Elinor's chest heaved as her breathing slowed down. She stood up from the piano bench. She gathered her scattered Liszt sheet music and stacked the pages together.

Her fingers brushed against her collarbone. The skin was bare. For years, a heavy silver chain had rested there.

The missing weight triggered the final piece of the past. The day before high school graduation.

The alley behind a quiet coffee shop near the Northwood campus. A light rain fell from the grey sky.

Elinor held a large black umbrella. She stood perfectly still. She stared at Howell. He stood next to a green dumpster.

He looked sick. Dark circles hung under his eyes. But his jaw was set in an arrogant, defiant angle.

Deep in the shadows of the alley, Carrie hid behind a brick wall. She wore an oversized trench coat. She leaned out to watch.

Howell raised his voice over the rain. He announced that he refused to accept his family's plans. He said he would not waste his youth on Elinor.

Elinor nodded slowly. She told him she had already called her lawyers. The financial ties between their families were being severed.

Howell's face twisted. Her lack of tears infuriated him. He felt like she was looking down on him.

He grabbed the knot of his uniform tie and ripped it loose. He reached into his shirt pocket. He pulled out the Clemons family heirloom. The blue sapphire pendant.

Elinor's grandmother had given it to him when they were ten years old to hold as a promise. It was worth a fortune.

Howell held the thin silver chain. He dangled the glowing blue stone directly over a rusted iron sewer grate.

In the shadows, Carrie smiled. It was a vicious, ugly smile. She nodded her head at Howell.

Howell glared at Elinor. He gritted his teeth. He told her this was exactly what he thought of their fake relationship.

He opened his fingers. The sapphire dropped.

The metal hit the iron grate with a sharp clink. It slipped through the gap. A second later, a hollow splash echoed from the dark, rotting water below.

Howell lifted his chin. He waited for her to scream. He waited for her to fall apart. Then he turned around, grabbed Carrie's hand, and walked out of the alley.

Elinor stood in the rain. She watched them leave. Her face did not change. Her heart did not beat any faster.

She shifted the umbrella to her shoulder. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her phone. She opened a highly encrypted, discreet application-the private concierge terminal exclusively used by the Clemons family. She typed a quick message to her family's executive assistant, detailing the exact street coordinates and the nature of the lost item. She authorized a five-thousand-dollar emergency dispatch fee from her trust account. Thirty minutes later, a professional retrieval team in an unmarked black van parked in the alley. Three men in thick rubber suits used heavy iron crowbars to lift the rusted grate.

A man climbed down. Ten minutes later, he climbed out. He handed her the sapphire. It was covered in black sludge.

Elinor pulled a pair of blue latex gloves from her pocket. She took the necklace. She used a medical-grade alcohol wipe to scrub the stone until it shined.

The next morning, she locked the necklace inside a steel safety deposit box at Chase Bank. She never looked at it again.

The memory vanished. Elinor shoved her sheet music into her canvas bag. She zipped it shut.

She felt nothing but pity for him. Howell thought he destroyed her pride, but he only threw away his own dignity.

She threw the bag over her shoulder. She pushed the practice room door open. She needed to go to the Student Health Center to get a stronger prescription for her allergy pills.

She walked out of the music building. She stayed close to the brick walls, walking in the shadows to avoid the crowds.

She turned the corner near the Art History building.

Suddenly, a loud, violent scraping sound echoed from the roof directly above her head.

The harsh sound of clay scraping against stone ripped through the quiet path. The noise made the hair on the back of Elinor's neck stand up.

Her survival instinct kicked in. She snapped her head back and looked up.

On the third-floor open balcony of the Art History building, a massive terracotta planter was falling.

The dark shadow of the pot expanded over her face. Gravity pulled it down at a terrifying speed.

Elinor's brain did not have time to process the danger. Her muscles reacted first. She threw her entire body to the right, diving toward the grass.

A deafening crash exploded right next to her ear. The heavy pot slammed into the concrete walkway where she had just been standing.

The terracotta shattered into a hundred pieces. Black potting soil and jagged shards of clay exploded outward like shrapnel.

A blinding, tearing pain ripped through Elinor's left forearm.

A razor-sharp piece of clay sliced right through the fabric of her trench coat. It dug deep into her flesh.

She hit the grass hard. She gasped for air. Her right hand immediately clamped down over her left arm.

Hot, wet blood poured out of the cut. It soaked through her fingers and dripped onto the green grass. The bright red color made her stomach turn.

Elinor gritted her teeth. The pain burned like fire. She pushed herself up on her right elbow. She forced her head up to look at the third-floor balcony.

Behind the carved stone railing, a flash of blonde hair and a bright pink cardigan moved quickly. The person ducked back into the shadows and disappeared.

Elinor's eyes turned to ice. Her jaw locked. She knew that pink cardigan. It was Carrie Hutchinson.

Two students walking nearby heard the explosion. They ran over, their faces pale with shock.

A boy with black glasses saw the blood pouring down Elinor's arm. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He started dialing campus security.

"Stop," Elinor commanded. Her voice shook from the pain, but the tone was absolute.

