Emily Blair said quietly, “You trust me, so I can’t betray that trust.”
“I’m just glad I didn’t let you down. This time, Ryan Cox won’t be getting away.”
Her voice was calm, yet there was a quiet strength about her—something that made it impossible not to believe her.
“You’ve already been so brave. Give yourself a little more credit,” she added gently.
Donna Thomas covered her mouth, struggling to hold back her tears, but soon her quiet sobs grew louder.
Before leaving, Emily placed a comforting hand on Donna’s shoulder. “Get some rest. I’ll be waiting for you to come back to work, and so will your colleagues.”
After leaving Donna’s apartment, Emily headed once again to Rose Ward’s café.
Between the chaos with Ryan Cox and the company, she hadn’t had a spare moment to visit Rose’s place lately.
As she walked in, the first thing she noticed was the grand piano in the corner.
Seated at the bench was a slender woman in a pristine white dress. Her elegant posture and striking poise made her impossible to ignore.
The music flowing from her fingers was both gentle and masterful.
Narrowing her eyes, Emily slipped into a seat tucked away in the corner, the high back of the chair shielding her from view. From the piano bench, no one could see her face.
As the final notes faded, Rose Ward emerged from the kitchen.
“Ms. Austin, what brings you here today?” Rose’s voice, usually warm and welcoming, was tinged with anxiety.
Isabella Austin’s reply was as soft as velvet. “Rose, it’s only been two months and you already have your own café—and a lovely piano. It seems you’re doing well.”
Rose kept her voice low. “Ms. Austin, if you have something to say, please get to the point. I can’t have you lingering here.”
Isabella’s tone was gentle. “I’ve got a competition coming up. They require original piano compositions.”
She let the meaning hang in the air. “Rose, I think you know what I’m asking.”
Rose’s voice cracked as she struggled to keep it together. “Why are you asking again? I don’t have the energy for this anymore. I don’t want to keep—”
“Rose.” Isabella’s voice was calm, almost soothing. “You know I need you. Please, just compose a brand new piece for me. Just this once. Can you do that?”
Rose hesitated. “But…I don’t want to.”
Isabella’s voice dropped, becoming just a little more insistent. “Rose, this café exists because of my money. So does that beautiful piano. Thanks to me, you finally have your own. And this time, I’ll pay you double. Isn’t that enough?”
Still, Rose shook her head, trying to reason with Isabella. “Ms. Austin, we can’t keep doing this. It isn’t fair—to the other competitors.”
Isabella’s voice lowered, her words turning cold. “You know I can arrange doctors, hospitals, and private rooms for your grandmother—or I can take them all away. Rose, think of her. She raised you. Don’t you want her to have the peaceful retirement she deserves?”

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