Marcus didn't look at me. The window rolled back up, and the car drove through.
I followed on foot into the villa.
The moment I entered the living room, I heard piano music. The third movement of Moonlight Sonata. The player was struggling—wrong notes, one after another.
Sophia sat at a Steinway in a white formal dress.
My dowry.
"Marcus, this piece is too hard. Could Alex really play it with her eyes closed back then?"
She stopped and pouted.
Marcus handed his coat to a servant, his gaze landing on me in the entryway. He frowned.
"Alex, did you just crawl out of a trash heap?"
He took two steps closer, caught a whiff of motor oil, and backed away again, pulling out a handkerchief to cover his nose.
"Dressing like a beggar—is this your way of getting back at me? Trying to make me feel guilty?"
I stood at the edge of the carpet. I didn't step onto it.
"Mr. Abbott is overthinking it. Life forced it."
Sophia turned around. When she saw me, something flickered in her gaze. Then she smiled, lifted the hem of her skirt, and walked over.
"Oh my, it really is Alex."
Sophia reached out her hand.
"How did you end up like this? Come in and sit down."