She forced her brain to work. There were no cameras on this side of the building. There were no witnesses. She only saw a piece of clothing. Security would write it off as an accident.

She needed medical documentation first. Then she would find proof to destroy Carrie.

Elinor unzipped her bag with her bloody right hand. She pulled out a thick pack of tissues. She pressed the entire stack against the open wound.

The white paper turned dark red instantly. The students tried to grab her arms to help her up. She shoved them away. She forced herself to stand.

She walked in her heels. Every step sent a shockwave of pain up her arm, but she kept her back perfectly straight. She walked toward the Student Health Center.

Ten minutes later, Elinor pushed open the glass doors of the clinic.

The receptionist at the front desk saw her pale face and the blood dripping onto the floor. The woman slammed her hand on the emergency call button.

Registered Nurse Sharon Mills ran out from the back. She grabbed Elinor's good arm and rushed her into Treatment Room One.

Elinor sat on the exam table. The crinkly paper beneath her ripped. Cold sweat dripped down her forehead.

Sharon took a pair of medical scissors and cut the bloody sleeve off the coat. The nurse sucked in a breath. The cut was deep.

Sharon grabbed a bottle of saline. She squeezed the liquid directly into the wound. The violent stinging pain made Elinor's fingers dig into the metal edge of the bed.

"You need at least five stitches," Sharon said. She prepared a needle of local anesthetic. "You cannot use this arm for anything strenuous."

Elinor stared at the curved suture needle. Her stomach twisted. Tomorrow night was the Founder's Day Gala. She was supposed to play a piano solo. Her eyes darkened with frustration.

Nurse Sharon snipped the thick black thread with her scissors. She tied a tight knot against Elinor's skin.

Sharon grabbed a roll of thick white gauze. She wrapped it tightly around Elinor's forearm.

"Do not lift anything heavy," Sharon ordered. "Do not stretch the muscle. Keep it dry."

Elinor looked down at her arm. The thick bandage felt heavy and restrictive. She let out a slow breath. She used her right hand to pull her credit card from her wallet and paid the copay at the desk.

She walked out of the clinic. The numbness from the anesthetic was wearing off. A deep, throbbing ache pulsed in her arm with every heartbeat.

She walked straight back to the music building. She had to find Connor Bailey, the event coordinator. She had to cancel her performance for the Founder's Day Gala.

The hallways of the music building were completely empty. Everyone had run to the main quad to watch Howell's spectacle.

Elinor walked toward the administrative office. Suddenly, a massive wall of sound stopped her in her tracks.

Someone was playing the piano in Practice Room A. It was Chopin's Winter Wind. It was the exact piece she was supposed to play tomorrow night.

The notes were incredibly fast. The force behind the keys was aggressive and flawless. It was better than her own playing.

Elinor walked slowly to the heavy wooden door. She looked through the small square glass window.

A man sat at the Steinway. He wore a custom-tailored black dress shirt. His shoulders were incredibly broad.

His side profile was sharp and harsh. His jawline looked like it was cut from stone. He radiated a freezing, untouchable arrogance.

Elinor recognized him instantly. Darion Green. The ruthless and secretive Student Body President of King's State University.

Darion struck the final, thunderous chord. He froze. He felt the eyes on him. He pulled his hands off the keys.

He turned his head. His pitch-black eyes locked directly onto Elinor through the glass.

The intensity of his stare hit her chest like a physical blow. Her heart skipped a beat. She took a step backward.

Darion stood up. He walked to the door with long, heavy strides. He grabbed the handle and yanked the door open.

His massive frame blocked out the light from the room. A strong scent of cedar wood and cold rain washed over her.

Darion did not look at her face. His black eyes dropped instantly to her left arm. He stared at the thick white gauze. A tiny spot of red blood had already soaked through the fabric.

His pupils contracted. His jaw clenched so hard the muscle ticked. His large hands dropped to his sides and curled into tight fists.

"What happened to your arm?" Darion asked. His voice was incredibly deep. It had a rough, dangerous edge to it.

Elinor felt intimidated by his presence. She swallowed hard.

"An accident," Elinor said quickly. "I am looking for Connor. I have to cancel my solo for tomorrow."

Darion frowned. His expression turned to stone.

"You cannot cancel the finale," Darion said coldly. "It makes the university look incompetent."

Elinor felt a spark of anger. She lifted her bandaged arm slightly.

"Do you expect me to play Chopin with one hand?" she snapped.

Darion took a step forward. He invaded her personal space. He looked down at her.

"I will play it for you," Darion commanded. "I am already scheduled to perform this exact piece for the International Chopin Piano Competition next month. The muscle memory is flawless."

Elinor froze. "That breaks protocol. We have never rehearsed the stage cues."

Darion ignored her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black iPhone. He unlocked it and shoved it toward her chest.

"Put your number in," he ordered. "I will send you the revised schedule tonight."

Elinor's brain stopped working. She took the phone with her right hand. She typed in her digits.

Darion took the phone back. He pressed call. Elinor's phone vibrated in her pocket.

Darion looked deep into her eyes. "Rest your arm," he said.

He turned around and walked down the hallway. Elinor stood frozen outside the door. Her heart hammered against her ribs.