Sophia's manager and Lucas's business partner draw up collaboration conditions while Sophia and Lucas go through song selections. When alone, Lucas questions why she picked such a solitary vocation. Her heartfelt statement about the piano being her most faithful companion generates a tense moment interrupted by their teammates returning.

"Forty percent royalty on all premium subscriber revenue generated directly from Ms. Reeves' content, plus a guaranteed minimum annual payment of—"

Sophia tuned out Marcus's boring legal lecture. Across the conference room table, Lucas appeared equally disinterested in the contract negotiations, his attention concentrated on the tablet between them where they had been selecting repertoire for initial recordings.

"Bach's Goldberg Variations seems obvious," Lucas murmured quietly, bending toward her while their reps disputed numbers. "But I wonder if we should start with something more accessible."

"The Goldbergs are perfectly accessible," Sophia argued. "They're just not often presented that way."

"Exactly my point." His eyes lit up the way they did when they connected on an idea. "What if we begin with the aria, then create an interactive trip through selected variations? Each one shows a distinct facet of what Cadenza can do."

"Jumping around Bach's carefully structured sequence?" She raised an eyebrow. "That borders on sacrilege."

"Or it generates a new entrance point. The complete sequence would still be available for purists."

Sophia contemplated this. "Perhaps. But I'd want the journey to make musical sense—not just flaunt your technology."

"Our technology," he clarified with a slight smile. "And yes, the musicality comes first."

Their heads stayed bowed together over the tablet, scrolling through possibilities, as Marcus and Lucas's business partner, Diane, continued their painstaking dissection of terms and conditions.

"Debussy's Images would allow for spectacular visualizations," Sophia said.

"Perfect for the second release, not the first." Lucas shook his head. "We need to start with something that bridges familiarity and discovery." He hesitated, scrutinizing her face. "What was the first piece that made you fall in love with the piano?"

The question caught her off surprise. No interviewer had asked her that in decades; they were always more concerned in her technique or her interpretations of specific composers.

"Chopin. Nocturne in E-flat Major," she admitted. "I was eight. My mother played it."

Something moved in Lucas's expression—a softening. "That's what we start with, then. Your origin narrative."

"It's hardly revolutionary enough for your platform."

"Revolution isn't necessarily about being the newest or loudest. Sometimes it's about disclosing the emotional reality that's been there all along." He maintained her eyes longer than was professionally necessary. "Why did you choose such a solitary career, Sophia?"

The abrupt personal turn stunned her. "I'm hardly solitary. I collaborate with orchestras, chamber groups—"

"But at its core, it's you and the piano. Hours alone in practice rooms. Even on stage, there's a fundamental solitude to what you do."

She should deflect the question or bring them back to repertoire selection. Instead, she found herself answering truthfully.

"The piano has been my most devoted partner. It's never disappointed me, never misunderstood me. When everyone and everything else proved unreliable—the piano remained." She looked down at her hands. "My father left when I was ten. My mother worked three jobs. Friends came and left. But the piano... it gave back exactly what I put into it. Perfect reciprocity."

The vulnerability in her voice astonished her. Lucas was motionless for a time, then reached across the space between them, his fingertips nearly touching hers on the iPad.

"That's exactly what people need to learn about classical music. That relationship. That fidelity."

Something electrifying flowed between them—recognition, comprehension, possibilities. Sophia felt her breath catch.

The conference room door opened abruptly.

"We've reached agreement on the exclusivity clause," Diane remarked, returning with fresh coffee.

Lucas removed his hand hastily, the moment broken.

"Excellent," he remarked, his professional tone returning. "Sophia and I have made progress on our initial repertoire selections."

For the following hour, they studied the finished contract details. Marcus had negotiated excellent conditions—better than Sophia had expected considering her frequent cancelations. Beyond the financial parameters, the contract included provisions for creative control, permission over all visual representations of her work, and a clear exit clause if the relationship proved unsatisfactory.

"If you're comfortable with these terms, we just need signatures," Marcus replied, sliding papers toward her.

Sophia's phone vibrated. A text from Emma:

Don't sign anything without having me look at it first. Lucas is bright yet brutal with contracts

.

She grimaced, looked up at Lucas who was already signing his copies with flourish.

"Is everything alright?" he inquired, detecting her uncertainty.

"Fine," she responded, tucking her phone away. "Just checking the time."

Emma's admonition gnawed at her. What did her daughter know that she didn't? On the other hand, Marcus had thoroughly scrutinized the agreement, and Sophia had never known him to miss contractual problems in twenty years working together.

"We can postpone if you need more time," Lucas said, though his gaze implied irritation underlying the formality.

Sophia made her decision. She picked up the pen and signed each sheet, feeling a strange mixture of exhilaration and anxiety. This alliance might reinvigorate her career or become the biggest blunder of her professional life.

"Welcome to Cadenza, Sophia," Lucas said, extending his hand across the signed documents.

His grip was warm and solid, staying just a beat too long to be totally professional. In that moment, Sophia got the distinct feeling she had just stepped off a cliff—uncertain if she would fly or fall.

"We start recording tomorrow," Lucas added, grabbing the contracts. "The studio will be ready at ten."

As they all prepared to depart, Lucas stopped her at the entrance. "One more thing. Whatever Emma told you to make you hesitate—I hope you'll judge me by my actions, not hearsay."

Sophia stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Your look when you checked your phone. I've seen it before." His voice dropped lower. "Emma and I have... history. Not all of it pleasant."

Before Sophia could respond, Diane pulled Lucas over to discuss scheduling, leaving her standing alone with more questions than answers.

What precisely had happened between her daughter and Lucas Chen? And why hadn't Emma told her the complete story?