Chapter 3

After the footsteps completely faded away, the man slowly turned toward me, but I realized his condition had worsened significantly.

His face was no longer just flushed—it had turned deathly pale, with large beads of cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. He was swaying unsteadily, as if he might collapse at any moment.

"It's over," he managed to say, his voice beginning to tremble, "no one can hurt you anymore."

I couldn't hold back any longer—tears streamed down my face. No one had ever done anything like this for me. No one had ever made me feel this safe.

"Why?" I choked out, "Why would you do this for me? You don't even know me..."

He tried to reach up to wipe the tears from my cheeks, but his arm was shaking so violently he could barely lift it.

"Because..." he closed his eyes in pain, his voice becoming hoarse, "no one should be treated that way... especially someone as beautiful as you."

Suddenly, he pitched forward! I cried out and rushed to catch him. His body temperature was frighteningly high, and he was breathing rapidly like he was suffocating.

"What's wrong?!" I panicked.

"The drug... is stronger than I expected," he gritted his teeth in agony, practically leaning his entire weight against me, "Ten years... no one's music has been able to calm me like this for ten years..."

Ten years? I remembered something—my teacher had said music had healing power. When I played Chopin's Nocturne earlier, he had indeed calmed down.

"I should call an ambulance!" I frantically reached for my phone.

"No!" He used every ounce of strength to grab my hand, his eyes pleading and desperate, "Please... keep playing. Only your music can save me. If we go to the hospital... this will leak out..."

Seeing his anguish, my heart ached. Without hesitation, I immediately helped him sit on the piano bench and sat beside him.

This time, I chose Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2. My heart was filled with complex emotions—anger, pain, being moved, and an indescribable flutter.

Intense, turbulent, powerful melodies flowed from my fingertips. Something miraculous happened—his breathing actually began to stabilize, and his pained expression slowly eased.

"This is incredible," he said weakly but excitedly, "Do you know? I started learning piano ten years ago because I heard this piece."

My fingers didn't stop, but I looked at him in shock.

"I thought then, how wonderful it would be if I could someday meet someone who could understand this piece the way I do." His voice trembled, but no longer from pain—from excitement. "Ten years. I've studied piano for ten years, waiting for someone whose soul could resonate with mine."

Soul resonance... those words sent shockwaves through my heart. In three years with Kris, he never understood my music—he even called it "useless noise."

My playing gradually slowed, finally ending on a gentle note.

"I've never..." my voice trembled, "had anyone understand my music like this."

Our eyes met, and the air crackled with electric tension. His eyes burned with a flame that made my heart race.

"I think I should properly introduce myself," he gazed deeply at me, his voice becoming solemn, "I'm Zane Harrington."

Harrington?!

My hand slammed down on the keys, producing a jarring discord!

Zane Harrington! The Silicon Valley tech emperor! The legendary figure who built a business empire by age 28! Top ten on the Forbes rich list, worth hundreds of billions, a tech genius!

I was so shocked I couldn't speak, frozen at the piano.

"Yes, the same Harrington Tech you're thinking of," he said with a bitter smile, "but tonight... tonight I just want to be an ordinary man deeply moved by your music."

My God! A simple piano teacher like me was with Silicon Valley's most powerful tech mogul...

"I'm... I'm Ainsley Powell," I stammered, my voice barely a whisper, "just an ordinary..."

"No," he suddenly reached up to caress my cheek, his voice low and commanding, "you're the pianist who can save my soul. From tonight on, will you play only for me?"

Before I could answer, he kissed me.

This kiss was deeper, more passionate. I could feel his burning body temperature and rapid breathing, along with that careful, treasuring tenderness. Though reason told me this was all too crazy, faced with this soul connection, I didn't resist—I even... responded.

Just as we were deep in our kiss, we suddenly heard the soft sound of a camera shutter!

We broke apart abruptly, turning toward the sound. At the side entrance to the gallery, a young man in a server's uniform was holding up his phone—he had obviously just taken a photo!

"Damn it!" Zane's expression instantly turned ice-cold.

The server realized he'd been caught and tried to flee in panic.

"Stop!" Zane's voice boomed like thunder, his natural authority freezing the server in place.

"Hand over the phone." He spoke coldly while quickly pulling out his own phone and dialing, "Marcus, get to the museum piano gallery immediately. Someone's been taking unauthorized photos."

My heart was pounding. Unauthorized photos? If these pictures leaked...

"Mr. Harrington, I... I meant no harm..." the server stammered.

"No harm?" Zane slowly walked toward him, radiating an aura that seemed to drop the entire gallery's temperature several degrees, "Taking unauthorized photos of people's private moments—you call that no harm?"

Just then, footsteps echoed from outside the gallery. Several museum staff members and security guards hurried in.

"Mr. Harrington!" The middle-aged man leading them looked terrified, "We're so sorry, we'll handle this immediately..."

Obviously, even the museum's executives recognized him.

I stood by the piano watching all this, suddenly realizing exactly what kind of man I had encountered. This wasn't just someone wealthy—this was someone at the absolute pinnacle of power! One phone call could make an entire museum's staff run to serve him.

"The photos have been deleted and the phone confiscated," the museum manager reported obsequiously, "That employee will be fired immediately. We guarantee absolutely no information will leak..."

"Not enough," Zane's voice was cold as ice, "I want him to sign a confidentiality agreement with a ten-million-dollar penalty clause."

Ten million dollars! I gasped. To protect my reputation, he was setting such an astronomical penalty!

After handling everything, Zane returned to my side, his expression instantly softening:

"Sorry you had to see that."

Just then, his phone began vibrating violently. He glanced at it and his face immediately grew serious.

"Mr. Harrington," came an urgent voice from the phone that I could hear even from a distance, "there's a major crisis in Japan, stock prices have plummeted 15%, the board demands you handle this immediately..."

I saw his expression instantly grow heavy. The pressure of running a business empire—something ordinary people like me could never understand.

"I'll be right there," he hung up and looked at me with eyes full of reluctance and pain, "I'm sorry, I have to..."

"I understand," I forced a smile, though my heart filled with disappointment, "Work comes first."

But he didn't leave immediately. Instead, he urgently approached me, cupping my face in both hands:

"Give me your number."

"What?"

"Your phone number," his voice carried an almost desperate insistence, "I won't let tonight become just a beautiful accident. I want to formally pursue you, Ainsley Powell. No matter what obstacles the outside world throws at us, no matter how many people oppose it, I will pursue you."

His words made my heart nearly leap from my chest. Formally pursue? This world's most exceptional man wanted to pursue me?

I tremblingly gave him my number, watching as he carefully entered it into his phone.

"I'll contact you tomorrow," he looked deeply into my eyes, his voice carrying the weight of a vow, "That's a promise."

With that, he gently kissed my forehead, then strode out of the gallery.

I stood there watching his figure disappear through the doorway, my heart a tumult of emotions.

Everything tonight had been too surreal. That unauthorized photo, the museum executives' deference, and that phone call that could shake the entire business world...

Could an ordinary girl like me really enter his world?