Farewell to Love: The CEO's Desperate Chase novel Chapter 206

The woman on stage shifted seamlessly into her next act—now it was the fifth country, Granthia.

She stood beneath the lights in a flowing white dress, her movements light as air. Raising a silver flute to her lips, she played a melody so clear and gentle it seemed to wash over the audience like a soft breeze.

When she set the flute aside and began to sing, her voice low and tender, the entire auditorium was swept into the heart of an extraordinary journey.

Five nations unfolded before their eyes—each with its own language, instruments, and musical style. None of it felt jarring, not even as the mood and rhythm changed again and again. The performance was a journey in itself—a whirlwind of civilizations, vivid fragments interwoven until time and space seemed to blur.

As the Masked Woman played her final notes, Tyler sat in the audience, his face hidden in shadow.

He and Emilia had visited all those countries. More than once.

Back in the early days, when the Erickson Group was reinventing itself, Emilia had traveled everywhere by his side. With her there, the world never felt lonely. She was always so full of life, brimming with hope and energy, as if nothing could ever dim her light.

“Tye, we’ll make it,” she used to whisper in his ear. “I’ll be here with you, every step of the way. We’ll reach the top together.”

She’d smile and add, “I believe in you—so promise me you’ll believe in me, too.”

Now, Tyler’s fists clenched in his lap. But what he saw wasn’t her radiant smile—it was the memory of that night at Lunar Manor: Emilia, thin and exhausted, her eyes red from crying, her spirit faded and wilted.

His hands trembled as the Masked Woman lowered her instrument and bowed to the audience. Tyler closed his eyes.

Thunderous applause erupted all around.

Everyone in the hall was on their feet, clapping for her.

Five and a half minutes on stage, including a lightning-fast costume change—she’d stitched together every skill she had and woven it into a single, flawless story.

But it wasn’t just about the technique. It was her storytelling that left the crowd spellbound.

Her smile was perfectly poised, and when her gaze landed on Vivienne at the judges’ table, looking sour, Emilia’s mood only improved.

“I know there have been a few rumors about me out there,” she continued, “but I believe that real talent speaks for itself—gossip doesn’t matter in the end.”

“So please, if you enjoyed my performance, give me your vote!”

With that, Emilia dipped into a deep bow.

Sweat—tinged with stage makeup—glistened under the theater lights, shimmering like tiny jewels. This was what she’d poured into her performance: effort, sincerity, and heart.

She didn’t use fancy words—just honesty. Emilia understood the crowd inside couldn’t vote by phone; anything too showy or pushy would only put them off. She said what mattered, nothing more.

And as she straightened and bowed once again, the applause surged through the hall, louder than ever.