Page 13 of Less

But apparently, my heart never got the memo.

Because if anything, he looks even more devastating now.

Great.

Just great.

Debra passes us off to one of the estate staff who leads us through a wide set of glass doors and down a long hallway toward the performance space Mr. Carter built specifically for this event.

“Miss Perkins, your bags and your bodyguard’s bags will be brought to your room. The stage is ready whenever you are,” the coordinator tells me politely.

“Thank you.”

I step inside.

And forget about Less for the first time since the plane landed.

Because the stage is beautiful.

It’s not huge, but it’s elegant—polished wood floors, velvet curtains, a grand piano positioned stage left, and a small orchestra pit just below.

Warm, golden lights illuminate the space.

It’s intimate.

Perfect for a private performance.

Exactly the kind of environment where I can lose myself in the music.

Which is exactly what I need right now.

I drop my purse near the piano and stretch my arms above my head, rolling out my shoulders.

Focus, Amanda.

You didn’t come here to spiral over some man who ghosted you three years ago.

You came here to sing.

The pianist—an older gentleman Carter hired for the evening—nods as I step toward the center of the stage.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

I inhale slowly.

Let the breath settle into my ribs.

Let the tension slide out of my shoulders.

Music.

This is the one place in the world where everything makes sense.

Where heartbreak turns into something beautiful instead of something painful.

The pianist begins.

Soft chords filling the room.