.

Nathan’s breath hitched. He opened his mouth—