Chapter 1The Disabled Maestro Is My Judge

It was my seventh autumn in Vienna when I ran into my ex-wife, Savannah Reilly.

She was here accompanying Asher King, her protégé, for the International Piano Competition, and her gaze snagged on the empty sleeve of my right arm.

Asher, the young pianist, offered a too-wide smile and a cheerful, "Hello, Professor Cross," before deliberately bringing up the fire.

Savannah watched me, her expression a complicated mix of guilt and pity. "Asher didn't mean it, Alistair. I thought it was just a fracture, I never imagined..."

The wind stole the rest of her words, and I had no interest in hearing them anyway.

My mind was focused on my six-year wedding anniversary with Eliza.

Yet, as I walked past the State Opera House, Savannah caught up to me.

She pressed a ticket into my hand. "Alistair, I know performing at the Golden Hall was your ultimate dream."

"This ticket cost a fortune."

"Even though you can never play again, Asher is going to carry that dream forward for you."

I met her eyes—those eyes full of insufferable pity—and politely pushed the ticket away. "Thank you, but I don't need it."

Savannah let out a heavy sigh. "You don't have to hate me so much."

I managed a slight smile.

I hadn't hated her in years.

And I certainly didn't need to tell her that I was the Head Judge for this very piano competition.

* * *

"If you don't hate me, why did you run away and hide in another country?" Savannah wasn't ready to let go, determined to extract an answer from me.

The late autumn breeze reddened her eyes. This level of investment from her was something I hadn't seen in a very long time.

Perhaps realizing her lapse in decorum, she softened her tone.

"Can we sit down at a coffee shop? You used to make me a perfect Americano every morning..."

Savannah rattled on, sinking into nostalgia, but I cut her off.

"I don't recall. My wife only drinks tea."

Her pupils constricted instantly, her shocked stare drilling into me.

"You're married? But you always said you would only ever..."

Her voice was shaking when she spoke again.

I nodded and raised my hand, pointing toward the large screen in the plaza where a woman was being interviewed on television.

Savannah stared for a long time, then suddenly laughed out loud.

"Eliza Sinclair, the CEO of the Sinclair Group? Alistair, you're a terrible liar."

"A marriage like that, between two major powers, it’s not something you and I would ever be involved in."

"Besides, you... stop trying to fool me."

Her gaze dropped from the screen to my empty sleeve, a flicker of genuine distress in her eyes.

She tucked the ticket back into my jacket pocket.

"I know things have been difficult for you since you left."

"I just want to bring your impossible dream a little closer to reality."

Watching this woman, so completely convinced of her own narrative, I almost wanted to laugh. I was the Royal Opera House’s Chief Pianist, and my wife was the head of a global conglomerate. And Savannah thought I was struggling?

"Ms. Reilly, we are both married now. Please show some respect."

I kept my tone even, not wanting to get drawn into a scene, and turned to walk down a different street.

"At least let me drive you home, can I?" Savannah pursued me.

She reached out, but her fingers closed only on my vacant sleeve.

Her eyes instantly welled up.

I found the whole thing utterly pointless. I had no interest in wasting another second on her.

"My driver is coming to collect me now. It's not necessary, thank you."

I used my healthy left hand to try and shake Savannah off, but she held on, her grip tight. Sadness churned relentlessly in her eyes.

Until a leather strap came down hard across the back of her hand.