Fateful Contract：Play the Billionaire Player

Chapter 5 The Song

"Anita?"

Emma was dragged into a corner. The woman in the extravagant gown let go of her and hissed under her breath, "What the hell, Emma? Why are you so late?!"

She pointed toward the stage, where the curtains had already pulled back, her face flushed with anger. "This mess? It's all because of you!"

Emma turned around and froze.

The stage was a disaster. The actors weren't performing a musical.

Instead, a group of large men dressed in black were forcing them to perform magic tricks. One of the actors fumbled, his props scattering across the floor. He was met with a brutal punch to the stomach.

A young girl, dressed in a frilly dress, was shoved onto an acrobat's ball. Her legs shook uncontrollably as she tried to balance, but after only a few steps, she toppled off, crashing hard to the ground.

Her fall was painful, prompting a sharp, amused chuckle from a woman in the audience—detached, entertained by her struggle. Then, the voice of the woman's personal assistant rang out coldly as she snapped her fingers, giving the command, "Again."

The guards wasted no time picking the girl up and shoving her back onto the ball.

Emma turned her gaze toward the audience. The seats, usually filled to the brim, were nearly empty. Besides the guards, only one person sat in the middle. From this distance, Emma couldn't make out her features, but she could see Hank beside her, bowing, nervously wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"Madam Whitmore is impossible," Anita muttered, stamping her foot before pushing Emma toward a small, hidden room beneath the stage. Her words tumbled out rapidly, "She came specifically for our reputation and demanded to hear the third act. So sing like your life depends on it, or else..." She bared her teeth. "Or I'll have Uncle Hank fire you!"

Emma wanted to argue but glanced back at the chaos on stage and bit her tongue. Swallowing her pride, she stepped into the small, dark room.

This was where she did her understudy work. The theater may have been small, but it had an old, intricate sound system, supposedly passed down from the previous century. The microphones were interconnected, perfect for this kind of substitution.

The room smelled musty, the dampness clinging to everything. Even after four months of working here, Emma still hadn't gotten used to the smell. A small, grainy screen displayed the stage above her, showing her every movement.

Anita had already stepped onto the stage, bowing apologetically under the sharp, condescending voice of Madam Celia's assistant. The actors quickly scrambled to their positions, as they had done countless times before.

'This is probably my last performance here,' Emma thought, her eyes lingering on the screen.

Her mind flashed back to the first time she had come to this theater.

Matthew had invited her out on a date. His strong, rugged face had been flushed with embarrassment. The guy who could fight so fiercely in the ring had handed her two small theater tickets with such sweet awkwardness.

He couldn't even look her in the eye, his words stumbling over each other. "I... I don't have much money right now, but someday... I'll take you to the biggest stage. No matter what, Emma—whether you want to be in the audience or perform—I'll always be right there beside you."

They'd enjoyed the show together. But that night, fate had intervened. Anita lost her voice, and Hank, desperate to avoid refunding all the ticket money, had begged for help. Emma's voice, by chance, was a close match, and being a musical theater student, she stepped in.

She had been a hit, and after that, Hank begged her to work for him.

That was why, when Matthew's debts piled up, this theater had been her first choice for work.

But now...

The actors were in position, and Emma took a deep breath, her fingers brushing instinctively against the spot where her ring used to be, now nothing but bare skin.

Anita struck her opening pose on stage, and in the dark, cramped room, Emma closed her eyes and let the music guide her. She gripped the microphone, waiting for the right moment. Then, when the first note hit, she opened her mouth and let her voice flow.

Her song filled the theater, soaring through the speakers, while Anita mimed the performance above.

In the darkness, Emma poured everything into her final performance. No audience to see her, no spotlight to warm her skin—just her voice, filling the void.

Memories flooded her mind, dancing behind her closed eyes.

"You know things are different now," Hank had said when he handed her the contract. His gratitude had vanished, replaced by cold practicality.

"If you want to work here, you'll only ever be her understudy."

Emma knew this show by heart. She didn't even need the screen. The lyrics, the melody—they were all second nature, flowing from her effortlessly.

Matthew's voice echoed in her memory, filled with urgency.

"Emma, listen to me! You can't sign that debt agreement. This is my burden, not yours. You deserve better than this. You deserve a future filled with happiness and peace."

Her professor's furious voice followed.

"You were my best student, Emma Hansen! You had a future most people could only dream of! Do you think talent alone is enough? So many prodigies have wasted their gifts because of laziness. If you don't give up these part-time jobs, you'll throw away everything you've worked for!"

And then Matthew's cold, dismissive words from the other day, echoing in her mind like a nightmare she couldn't shake.

"You think you deserve me? You're not even close to good enough."

Her voice took on a raw, sorrowful edge, like a bird trapped in a dark, endless forest, wings clipped, its cries lost in the night. The innocent fawn had stepped into a trap, its legs bloodied, its heart broken.

The audience couldn't help but feel it—her pain, her struggle. But slowly, her voice began to rise, climbing higher and higher. The lark was fighting to fly, the deer was breaking free. Her voice swelled with hope, stronger, more determined, until it broke into a world of light, where flowers bloomed beneath a bright, open sky.

The uncertainty in her song vanished, replaced by strength and conviction. The final note was a crescendo, echoing through the theater, hanging in the air long after the song had ended.

Emma clutched the microphone, her chest rising and falling as she slowly opened her eyes. The room was stifling, sweat clinging to her skin, but she barely noticed.

Her eyes went immediately to the screen.

The stage and audience were completely still. Silent.