After I left the hospital, Ethan went quiet for a long time.
He stopped following me. He stopped sending those annoying messages. Life finally seemed to return to normal.
But I knew better. Someone like him would never let go easily.
He started working behind the scenes.
Spencer told me that Ethan had spent a fortune contacting the most prestigious orchestras abroad, securing a highly competitive principal audition slot for me. He had also traveled across Europe, bidding on a 17th-century antique cello at an auction.
He thought this was the only thing he could still do for me—use the dreams he had once destroyed to redeem himself.
That afternoon, Ethan's assistant walked into my training center, carrying a massive cello case. Ethan sat across the street in his car, watching from a di
