Chapter 5
At two o'clock the next afternoon, I was preparing for my lesson at the music academy when I suddenly heard the receptionist's excited shriek: "Oh my God! That man is so gorgeous! And he's driving a Tesla Roadster!"
Puzzled, I poked my head out, only to witness a scene that left me utterly stunned.
Zane Harrington—the tech emperor who made all of Silicon Valley tremble—was standing humbly at the front desk, carefully filling out a student registration form.
He actually came!
But immediately, a wave of complex emotions washed over me. Could this just be an impulsive decision? Maybe last night was just an accident to him, and once he calmed down, he'd regret it?
"I'd like to enroll in piano lessons," his voice was gentle and polite. "I specifically request Ms. Ainsley Powell as my instructor."
The receptionist's eyes sparkled like stars: "Sir, have you studied piano before?"
"I've learned some basics." He paused, his voice so soft it was almost like talking to himself, "But I want to learn better, to truly understand the language of music."
The language of music... Those words caressed my heart like a feather. In three years, Kris had never said anything like that.
I couldn't hold back anymore and awkwardly walked over: "You... you really want to learn piano?"
He turned to see me, and his stern face instantly softened like a spring breeze: "Yes. I want to be a worthy student."
In that moment, my heart pounded wildly, but this time it wasn't from nervousness—it was from some indescribable flutter.
In the classroom, seeing the legendary cold and ruthless tech tyrant sitting obediently in the back row almost made me laugh out loud. He took notes diligently, occasionally raised his hand to ask questions, and that focused demeanor reminded me of the most earnest elementary school student.
This was such a stark contrast to Kris. For three years, whenever I excitedly wanted to share a new piece I'd learned, he would always say impatiently, "More of this classical music again? Can't you do something useful?"
But this man in front of me... he was genuinely learning with his heart.
"How should I practice this chord transition?" he raised his hand to ask.
"You need to relax your wrist, like this..." I walked over to demonstrate, unexpectedly noticing his hands were beautiful—long and strong.
"Could you guide my hand position?" he asked somewhat shyly, "I'm worried my posture isn't standard."
My face instantly flushed red, but I still reached out to gently adjust his hand position. When his palm touched my fingertips, an electric current-like sensation spread through my entire body. This kind of careful, protective touch reminded me of the warm feeling of being cherished.
"Soft hands," he said earnestly, "no wonder you can play such beautiful music."
Colleagues whispered in the corner:
"That ice-cold CEO is actually so gentle?"
"God, the way he looks at Ainsley... it's absolutely melting!"
"A legendary domineering president fanboy moment live?"
My face grew even redder, but a strange satisfaction swelled in my heart. Maybe my music really was worthy of being treasured like this.
After the lesson, instead of rushing off like other students, he voluntarily stayed to help me organize the classroom.
"Actually, you don't need to do this," I felt a bit embarrassed, "after all, you are..."
"I am what?" He stopped what he was doing and looked at me seriously, "Here, I'm just your student."
After tidying up the classroom, we walked together toward the academy's entrance. The setting sun cast golden light on his profile, making this usually stern man look exceptionally gentle.
"Today's lesson was very enlightening," he stopped walking, "I'd like to ask some questions privately. If you're willing, could you come to my house tonight to guide my practice? I have a very good piano, and I'd like to learn from you in a quieter environment."
Go to his house? My heart began to feel restless: He won't think I'm a boring woman, will he? Kris always said I couldn't talk about anything except piano, like a block of wood... What if he thinks the same?
But... looking at the sincerity in his eyes, I found myself completely unable to refuse.
"I'll have the housekeeper and chef present," he seemed to sense my concerns, "I absolutely won't make you feel uncomfortable."
His thoughtfulness warmed my heart. Maybe, just this once, I could stop being so rational.
"Alright," I nodded, "but just to guide your practice."
"Of course," a flash of joy crossed his eyes, making my heartbeat skip again.
At eight o'clock that evening, standing in front of that mansion as magnificent as a castle, I was so nervous my palms were sweating. The butler politely led me into the music hall.
Then I heard piano music.
It was Chopin's Nocturne Op.9 No.2. Though the technique wasn't quite polished, the gentle emotion was conveyed so clearly.
My eyes immediately welled up with tears.
This piece... how did he know this was my favorite? For three years, I had countless times wanted to share the beauty of this piece with Kris, but he always impatiently said, "More of this classical music again."
And now, a man who was almost a stranger was using clumsy but sincere playing to tell me: I see your beauty.
"How did you know I love this piece?" I asked softly.
He stopped playing and turned to look at me: "This is what you played for me last night. I thought... since it could soothe my pain, maybe I could use it to express my gratitude."
Simple words, yet they completely shattered my defenses.
"I practiced all afternoon," he said somewhat embarrassedly, "hired a private teacher, just to play this one piece well."
All afternoon... for me...
"Why do all this for me?" I finally asked the question that had been weighing on my heart all day, my voice trembling slightly.
"Because I want to enter your world," he stood up and walked toward me step by step, "even if it's just a little bit. Last night your music saved me, tonight I want to see if my music can touch you."
He extended his hand: "Would you like to play a piece together with me?"
Looking at his sincere eyes, the last wall around my heart completely crumbled.
Since childhood, no one had ever treasured my music like this. Everyone said I was introverted and boring, only hiding behind the piano. Kris said I couldn't do anything except play piano, colleagues thought I was too dull, student parents treated me like a tool...
But this man, this man standing at the top of the world, was willing to work hard to understand my music.
"Yes." I placed my hand in his palm, the warm touch comforting me.
We sat at the piano, four hands interweaving on the black and white keys. When the familiar melody rose again, I discovered that although his technique was rough, his emotional expression was extraordinarily genuine.
This feeling... was like finding a long-lost other half of my soul.
"From tonight on, this piano exists only for you," he said softly between playing.
Tears stubbornly slid down my face: "No one... no one has ever done these things for me..."
"Someone will in the future." He gently wiped away my tears, "I will always do these things for you, if you're willing."
In that moment, I finally understood what it meant to "be loved." Not to be needed, not to be used, but to be treasured.
The piano music echoed in the deep night, two hearts drawing closer and closer through music.
Maybe all of this was too unreal, maybe tomorrow I'd wake up to find this was just a beautiful dream. But right now, I just wanted to indulge in this feeling of being cherished.