Chapter 3

Ayleen's POV

The next day came too soon, dragging me out of sleep with a pounding headache.

I groaned, rubbing my temples as I sat up. "Never drinking before a long day again."

Serena, already dressed and perfecting her makeup, smirked at me through the mirror. "You look like death."

"Thanks," I muttered, throwing my legs over the bed. Every muscle in my fingers ached from yesterday’s practice. "Marcelo is crazy. I thought my hands were going to fall off."

"That bad?" she asked, dabbing lipstick onto her bottom lip.

"He’s strict, but he takes his job seriously—which is good. I need to get better."

Serena rolled her eyes. "You are better. You’re obsessed, Ayleen. Just admit it."

I sighed, pulling a dress over my head.

"You sure you don’t want to borrow something from my closet?" Serena asked, eyeing me. "You are the star of the night. Shouldn’t you look a little more… like the star of the night?"

"I look fine," I said, dismissing her with a wave.

"Fine," she repeated flatly.

"Yes. Fine. Let’s go."

Serena huffed but grabbed her purse, and we left before she could push further.

The bar was already buzzing when we arrived, the familiar hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the air.

George was at the same table as last night, grinning wide as we approached. "Girls! Look at that, on time! Unlike Steven." He kissed both our cheeks before wrapping me in a quick hug.

"I couldn’t thank you properly yesterday," I said. "I’m really grateful for your trust."

"Ayleen, my sweet girl, I’m grateful for you." He squeezed my shoulder before heading off with Marcus toward the stage.

Serena watched them go, then turned to me with a knowing look. "Ohhh, I see chemistry."

Edward chuckled into his drink.

I gawked at her. "What? The only thing you see is friendship. Drop it."

Serena groaned. "You need to move on. Just because your fiancé cheated on you doesn’t mean you need to live single forever."

I stiffened.

The comment was unnecessary. And unfair.

"Not everything is about that," I muttered, dismissing it before she could keep pushing.

Before she could respond, a shiver ran down my spine.

A presence.

A tall, slender hand rested on my shoulder—light, but enough to still me.

My breath hitched.

I turned—

And there she was.

Clara.

Dressed in black, her sleeveless blouse emphasizing the smooth lines of her collarbones, the sharp cut of her fitted trousers making her look effortless, like she belonged in a high-rise office, not a dimly lit bar.

Her brown eyes were sharper than last night, darkened with makeup that made them look impossibly deep, impossibly dangerous.

Her lips curved.

"Hello," she murmured, voice low, husky, deliberate.

I didn’t know why my stomach fluttered at the sound.

Marcus appeared at my side, looking tense.

"Marcus spoke so highly of their new keyboard player," Clara continued, her gaze never leaving mine. "I just had to come… meet you."

I nodded—more like jerked my head—unable to find words.

Marcus cleared his throat and pulled a chair out for her, almost like an offering. "Ayleen, Serena, this is Clara—my cousin and my boss."

Serena perked up. "You own a law firm, right?"

Clara barely looked at her, taking a slow sip of whiskey. "I do."

Then, her full attention snapped back to me.

"Have you played for a long time?"

I shifted, feeling the weight of her complete focus. "Yes. Since I was eight."

"How old are you now?"

I bit my lip, caught off guard by her directness. "Twenty one."

Clara hummed as if filing that information away.

"Where are you from?" she asked, sipping her drink.

"Utah. My family owns a farm there."

Something flickered in her expression.

"A farm girl," she mused.

I stiffened. "Why does that matter?"

She tilted her head slightly. "It doesn’t." A beat passed. "Just interesting."

I wasn’t sure why that irritated me.

"You play beautifully," she said next, and the shift in topic caught me off guard.

I hesitated. "H-How do you know?"

She sat up straighter, uncrossing and recrossing her legs. "I was there yesterday. Didn’t you see me?"

I swallowed hard. "I… guess."

Clara’s lips curled. "Did you forget?"

She leaned forward, just slightly—just enough that I caught the faintest hint of her perfume.

Something deep and intoxicating.

My pulse skipped.

"You even blushed when I waved," she added smoothly.

My face burned.

I wanted to argue. Wanted to say I did not blush—except… I probably did.

"No… I… uh…" I fumbled, suddenly too hot in my dress. "Oh, come on, stop that!"

Clara laughed, a rich, warm sound that did not help.

Then—

George’s voice saved me.

"Ayleen! Let’s go!"

I leapt up so fast my chair nearly tipped over. I turned to bolt—

But a hand caught my wrist.

Not tight. Not forceful. Just enough to hold me still.

I froze.

Clara’s voice lowered. "I’ll be watching you."

Then—just as my heart stuttered—she winked.

I barely made it to the stage.

My fingers pressed into the keyboard like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.

I needed to focus.

I had to play.

I could not let this job slip through my hands.

But when I glanced toward the back of the room—

She was still watching.

Smirking.

Like she knew exactly what she was doing.

God, it was going to be a long night.