Under normal circumstances, Amy Sinclair had no authority to make decisions for Genevieve Harrington.

But after years of friendship, they understood each other better than anyone else.

By staying silent, Genevieve had placed the choice in Amy’s hands.

Back in their quartet days, Genevieve had always been the steady one—patient, kind, never one to force her opinions. If Amy spoke up, Genevieve would likely agree to be Victoria Langley’s special guest, simply out of loyalty.

Amy didn’t want Genevieve dragged into this feud, risking retaliation from Alexander Blackwood and his circle. But if Amy disliked Victoria enough to refuse, Genevieve wouldn’t help them either. The decision was entirely hers.

Amy’s frown deepened at the sound of her nickname—Celeste—and she didn’t bother masking her irritation.

"Mr. Blackwood, is it a habit of yours to take what isn’t yours?" Her voice was sharp. "First, you steal my mother’s heirlooms. Then you sabotage my meeting with Mr. Pendleton. Now, you’re trying to take over my studio. And today—you want to steal my guest performer?"

She turned her piercing gaze to Victoria. "What’s next, Ms. Langley? Do you share some twisted connection with me? Must you claim everything I hold dear?"

Victoria’s voice was measured, careful. "Ms. Sinclair, you misunderstand. I had no idea Ms. Harrington was your guest. I only wanted to invite an old friend from Solmaris Conservatory to support me on stage. That’s all."

Amy’s eyes narrowed. "Now you know. So, are you still planning to poach her?"

Victoria lowered her lashes, concealing whatever flickered in her gaze. "Ms. Sinclair, I’m not stealing anyone. As Mr. Blackwood said, it’s your decision. We’d simply appreciate her help—if she has the time."

Amy let out a cold laugh, each word deliberate. "I invited Genevieve because she’s my friend. What makes you think you have the right to ask her?"

She tilted her head mockingly. "Is it your money? Your influence? Do you really think she needs that?"

"Or is it your so-called favors?" Amy’s voice turned icy. "Tell me, how much do you think they’re worth to her? Does she even want them?"

She turned to Alexander, her expression unreadable. "Or is it just your sheer audacity?"

Alexander’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

Victoria flinched at Amy’s direct challenge. Why would someone like Genevieve—born into privilege—choose Amy over her?

She tried again, softer this time. "Ms. Sinclair, I know you dislike me, but—"

Amy slammed her palm on the table, the sharp crack cutting her off. "Enough."

Her voice was steel. "If you know I can’t stand you, then act like it. Save your games for someone else. I’m not one of your pawns."

Victoria hadn’t expected Amy to strip away all pretense so ruthlessly, leaving no room for courtesy. This wasn’t how a "proper" woman was supposed to behave.

Almost instinctively, Victoria glanced at Genevieve, searching for disapproval—but found only quiet amusement, her eyes alight with silent support for Amy.

Victoria’s stomach dropped. If Genevieve truly sided with Amy, with tensions this high, she had no chance.

Amy turned back to Alexander, her voice colder than winter. "Mr. Blackwood, instead of wasting time scheming against me, perhaps you should find another guest."

Her gaze hardened. "You won’t take anything else from me. Not this time. I won’t back down."

With that, she shot Genevieve a look, and the two women walked out together, leaving silence in their wake.