Chapter 606

Alexander stirred awake as the last traces of medication faded from his system.

He massaged his temples, his gaze drifting to Evelyn beside him. Unable to resist, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.

Ever since Evelyn had joined the orchestra, her time at home had dwindled to mere weekends—just a handful of days each month.

The thought tightened his chest. He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her.

Evelyn, still half-asleep, felt herself being drawn into warmth. She blinked groggily, only for Alexander’s lips to capture hers the next second.

"Mmm—"

Her drowsy mind registered one thought: That medicine was stronger than I thought.

"Alexander, calm down! Go take another shower!" she protested, voice thick with sleep.

He chuckled, releasing her. His eyes lingered on her flushed lips. "Evelyn, I’m perfectly fine. I just wanted to kiss you."

Heat flooded her cheeks. She yanked the blanket up, attempting to hide.

"I just woke up," she mumbled, still disoriented.

Alexander found her unbearably adorable like this.

Cupping her face, he leaned in until their breaths mingled. "Evelyn, when will you come home for good?"

At five months pregnant, her belly would soon make even playing the cello difficult.

"After the composition contest," she said.

Leonard had insisted she participate, and lately, composing had ignited a spark in her. Her hand drifted to her stomach.

By the contest’s end, she’d be six months along—she’d need to be more careful.

A sudden flutter made her bolt upright.

"Alexander! The baby just kicked!"

He stilled, then pressed his ear to her belly. "Let me listen."

Evelyn laughed. "He can’t talk yet. What are you expecting to hear?"

"Your stomach growling. Are you hungry? I’ll make breakfast."

She rolled her eyes, bundling herself tighter in the blanket. Alexander tapped her nose affectionately before slipping out of bed.

With nothing planned for the weekend, Evelyn idly uploaded a recent composition to her Twitter. She rarely used the platform—her few dozen followers meant the post garnered little attention.

No matter. It was just for her own records.

She replayed the melody, satisfaction curling in her chest. The notes sparked fresh inspiration, and she quickly jotted them down.

Meanwhile, at a sunlit café, renowned cellist Natalie Riley sipped coffee across from her mentor, Leonard Herty.

When Leonard mentioned taking on a new protégé, Natalie’s interest piqued.

Leonard never took students.

"What’s so special about her?" Natalie asked.

Leonard smirked. "She’s a quick learner. Far more talented than you were at her age."

Natalie scoffed. "You’re joking."

"Believe what you want. Her compositions? Brilliant. Mark my words—she’ll surpass you."

Natalie’s brows shot up. "Really? What’s her Twitter? I need to see this."

Every orchestra member had one, including Evelyn, though hers had been set up at Leonard’s insistence.

Leonard took a leisurely sip. "Look up ‘Sweet Savage.’"

Natalie blinked. "Bold name for a girl."

"It’s just a handle. You kids love your dramatics."

Natalie found the account instantly. A recently posted composition caught her eye.

The moment she pressed play, the synthesized melody stunned her.

Leonard grinned as the music floated between them. "Well? Convinced?"

Natalie sniffed. "It’s decent. Not quite my level."

Yet her fingers betrayed her, retweeting it with a comment: [My mentor’s newest student. / thumbs up]

As a prodigy who’d performed at Vienna’s Golden Hall by twenty, Natalie boasted millions of followers. Fans worshipped her as a celestial talent—her rare posts sent shockwaves through the music world.

So when the famously aloof Natalie endorsed an unknown account with twelve followers? Chaos erupted.

Curiosity drove hordes to "Sweet Savage’s" profile. They expected a rising star, not this obscure handle.

Within hours, Evelyn’s followers exploded from twelve to over 200,000.

Oblivious, she enjoyed lunch at home, her phone silenced.

Elsewhere, Vanessa Hart sat across from a seething Isabella Morgan.

The second Vanessa settled into her chair, Isabella hurled a cup of coffee straight into her face.

"This is all your fault!" Isabella snarled, trembling with rage.

Without Vanessa’s poisonous advice, she’d never have taken that irreversible step.

She’d never have lost everything overnight—left with no recourse but to choke down her humiliation.

Coffee dripped from Vanessa’s face onto her ruined blouse. Her expression darkened.

Without hesitation, she snatched a cup from the table and flung it back.

"Who do you think you are? The Morgans are finished. You’re just Alexander’s charity case—unwanted, worthless. I’m Ethan’s wife. You dare lay a hand on me?"